Self-Destruction
When Yamato starts getting beat up by a gang in his school, he starts to hate himself and has to find a way to cope with his feelings. He turns to cutting himself as an escape, but quickly gets addicted to it. Will he destroy himself before it's too late?
Digimon - PG-13 - English - Angst/General - Chapters: 1 - Words: 8431 - Reviews: 4 - Updated: 5-7-04 - Published: 5-7-04
Disclaimer: Digimon is not mine. But we all knew that, didn’t we?
Any work found within is purely fictitous, and is not meant to be taken seriously in any way. All characters not in Digimon are the work of the author and are not intended to represent any person in real life. Thank you.
Author’s notes, short and sweet: This fic deals with self-injurous behaviour, also known as SIB. If you are an SI’er, there may be some triggers in here, so please use caution when reading this. Also, this fic is AU (Alternate Universe) in that the Digiworld never happened.
This fic contains Yamachi (what else?) and TakeDai (duh). Also possible mentionings of Hiyako and Joushiro, as well as Gentsuii (OC 0 Genjitsu and Ratsuii). I know that the original characters from Waiting were supposed to have been confined to that fic, but they only have minor appearances. Kento’s gang, however, plays a major part in this fic. Also, I hate the name of Yamato’s band ><
Self-Destruction
by: butterflie, formerly known as Crimson Goddess
second writing: 7 October 2002 Monday 9:53PM
first writing: April 2002
Beep! Beep! Beep!
A pale hand shot out from under a pile of black covers and pounded the offending noise back into a state of blissful silence, cursing all the while at being woken against its will. Then it disappeared to burrow back under the covers, once more becoming part of the lump there.
Suddenly there was a banging on the bedroom door. It was a banging that seemed somehow sinful in the early morning stillness, and the lump groaned from deep beneath the covers that was its lair. A soft curse broke the blissful silence, followed by more groans and choice phrases that would have had even the most foul-mouthed of boys covering their ears.
“Yamato? Are you awake? You’ll be late for school! Hurry up and get ready!” Mr. Ishida yelled through the closed door.
The lump, now known as Ishida Yamato, groaned, shifted, then wa still once more.
Footsteps receding.
Five minutes later the banging started again, just as annoying as before. Yamato wanted to pound his father the way he’d pounded his alarm clock.
“Yamato?” Mr. Ishida said again. He got no answer. Sighing, he opened the door to the room which Mr. Ishida was more like a cave than anything else. Yamato, of course, thought otherwise.
Rather than be normal when re-doing his room five years ago, Yamato had begged and fought and pleaded with his father to have it done the way he’d desired. He’d gotten it painted the blackest black, with dark grey trim and a dark gray door that was barely distinguishable from the black of his walls. His floor had originally been hard wood, but carpet had been lain down. The carpet was black, as well as the various pieces of furniture adorning the room. There wasn’t much. A bed, a dresser, computer desk. The rest of his room was reserved for his guitar and amps, for he practiced a lot.
But to make matters worse, the only light he’d use in his room was a small desk lamp, and only then when it was completely dark outside and absolutely no more light could seep through the black shutter blinds covering his one solitary window.
Mr. Ishida stood in the dark room now, staring at the dim outline of his sleeping son burrowed deep beneath the black comforter. Yamato lay completely still, giving no sign of life or acknowledement that he’d heard his father a few minutes ago.
“Yamato, get UP!” Mr. Ishida said in annoyance, carefully making his way over to his son’s desk. He switched on the light before corssing over to the bed. He yanked back the covers, revealing a small, slender frame with pale skin and a mop of golden blond hair.
Upon having his covers so rudely from him, Yamato let out a rather girlish shriek and reached out, snatching them back from his father. He launched the covers back up over his head, then clutched them tightly.
Mr. Ishida, however, was not to be deterred. He grabbed the covers from Yamato once more, then, before the boy had time to react, reached down and hefted him up, standing him on his feet.
Yamato made as if he was going to lay back down, but instead Mr. Ishida forcibly propelled him over to the dresser, and placed his hand on the dresser knob.
The teen sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes. He pulled open the drawer, meanwhile glaring at his father. He begin to search through various articles of black clothing looking for his uniform and Mr. Ishida, satisfied, left the room.
Yamato would be late, but at least he was going to school today. There were many mornings lately in which he wouldn’t get up at all. He’d stay home, sleep all day, and Mr. Ishida suspected he often had nightmares. More than once he’d heard Yamato cry out. And when he DID go to school, he always came back looking for all the world ike he’d just been through a war.
Something was definitely up.
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“That’s 150 yen.”
Silently Yamato handed over his money to the sullen looking lady at the register, picked up his tray, and left the lunch line, not even bothering to wait for his ten yen change. He paused just outside the door, scanning the crowded cafeteria for his best friend, Yagami Taichi. Where was he? Was he even at school today?
Suddenly he remembered Mimi saying something that morning before homeroom, some statement about Taichi still being sick. He hadn’t given it much attention, he’d been too busy watching out for someone else. And the other day Nyusumi had remarked on Taichi not coming to watch their band practice lately. At the time, he’d assumed Taichi was just busy with other stuff. But now....
Frantically Yamato looked around the cafeteria, suddenly slightly panicked, hoping to catch a glimpse of the poofy brown hair or perhaps the soccer uniform his best friend wore on game days such as today. No such luck. Taichi wasn’t here. Dammit.
Feeling apprehensive and more than a little nervous, the blond cautiously made his way over to an empty table in the middle of the room, ice blue eyes darting side to side, head somewhat downcast. He wished, not for the first time, that another of his friends had this lunch, so that when Taichi was absent, he wouldn’t feel so desperately alone. But the only other person he knew with this lunch was Genjitsu, Ratsuii’s boyfriend. Ratsuii was one of the members of his band, the lead guitarist and also most of the back-up vocals. Well, actually, it wasn’t his band. Ny’s band. It had been Nyusumi and Kenji who’d originally started it.
But in any case, he was NOT about to go sit with Gen and all of his cruude, rowdy friends.
‘Dammit!’ he berated himself silently. ‘I shouldn’t have cut my morning classes! At least then I would have realized Taichi wasn’t here, and I could have avoided the cafeteria! Baka!’
Well, maybe they’d be kind enough to leave him alone, though he didn’t let himself believe it, not even for an instant. In any case, they didn’t really chance to bother him during lunch anyways. It was between classes, and after school, that they hassled him so.
Shrugging in a failed attempt to convince himself he didn’t care, he picked up his chopsticks and began to eat, wincing at the bad taste of the cafeteria food.
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“Alright, so if we have a dominant blond gene, big A, big A, and another dominant gene big A, little a, how many big A, big A offspring would we have? How many big A, little a? How about little a, little a? Would anyone like to volunteer to draw the punnet squares on the board?”
Only a few enthusiastic hands waved in the air. Tadaji Sensei looked around the room and picked one of them at random.
The student came up and drew it correctly. “Very good. I think you guys have this down well,” the teacher said, just as the bell rang “Alright, don’t forget to study for tomorrow’s test. Dismissed. Ishida-kun, see me for a list of back assignments please.”
All around the room, bored looking students began to pack up books and leave, talking loudly to their friends, each of their voices rising in volume to compete to be heard. Books slammed, notebooks clapped shut, and zippers zipped. The sounds echoed around the fast emptying room, provoking a feeling of dread in Yamato.
They’d be waiting for him, he knew. Waiting for him round the corner just off school property. They’d told him as much after fifth class. He’d hoped to leave early enough so that he might avoid them, but with Tadaji Sensei wanting to see him, there was no hope of that now.
Slowly, he grabbed his biology book and stood, then made his way over to Sensei’s desk. “Hai, Sensei,” he said, speaking in something of a monotone. He stood motionless as Sensei began going over the assignments he’d missed during his week’s absence, barely listening, his mind ruminating as he anticipated the upcoming inevitable.
He didn’t want to leave the virtual safety net school created. He knew that once he did, they’d be waiting for him, waiting to call him harsh names, torment him with cruel laughter and beat him into a state of oblivion.
Most days they hit him until he fell unconscious, all the while tossing insults at him. In some places where they’d hit him hard enough, blood always started pooling out of his battered body, the coppery smell mingling with the stench of his sweat and the fear radiating out of him. It was just one more thing for them to taunt him with.
Sento perhaps sometimes brought out his prized possession, his knife, flashing it in and out of Yamato’s blood-crusted view, drawing it extremely close to his body and then rearing back again, teasing him. The blade was always gleaming in the sunlight the glare momentarily blinding him. Sento always took good care of his knife.
Finally they would tire of tormenting him, and they left him laying pitifully on the sidewalk, barely able to even move, much less stand and walk home. Then he’d lay there in humiliation and self-pity, hating himself more and more by the second, hating the fact that he was so weak, so afra-
“Ishida-kun? Ishida Yamato-kun? Are you listening?”
Yamato blinked. “Eh... h-hai, Sensei.”
Tadaji Sensei grinned ruefully, shaking his head. “No you’re not. If you had been, you would have realized you can go home now.”
“Saa... gomen nasai yo, Sensei,” he apologized, a light blush staining his cheeks. “Jaa, mata ashita.”
He hefted the heavy book under his other arm and left the classroom, stopping briefly at his locker to exchange his biology book for his Japanese notebook. If he came to school tomorrow, he would have a Kanji test, and studying tonight would help keep his mind off of other things, such as the injuries he knew he’d have.
He shut his locker door, and leaned his head against it with a sigh. This was all so unfair. He shouldn’t have to worry about all this. He hadn’t done anything to deserve it, and he didn’t know why Kento would want him anyways. Plenty of other guys in the school to pick on, why couldn’t they go after them instead?
“All students should be out of the school by now, Yamato,” Principal Nakamura said as she walked by.
The teen glared briefly, but did as she said and reluctantly exited the school.
They slammed into him hard the second he stepped off school grounds. Tetsuya shoved him sprawling to the ground, and Sento grabbed his notebook out of his hands, tossing it carelessly aside. It landed with a soft thud in the grass. Yamato made a small, startled noise in the back of his throat, and the gang laughed. They began to circle around him menacingly, trapping him.
Things ended up going pretty much as he’d thought. Once they’d finally left and were long out of sight, it was a full thirty minutes before he was able to sit and retrieve his notebook, lying forgotten on the grass.
He walked the route home very slowly, hot tears pricking at his eyes, tears he absolutely refused to cry. He wiped them away, but they just gathered again. He was tired and sore all over, and Sento’s knife had rather sharply grazed his leg, though whether on purpose or accident he didn’t know. He opted for the former.
As he walked, the rage he felt every time began to swell up inside again. He was angry at Kento and his stupid gang, and angry Kenji couldn’t do anything to stop his brothers and their friends, but most of all he was angry at himself.
He hated himself for being such a coward, angry that he wouldn’t even attempt to defend himself, whether it did any good or not. He hated that he didn’t know why Kento had chosen him, and hated it even more that he couldn’t stop any of it.
He reached the apartment he and his dad lived in without further mishap, and after a frantic search for his misplaced key, let himself in the front door. His father wasn’t home, as usual, so Yamato didn’t have to worry about his father asking him questions about everything. ‘Thank the gods for that’ the blond thought as he locked himself in the bathroom. He didn’t bother to clean himself up, just angrily stared at his sorry looking reflection in the mirror over the sink, the rage he’d felt on the way home still accompanying him.
He reached out a trembling hand and lightly touched his reflection. The glass felt smooth and cool to the touch. Completely opposite of the emotions he was feeling now. “Fucking moronic pathetic loser,” he whispered to the tear-streaked teen in the mirror. Somehow the tears had found a way out, despite his efforts to keep them in. He sighed and leaned his head back against the opposite wall. “I’m so hopeless...” He stayed that way for a few minutes, then suddenly jerked up and glared at his twin trapped on the other side of the glass. “I hate you!! Fucking moronic pathetic loser...” he repeated it, feeling a little angrier as he did. Yet, at the same time, he also felt a little better. So he repeated it a third time. And a fourth, slightly louder. And a fifth, louder still, like a mantra. And a sixth, and a seventh, an eighth, a ninth, until he was yelling the words, his face right up against the mirror.
Suddenly he felt an irrational surge of rage, unlike anything he’d felt before. He felt so out of control of himself. He wanted to hit things, to break them. He wanted to scream and scream and never have to stop. He wanted to pick up something and hurl it out a window. He wanted to take a knife and slash things. Desperately he tried to calm down, afraid of what he might do. He felt so out of control. Why couldn’t he calm himself? “Please.. I need...” But it was no use. There was no fighting what he felt. Unable to supress his rage and his actions, he ran into the kitchen, snatched a boxcutter from the junk drawer, and slashed. And slashed. And slashed. And slashed.
Already he felt control begin to seep back into him, forcing the rage out. He continued to slash his arm, not really aware of what he was doing. He started to slash his other arm, and even his chest. He lost all sense of time, caught up in the swirl of emotions he was currently experiencing. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes. He didn’t know.
Only when the front door slammed did he come back to himself. Throwing the blood smeared boxcutter back in the drawer, he fled to the safety of his room, locking the door behind him.
Yamato looked down at the bloody mess he’d made of his arms and chest with consternation and yet, at the same time, a strange sense of pride. They were his, these cuts. He’d inflicted them himself. Not Sento. Not Kento. They were his.
“Yamato?” his father knocked on his door. “Tadaima.”
“Okaeri,” Yamato replied, managing to sound normal. “Be out in a minute.” He rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, unable to do anything about the cuts and not really wanting to. The blood would stop soon enough. He looked down at himself, immediately realizing the state of his clothes. They were caked with dirt and blood and grass stains from the beating he’d taken earlier. Plus, where he had slashed up his chest, there were matching slashes on his shirt, because he had cut through it in his rage.
“Oh hell,” he said out loud, going over to his dresser. He shed the clothes he was wearing, swapping them for clean ones. Then he left his room and headed to their small living room, flopping down on the couch with a loud sigh.
Mr. Ishida didn’t look up from the tv where was mindlessly flipping through channels. He winced when he caught a glimpse of himself on a rerun of the news. He hated to watch himself on tv.
Yamato sighed again, and the elder Ishida glanced over at his son, frowning when he spotted a purplish bruise on the boy’s left cheek. “What happened to you?” he asked, pointing to the injury.
Yamato frowned, reached up and touched his cheek, wincing at the pain even that light touch brought. “I got in a fight.”
Mr. Ishida raised his eyebrows, but his only comment was “You put ice on that?”
Yamato shook his head. “No.” Then, before his father could say anything else, he decided to change the subject. “I have band practice tonight. I need to leave soon. Probably won’t be back home until late. Will you leave the door unlocked?”
The man nodded. “Be careful.”
Yamato said nothing to that, just stood and slowly made his way into the kitchen for food, trying not to groan when he bumped his head on the low hanging chandelier that was his father’s only claim from the house he’d left in the divorce.
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“Hey Yamato, how -oh jesus, what happened to you?!” This was the greeting he received upon walking into Nyusumi’s house for band practice. “Kento,” came the quiet reply, and Kenji flinched. “Yamato, I’d stop him and Sento if I could..” he began, then trailed off. He knew he couldn’t, Yamato knew he couldn’t, the band knew he couldn’t, and there was no point in reiterating so. It’d be wiser to just shut up. Which was precisely what he did.
Silently Yamato set down his guitar case and opened it. Ny, Kenji, and Ratsuii watched him, not saying anything. In truth, they really didn’t know what to say.
The blond finished setting up and looked over at Ny, who was fingering his blue-streaked hair nervously. “Taichi’s not here?”
Nyusumi let go of his hair, choosing instead to look down at his keyboard. “Couldn’t make it. Hikari caught the flu from him and he’s stuck taking care of her. Sorry Yamato.”
The teen merely sighed. “S’aright. Not like it’s your fault or anything anyways.”
“No, but I know how much you wanted to see him...” Ny said, in a rather suggestive tone.
Yamato blushed and looked down at the floor. “Taichi’s just my friend. Nothing more.”
“Yet,” Ratsuii added, grinning. “He’s nothing more yet.”
“Oh shutup and let’s just practice.”
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It was dark on the way home. That made sense, considering it was 1130PM. Band practice had gone over fairly well, until Genjitsu showed up and began screwing Ratz into oblivion. Then Ny’s twin sister, Emiko, walked in on them and started chewing them out. And then Kenji had started hitting on Emi, and the Asashi’s returned home, and the successful practice had become chaos.
Oh well, Yamato reflected as he walked along the dark streets of Odaiba. It could have been worse. He continued along the sidewalk, not frightened in the least by the looming shadows of the tall apartment buildings lining both sides of the street.
There was a slight breeze that swayed the trees, and a nearby clap of thunder made Yamato jump. “Oh bloody hell, it’s going to rain,” he muttered. He wished he could run, but since he was carrying his guitar, that was rather impossible. Luckily the rain didn’t start up until he was but a few feet from his apartment; big fat drops of cold H2O. They fell fast and hard as thunder rumbled again, but not many landed on the blond before he entered the building.
He nodded a hello to Miss Niko as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for his floor.
“Hello Yamato,” Miss Niko greeted him pleasantly. “You’re out late.”
“Yeah, I just got back from band practice.”
“That’s right, you’re in that band.. what was the name?”
“Teenage Wolves.”
“Hai, hai, I remember now. My daughters are big fans of yours.” She smiled. “They want to date you. Guess I better not mention you live in this building.”
Yamato blushed, brushing back blond strands nervously. “Yeah, well.. I’d appreciate it,” he said sheepishly.
The elevator lurched sickeningly, then stopped, and the doors slid open smoothly with a ting! Yamato lifted his guitar case back up and stepped off, waving goodbye to Miss Niko. He headed down the corridor until he reached his apartment.
The door was open. Good. His father had remembered then. He let himself in quietly, not wanting to wake his father. After setting down his guitar, he headed to his room and crawled into bed, not even bothering to undress. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
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“Yamato! Get up! You’ll be late!”
The blond groaned and buried himself deeper under the covers. He wasn’t going to school today. He didn’t want to have to face Kento. And he was so damn sore. They’d beat him worse yesterday, perhaps as punishment for avoiding them the last few days.
“Yamato?” Mr. Ishida asked, coming into the teen’s room. There was no movement from said teen whatsoever. Mr. Ishida sighed. “Yamato, I’m getting tired of having to go through this every day. Get up. Now.”
Still no response. The elder Ishida was starting to get annoyed. He yanked off the covers and pulled the boy to his feet.
Yamato merely crumpled right where he was, as if he was a doll not made for standing.
Angrily, Mr. Ishida reached down and grasped Yamato’s left arm tightly, and pulled him back up.
Yamato’s eyes snapped open, and his mouth opened to let out a loud scream of pain. Tears came to his eyes as he reared back away from his startled father. Still crying, he dived back in bed and huddled under the covers, cradling his stinging arm.
Mr. Ishida was too surprised to even say anything. Instead he just left the room, shutting the door behind him.
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“Hey.”
Startled, Yamato rolled his sleeves back down and whirled around. “Taichi!”
Taichi offered a hesistant smile. “Your dad said you were back here, and had been all day.”
“My dad stayed home all day?” Yamato asked in disbelief.
Taichi merely shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so. From the way he was talking, it sounded as if he did.”
Yamato raised his eyebrows, more than slightly surprised. His dad, the workaholic, the man who had been working during the birth of his second son, had actually taken a day off? And for no seemingly apparent reason. “My dad stayed home?” he asked Taichi again.
Taichi laughed. “You act as if you’ve just been handed a check for a million yen!” he said.
The blond laughed too, but then winced as it made the sore muscles in his face ache. Taichi didn’t notice. Or, if he did, he didn’t say anything. Yamato figured it was the latter, because there was no way Taichi missed the bruise on his cheek.
“So...” Yamato said.
“So...” Taichi echoed.
The silence stretched, and grew uncomfortable.
At last, fed up with the silence, Taichi broke it. “How come you weren’t at school?”
A shrug. “How come you weren’t yesterday?”
“I was sick. I’ve been gone all week. Haven’t you noticed?” Taichi asked, somewhat incredulous. How could he not have noticed?
The teen shrugged again, fixed his blue eyes elsewhere, not looking at Taichi. “I haven’t been at school, except for yesterday.”
“You skipped?”
“No.... I just stayed home, didn’t go. Dad knows.”
“Why? Do you want to fail?”
Yamato didn’t reply. Instead, he glanced around the room nervously. Even though he wasn’t looking at him, he could feel Taichi’s stare, and it was making him even more uncomfortable than he already felt. He didn’t want Taichi to find out about Kento, that he skipped school because he was too much of a coward to stop the gang’s abuse of him.
“Yamato?” Taichi asked again.
“What?”
“Yamato! Mou ii!” (in this case, it’s loosely “Enough already!”)
“Mou ii yourself Taichi! It’s none of your business why I stayed home,” Yamato snapped.
Taichi glared at him. “It is so my business! You’re my friend! I don’t want to see you fail!”
“I’m not going to fail. I’m fine, Taichi.”
“You are not fine,” Taichi muttered, then fell silent.
Yamato didn’t say anything, and the two boys were back in the uncomfortable silence of earlier.
Taichi was once again the first to say anything. “Well uh.. I gotta get him. See you at school tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.
“Maybe,” Yamato replied quietly, not making any promises.
The brunette stood. “Ok then,” he said, then was gone.
Yamato groaned and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
He hated this, hating feeling so guilty. He’d made Taichi worry about him. He hadn’t meant to do that.
But he couldn’t very well explain anything to Taichi either. The boy would just worry more. Or worse, he’d try to stop it, and then Kento would beat him up too. And that was a thing Yamato never wanted to see happen.
..... Now he was worrying about Taichi. Great. Life was just wonderful.
He needed his boxcutter.
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His dad stayed home from work again the next day, but Yamato went to school.
He managed to avoid Kento all morning but was so afraid he’d see them that by lunchtime he was exhausted. Wearily, he handed over his yen to the lunch lady, then went out to look for Taichi.
He spotted the wild brown hair about five tables away, and worked his way over there, finally sitting down at the table with a sigh.
Taichi looked up as the blond set down his tray, then grinned. “Hey, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d skipped lunch.”
“I got in the line late,” Yamato replied, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.
“That’s always your excuse!”
Yamato just rolled his eyes. “It is not.”
“Yes it is,” Taichi insisted. “That, or, ‘I had band practice’.”
“Hey!” Yamato protested. “That’s not fair! I have band practice a lot! I can’t help it!”
“Well maybe you wouldn’t have it so much if your band actually practiced.”
The blond merely glared at Taichi and refused to speak to him for the next five minutes.
“Okay, I can’t stand this silence any longer!” he burst out. “Taichi, why aren’t you saying anything? Normally it’s impossible to shut you up!”
Taichi shrugged. “You said you weren’t speaking to me anymore. I figured you weren’t listening, either.”
He glared again. “Well, I changed my mind. “Speak.”
Taichi laughed, then did as commanded, chattering about how snobby Sora’s new boyfriend was.
Yamato smiled and basked in the silence.
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“You ready to go?” Taichi asked, stopping by Yamato’s desk after the last bell had rung.
Yamato looked down at his desk. He didn’t dare look at Taichi. “You go on without me,” he mumbled. “I have to stay after class.”
The brunette frowned. “I can wait.”
“No, it will be awhile. I have to make up a test.”
The frown deepened. “For what? None of our teachers told me about a test.”
“English.”
“Oh. Ok then. See ya later?”
“Yeah.”
Taichi left. Yamato continued to sit there, not wanting to leave. He’d bumped into Tetsuya between sixth and seventh and had been warned there’d be dire consequences if he tried to avoid them.
If only Kenji could do something about it.
He honestly didn’t know why Kento picked on him. Why him, out of all the other kids in this school? Was it because he was friends with Kenji? Was it because he was in a famous band? Or maybe something else. Because of the way he looked? Because of the way he dressed? Or... was it because he was gay?
If so, Yamato wondered how they knew, because nobody else knew about it. He told no one, and the band’s teasing about liking Taichi was simply that, teasing. Maybe they suspected, but they had no proof. And he planned to keep it that way. Though if -
“Yamato?”
The boy in question looked up. Tadaji Sensei was standing over him, looking slightly confused.
“Are you planning on leaving anytime soon? Or did you just figure you’d stick around all night?”
“Eto.. hai Sensei. Gomen,” he replied, a light blush staining his cheeks. Slowly he stood and retrieved his books, waving goodbye to Tadaji Sensei as he left. A quick stop at his locker, and all too soon he found himself exiting the school.
He started to walk home, looking fearfully over his shoulder every step of the way. So far, there seemed to be no sign of Kento anywhere.
He was only two blocks from his apartment when he rounded a corner, and there they were, waiting for him.
“Crap,” he muttered under his breath as Sento let out a yell. They had spotted him.
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Yamato lay motionless on the sidewalk, not able to move and not wanting to. Once again, they’d beat him pretty badly, and once again he felt as if he’d just been run over by an eighteen wheeler. And once again, he hated himself for being so damn weak. He knew it was a given he’d cut once he got home again.
Home. Where his was dad was.
Damn.
Maybe he should just lay on the sidewalk for the rest of his life. It didn’t really seem like such a bad idea. It meant he wouldn’t have to face his dad and the endless questions that were sure to come.
Groaning, he sat up, trying hard to ignore the pain. Bad enough he was still sore from the other day, but now he had today’s pain to add to it. He hated pain.
Carefully, he maneuvered himself to his feet, then slowly walked the two blocks home.
He let himself into the apartment quietly, hoping he wouldn’t alert his dad to his presence. For once luck was with him, and he made it to the bathroom without being spotted.
Gently, Yamato pulled off his shirt, then tenderly examined the angry looking cuts and bruises that painted his body.
It only made him more angry, seeing what he allowed Kento to do to him. Dammit he hated being so weak and submissive! He could at least fight back or something. Hell, slash ‘em with his boxcutter or something.
He took out his boxcutter and stared at it. He could... no! The boxcutter was his own, his salvation from the pain. It made the only cuts on his body not inflicted by Kento’s gang. He didn’t want it tainted with their blood.
He took the boxcutter and drew it down the length of his left arm. Like this cut, for example. He’d made it himself, just now. So it was his.
He traced the newly made cut lightly with his finger, wiping up the blood that had begun to flow out. Then he switched the boxcutter to his left hand and made a similar slash down his right arm.
Then he switched again and ran the blade through the cut he’d just made, digging it deeper. It hurt like hell, but at the same time it felt wonderful, liberating. It was almost as if he could feel the stress and tension leave his body, only to be replaced by relief.
He continued to do this over and over, the same actions stuck on continuous repeat. It was as if he’d entered some kind of trance, broken only when there was a knock on the door.
“Yamato? Is that you?” It was his dad, of course. Who else would be here to knock on the bathroom door?
Yamato jerked back in surprise, the boxcutter slipping from his hand and clattering on the floor. He leaned down to pick it up, and as he was straightening up again, he banged his head on the vanity. Tears of instant pain pricked at his eyes.
“Yamato? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” the blond called out. “Be out soon.”
He listened until he no longer heard his father, then quickly pulled his shirt back on and slipped outside down the hall to his room. Once there he changed clothes, then looked in the mirror on his door to see if there were any more visible bruises.
There were. The skin on his left cheek had adapted a strange purplish discoloration. It matched his other cheek. Damn damn damn! He knew his dad would ask about it.
Sighing, Yamato opened the door and went down the hall into the kitchen. His dad was there, pulling some sandwich makings out of the fridge. He turned around, arms full of bologna and mustard, and caught sight of his battered son.
He let out a loud sigh. “Let me guess. A fight?”
The teen mumbled something incoherent.
Mr. Ishida sighed again, but dropped the subject, much to Yamato’s relief.
“Taichi called,” he said as a way of new topic. “I told him I’d have you call when you got in.”
Yamato nodded.
Failing to get a response out of him, Mr. Ishida began to fix his sandwich, and Yamato disappeared into the livingroom to call Taichi.
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Yamato did not go to school all the next week. Nor did his dad go to work.
Several days later, Yamato woke around twelve. He got up, and when he went into the livingroom his dad was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the mute television set. He looked up when the boy walked in, fully dressed as usual.
Yamato went and sat on the couch next to him, and the two sat there in silence for some time, before his dad suddenly spoke up.
"I want to know what's going on, Yamato."
There was no reply, and when Mr. Ishida glanced over at his son, he noticed the boy had gone pale. Nonplussed, Mr. Ishida plundered on. "I want to know why you get into fights, why you have bruises plastered all over your face, why you cover your body with clothing.. I know you're hiding something from me Yamato. You have been for a few months now. And I'm tired of being kept in the dark. Take off your shirt. I want to see what you're hiding."
Wildly, Yamato shook his head no.
However, Mr. Ishida was not to be deterred. Reaching over, he grabbed Yamato's shirt and started to pull.
Shocked, and terrified his dad would find out, Yamato pulled back sharp, and launched himself up and off the couch. He too off running, heading for his room with the intention of locking himself in there and cutting until he felt calm.
Mr. Ishida went after him, convinced more now than ever that what Yamato kept covered wasn't pretty.
He caught up with his son near the end of the hallway. For a middle-aged man, he moved fast. He reached out, pushed the blond gently. Yamato went down, stumbling over his feet from the sudden lack of balance.
He tried to get up again, but his father was on top of him, holding him down, preventing him from moving. For a split second, his mind flashed back to a certain night...
He started crying.
His dad pulled off his shirt.
v Yamato continued to lay there, crying, his secret exposed. His dad knew now. Oh, sure, he didn't know everything, but he knew more than he probably ever had really wanted to know. Yamato wanted to die. Slowly, with tears still streaming out of his eyes and snot coming out of his nose, Yamato sat up and turned around, facing his father.
The elder Ishida was staring at his son's body with a look of horror on his face.
Yamato cringed, afraid of what might be running through the other's mind at this moment. He let out a whimper, said a hoarse, "I'm sorry," then crumbled, crying harder than he ever had before.
That seemed to break the spell for Mr. Ishida. He reached out, grabbed Yamato, pulled him close in a tight hug, wanting to soothe him, but feeling helpless all the same.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why didn't you say something? What's been happening?"
Yamato didn't say anything, just kept crying into his father's chest, wishing he was somewhere, anywhere else right then. He hadn't wanted his father to find out.
+-+-+-+
Later, when both of them were calm and Yamato had stopped crying, he began to explain some of the things that had worried his father so. He explained how Kento was the most feared gang and how he had started beating up on Yamato. He explained that after awhile he just got sick of Kento and sick of hating himself, so that one day he just lost control and started cutting. "It's my salvation," Yamato whispered to his father.
Mr. Ishida wanted to know why that gang beat him up, but Yamato, being just as mystified, was unable to explain it to him.
"Well one thing is clear," Mr. Ishida said a little later after Yamato had explained everything about Kento. "You can't go on hurting yourself like you have been. Go and get that blade."
The blond gave him a panicky look. "You can't take it!" he cried. "I need it!"
The elder Ishida looked at his son in amazement. "Need it?" he asked. "For what?"
Yamato shrugged helplessly. How could he explain the sense of stability cutting himself gave him, the feeling of possessiveness, the relief it gave him to know he'd inflicted those cuts? Lightly he started to trail his fingers down the cut in his left arm where he'd dragged his blade through the skin over and over.
Mr. Ishida noticed this and grabbed his arm, inspecting the deep cut that still hadn't completely healed over. He frowned, looked up at Yamato. "What happened here?" he asked. "Did you do this?"
Yamato averted his eyes, not wanting to look at his father, not wanting to answer.
"You did, didn't you?" the man said quietly. "You did this to yourself. It's pretty deep. What, did you want to see if it would go all the way through?"
A shake of the head. "No, I..." he trailed off, once again finding words inadequate to express the utter rage he'd felt while inflicting that cut.
"Didn't it hurt? Doesn't any of it hurt? How can you do this to yourself?"
"You don't understand!" the blond cried, fed up with his father's questions. "It doesn't hurt! It never does! I just need it. You can't take it away from me, I won't let you!" With that Yamato jumped up from the couch and ran, ran out of the apartment and down the street, ignoring his father's call. He only stopped once he reached a secluded area of the park. Then he leaned against a tree, breathing heavily. After a few minutes he managed to regain his breath.
He reached his arm up and took a firm hold of one of the low hanging branches, then deftly swung himself up in the tree, continuing to climb until he felt he was high enough in the tree. Then he sat there and stared out over the park, thinking. Though on the outside he didn't cry and his face remained perfectly still, on the inside his mind was screaming, caught up in utter turmoil. His dad knew now. From now on, he'd be watched, inspected for new injuries. He'd never have a moment's peace to himself. Oh God, what must his dad be thinking of him now? He must hate him, and who'd blame him? His only son was a freak! A fucking moronic pathetic loser. Yamato just wanted to curl up in a little ball and die. No no no! his mind kept screaming over and over. His father knew, why? Why did he have to find out?
"I am a freak," Yamato whispered, and then the tears did come, not stopping for a long time.
+-+-+-+
His father was still sitting on the couch when Yamato came home some hours later. He didn't say anything as Yamato walked past him, just watched him silently.
Good. Yamato didn't want to deal with his father right now. Walking past him, he passed through the kitchen and down the hallway, shutting himself in his room. Once there, he drew out his blade from its hiding space. Then he raised his sleeve.
+-+-+-+
"Yamato?"
Somewhere, way far off, someone was calling his name. It was very faint.
"Yamato? ....Oh my God... Yamato!"
He was swimming in a crimson pond... darkness. Darkness for quite awhile. The pond was gone.
"He's losing a lot of blod! ... cross-match... is O posit.."
He winced. Something was in the darkness with him, poking him...
"...keep him steady..."
Slowly the darkness was leaving. There was a faint light seeping around the edges of the darkness, and it was growing steadily brighter...
"He's stable enough... move him... room..."
The darkness was completely gone now. Yamato opened his eyes.
+-+-+-+
"The hospital?" Yamato looked around at his surroundings in confusion. "Why am I here?"
Mr. Ishida had opened his mouth to reply when the door to the room suddenly burst open and Taichi raced in. He flung himself at the blond, sobbing wildly. Yamato awkwardly wrapped his arms around his best friend and held him as he cried.
"You stupid idiot!" Taichi sobbed. "You stupid, stupid idiot! Why did you do it? Why?! I almost... Oh God Yamato, I almost lost you!"
Yamato wrapped his arms tighter around the brunette, not even noticing when his father silently crept out of the room.
"I'm sorry, Taichi," he murmured. "I didn't mean to scare you. I ... I barely even remember what happened..."
Taichi lifted his head from the other boy's chest and looked at him. "You almost killed yourself," he whispered.
Yamato looked away, Taichi's words bringing a sudden flash of memory:standing in his room, slashing his arms with the boxcutter over and over again, feeling the blood gushing down his body, pooling around him on the floor, a feeling of intense dizziness overtaking him...
"Why would you do it Yamato? Why would you want to kill yourself?"
He could feel tears building up in his eyes. Oh no. Don't let him cry. Not in front of Taichi. But by then it was too late, tears were leaking out of his eyes and before he knew it the whole sorry mess with Kento was pouring out of his mouth.
Taichi listened quietly, and when Yamato was finally drained of speech, he pulled the boy close in a tight, fierce hug. Neither of them spoke for a long time.
"I'm so sorry, Yamato," Taichi finally mumbled. He leaned his head wearily on the blond's shoulder. "I.. I never knew. And then.. to think I almost lost you, without ever having a chance to tell you how much I love you..."
Yamato's breath hitched in his throat. Loved him? Did Taichi just...?
Taichi looked up at Yamato, who was staring down at the brunette in nothing short of shock. "Well, I do you know," he said quietly. "I have for a long time. I was just afraid to tell you, until this little incident helped me put thing in perspective.." he trailed off as he noticed Yamato starting to cry again. "What? What's wrong Yamato? It's okay if you don't feel the same way about me, you know."
Yamato shook his head. "No, I do like you Taichi. I like you a lot. It's just.." he stopped, sniffling.
"It's just what?" Taichi prompted softly.
"I thought you'd hate me if I told you. I thought you'd stop being my friend. After what you said about Hikari, I thought maybe.." he trailed off, surprised as Taichi began to laugh.
"Oh Yamato!" Taichi gasped out between giggles. "You always did worry too much! I didn't know you'd see it that way! I only said that about Hikari because I thought she'd get with Takeru. 'Sides," and here he sobered, "We're friends. I'd never hate you or drop you. I'd accept you no matter what."
"Taichi.. I'm such a fool."
"I love you anways."
Yamato let out a half-laugh, half-sob. "God, what a mess I've gotten myself into." He looked down at his scarred arms. "What am I going to do about this?" he asked Taichi, lifting an arm. "And Kento?"
"Tell your dad. He can get you help."
"Dad already knows."
"Then that's good. Tell him you've decided you want to get help."
"I don't know, Taichi.." Yamato began uncertainly.
Taichi reached up and gave the blond a quick peck on the forehead. "At least think about it." He stood. "I've got to go now. I'll be back tomorrow."
"'k. See ya Taichi."
+-+-+-+
"I'll do it," Yamato said the next day as Taichi walked into his hospital room.
"Do what, Yama?" Taichi asked, his face twisting into confusion.
"I'll... I'll get help," he admitted softly. "I can't go on doing this anymore. I can't keep destroying myself this way.."
"Yamato," Taichi breathed. He approached the bed, gathering the blond in his arms.
"You're doing the right thing," he murmured. "Thank you, Yamato."
Yamato smiled. "I love you, Taichi."
I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll
I hide behind a smile as this perfect plan unfolds
But oh God, I feel I've been lied to
Lost all faith in the things I have achieved
And I
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
Away from this place I have made
Won't you take me away from me
Crawling through this world as disease flows through my veins
I look into myself but my own heart has been changed
I can't go on like this
I loathe all I've become
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
Away from this place I have made
Won't you take me away from me
Lost in a dying world I reach for something more
I have grown so weary of this lie I live
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
I've woken now to find myself
I'm lost in shadows of my own
I'm longing to be lost in you
Away from me
-Evanescence, Away From Me
©2003 butterflie April 29, 2003 Tuesday 12:59AM
Author's Notes: Oh my god, the SAP!! *drowns* Ahem. Yeah. Obviously not one of my better pieces of work. The beginning isn't so bad, I like it. But when it gets to the band practice scene, everything just started going down-hill. It didn't help that this thing dragged on for a year. I know, Waiting's dragged on even longer, but I just got sick of this after awhile. As evidenced by that horrible ending. This was the very first fic I wrote that dealt with self-injury, and I was still working on fleshing out the characters personalities trying to keep them in character as much as possible while figuring out just how much something like this would change them. The one thing I can't stand most of all in fanfiction is when people write characters OOC (out of character), unless it was done in humor on purpose. I've been writing and reading Digimon fanfiction for over three years now, and it's obvious how much my writing style has changed and improved. This fic is when I was just was starting to really get a feel for writing Digimon fanfiction, everything before this was pretty much not so good. And then there's the matter of it being from a third person perspective. I can't do that. I just can't write well. I only do good with first person point of view. Ah, sorry for going on like this. Anyways, I just want you all to know that I understand the quality of writing is not so good, and I apologize for it, so don't feel afraid to tell me anything you don't like about this fic. I prefer reviewers to be honest in a way that doesn't attack me. I'm probably the only person that honestly judges my work, and judges it well. I've got high standards of writing, typical for one who wants to be a writer, but I know when something of mine is good or not, and this is mediocre. Even so, I hope it was tolerable. ^_^ Sorry it took so long to post. It was originally written completely in hand, and about half went through a re-write. There was also one scene that was left out when I typed it. It was stupid, and I didn't really see a major need for it. The only important thing about it was that Yamato was thinking about something Taichi had said to him about Hikari dating Miyako. He took it the wrong way, thinking Taichi didn't approve of homosexuality, thus that little thing at the end about Yamato fearing Taichi would stop being his friend. I hope that cleared things up. Sorry for making the author's notes so long, I'm good at doing that!
Digimon - PG-13 - English - Angst/General - Chapters: 1 - Words: 8431 - Reviews: 4 - Updated: 5-7-04 - Published: 5-7-04
Disclaimer: Digimon is not mine. But we all knew that, didn’t we?
Any work found within is purely fictitous, and is not meant to be taken seriously in any way. All characters not in Digimon are the work of the author and are not intended to represent any person in real life. Thank you.
Author’s notes, short and sweet: This fic deals with self-injurous behaviour, also known as SIB. If you are an SI’er, there may be some triggers in here, so please use caution when reading this. Also, this fic is AU (Alternate Universe) in that the Digiworld never happened.
This fic contains Yamachi (what else?) and TakeDai (duh). Also possible mentionings of Hiyako and Joushiro, as well as Gentsuii (OC 0 Genjitsu and Ratsuii). I know that the original characters from Waiting were supposed to have been confined to that fic, but they only have minor appearances. Kento’s gang, however, plays a major part in this fic. Also, I hate the name of Yamato’s band ><
Self-Destruction
by: butterflie, formerly known as Crimson Goddess
second writing: 7 October 2002 Monday 9:53PM
first writing: April 2002
Beep! Beep! Beep!
A pale hand shot out from under a pile of black covers and pounded the offending noise back into a state of blissful silence, cursing all the while at being woken against its will. Then it disappeared to burrow back under the covers, once more becoming part of the lump there.
Suddenly there was a banging on the bedroom door. It was a banging that seemed somehow sinful in the early morning stillness, and the lump groaned from deep beneath the covers that was its lair. A soft curse broke the blissful silence, followed by more groans and choice phrases that would have had even the most foul-mouthed of boys covering their ears.
“Yamato? Are you awake? You’ll be late for school! Hurry up and get ready!” Mr. Ishida yelled through the closed door.
The lump, now known as Ishida Yamato, groaned, shifted, then wa still once more.
Footsteps receding.
Five minutes later the banging started again, just as annoying as before. Yamato wanted to pound his father the way he’d pounded his alarm clock.
“Yamato?” Mr. Ishida said again. He got no answer. Sighing, he opened the door to the room which Mr. Ishida was more like a cave than anything else. Yamato, of course, thought otherwise.
Rather than be normal when re-doing his room five years ago, Yamato had begged and fought and pleaded with his father to have it done the way he’d desired. He’d gotten it painted the blackest black, with dark grey trim and a dark gray door that was barely distinguishable from the black of his walls. His floor had originally been hard wood, but carpet had been lain down. The carpet was black, as well as the various pieces of furniture adorning the room. There wasn’t much. A bed, a dresser, computer desk. The rest of his room was reserved for his guitar and amps, for he practiced a lot.
But to make matters worse, the only light he’d use in his room was a small desk lamp, and only then when it was completely dark outside and absolutely no more light could seep through the black shutter blinds covering his one solitary window.
Mr. Ishida stood in the dark room now, staring at the dim outline of his sleeping son burrowed deep beneath the black comforter. Yamato lay completely still, giving no sign of life or acknowledement that he’d heard his father a few minutes ago.
“Yamato, get UP!” Mr. Ishida said in annoyance, carefully making his way over to his son’s desk. He switched on the light before corssing over to the bed. He yanked back the covers, revealing a small, slender frame with pale skin and a mop of golden blond hair.
Upon having his covers so rudely from him, Yamato let out a rather girlish shriek and reached out, snatching them back from his father. He launched the covers back up over his head, then clutched them tightly.
Mr. Ishida, however, was not to be deterred. He grabbed the covers from Yamato once more, then, before the boy had time to react, reached down and hefted him up, standing him on his feet.
Yamato made as if he was going to lay back down, but instead Mr. Ishida forcibly propelled him over to the dresser, and placed his hand on the dresser knob.
The teen sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes. He pulled open the drawer, meanwhile glaring at his father. He begin to search through various articles of black clothing looking for his uniform and Mr. Ishida, satisfied, left the room.
Yamato would be late, but at least he was going to school today. There were many mornings lately in which he wouldn’t get up at all. He’d stay home, sleep all day, and Mr. Ishida suspected he often had nightmares. More than once he’d heard Yamato cry out. And when he DID go to school, he always came back looking for all the world ike he’d just been through a war.
Something was definitely up.
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“That’s 150 yen.”
Silently Yamato handed over his money to the sullen looking lady at the register, picked up his tray, and left the lunch line, not even bothering to wait for his ten yen change. He paused just outside the door, scanning the crowded cafeteria for his best friend, Yagami Taichi. Where was he? Was he even at school today?
Suddenly he remembered Mimi saying something that morning before homeroom, some statement about Taichi still being sick. He hadn’t given it much attention, he’d been too busy watching out for someone else. And the other day Nyusumi had remarked on Taichi not coming to watch their band practice lately. At the time, he’d assumed Taichi was just busy with other stuff. But now....
Frantically Yamato looked around the cafeteria, suddenly slightly panicked, hoping to catch a glimpse of the poofy brown hair or perhaps the soccer uniform his best friend wore on game days such as today. No such luck. Taichi wasn’t here. Dammit.
Feeling apprehensive and more than a little nervous, the blond cautiously made his way over to an empty table in the middle of the room, ice blue eyes darting side to side, head somewhat downcast. He wished, not for the first time, that another of his friends had this lunch, so that when Taichi was absent, he wouldn’t feel so desperately alone. But the only other person he knew with this lunch was Genjitsu, Ratsuii’s boyfriend. Ratsuii was one of the members of his band, the lead guitarist and also most of the back-up vocals. Well, actually, it wasn’t his band. Ny’s band. It had been Nyusumi and Kenji who’d originally started it.
But in any case, he was NOT about to go sit with Gen and all of his cruude, rowdy friends.
‘Dammit!’ he berated himself silently. ‘I shouldn’t have cut my morning classes! At least then I would have realized Taichi wasn’t here, and I could have avoided the cafeteria! Baka!’
Well, maybe they’d be kind enough to leave him alone, though he didn’t let himself believe it, not even for an instant. In any case, they didn’t really chance to bother him during lunch anyways. It was between classes, and after school, that they hassled him so.
Shrugging in a failed attempt to convince himself he didn’t care, he picked up his chopsticks and began to eat, wincing at the bad taste of the cafeteria food.
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“Alright, so if we have a dominant blond gene, big A, big A, and another dominant gene big A, little a, how many big A, big A offspring would we have? How many big A, little a? How about little a, little a? Would anyone like to volunteer to draw the punnet squares on the board?”
Only a few enthusiastic hands waved in the air. Tadaji Sensei looked around the room and picked one of them at random.
The student came up and drew it correctly. “Very good. I think you guys have this down well,” the teacher said, just as the bell rang “Alright, don’t forget to study for tomorrow’s test. Dismissed. Ishida-kun, see me for a list of back assignments please.”
All around the room, bored looking students began to pack up books and leave, talking loudly to their friends, each of their voices rising in volume to compete to be heard. Books slammed, notebooks clapped shut, and zippers zipped. The sounds echoed around the fast emptying room, provoking a feeling of dread in Yamato.
They’d be waiting for him, he knew. Waiting for him round the corner just off school property. They’d told him as much after fifth class. He’d hoped to leave early enough so that he might avoid them, but with Tadaji Sensei wanting to see him, there was no hope of that now.
Slowly, he grabbed his biology book and stood, then made his way over to Sensei’s desk. “Hai, Sensei,” he said, speaking in something of a monotone. He stood motionless as Sensei began going over the assignments he’d missed during his week’s absence, barely listening, his mind ruminating as he anticipated the upcoming inevitable.
He didn’t want to leave the virtual safety net school created. He knew that once he did, they’d be waiting for him, waiting to call him harsh names, torment him with cruel laughter and beat him into a state of oblivion.
Most days they hit him until he fell unconscious, all the while tossing insults at him. In some places where they’d hit him hard enough, blood always started pooling out of his battered body, the coppery smell mingling with the stench of his sweat and the fear radiating out of him. It was just one more thing for them to taunt him with.
Sento perhaps sometimes brought out his prized possession, his knife, flashing it in and out of Yamato’s blood-crusted view, drawing it extremely close to his body and then rearing back again, teasing him. The blade was always gleaming in the sunlight the glare momentarily blinding him. Sento always took good care of his knife.
Finally they would tire of tormenting him, and they left him laying pitifully on the sidewalk, barely able to even move, much less stand and walk home. Then he’d lay there in humiliation and self-pity, hating himself more and more by the second, hating the fact that he was so weak, so afra-
“Ishida-kun? Ishida Yamato-kun? Are you listening?”
Yamato blinked. “Eh... h-hai, Sensei.”
Tadaji Sensei grinned ruefully, shaking his head. “No you’re not. If you had been, you would have realized you can go home now.”
“Saa... gomen nasai yo, Sensei,” he apologized, a light blush staining his cheeks. “Jaa, mata ashita.”
He hefted the heavy book under his other arm and left the classroom, stopping briefly at his locker to exchange his biology book for his Japanese notebook. If he came to school tomorrow, he would have a Kanji test, and studying tonight would help keep his mind off of other things, such as the injuries he knew he’d have.
He shut his locker door, and leaned his head against it with a sigh. This was all so unfair. He shouldn’t have to worry about all this. He hadn’t done anything to deserve it, and he didn’t know why Kento would want him anyways. Plenty of other guys in the school to pick on, why couldn’t they go after them instead?
“All students should be out of the school by now, Yamato,” Principal Nakamura said as she walked by.
The teen glared briefly, but did as she said and reluctantly exited the school.
They slammed into him hard the second he stepped off school grounds. Tetsuya shoved him sprawling to the ground, and Sento grabbed his notebook out of his hands, tossing it carelessly aside. It landed with a soft thud in the grass. Yamato made a small, startled noise in the back of his throat, and the gang laughed. They began to circle around him menacingly, trapping him.
Things ended up going pretty much as he’d thought. Once they’d finally left and were long out of sight, it was a full thirty minutes before he was able to sit and retrieve his notebook, lying forgotten on the grass.
He walked the route home very slowly, hot tears pricking at his eyes, tears he absolutely refused to cry. He wiped them away, but they just gathered again. He was tired and sore all over, and Sento’s knife had rather sharply grazed his leg, though whether on purpose or accident he didn’t know. He opted for the former.
As he walked, the rage he felt every time began to swell up inside again. He was angry at Kento and his stupid gang, and angry Kenji couldn’t do anything to stop his brothers and their friends, but most of all he was angry at himself.
He hated himself for being such a coward, angry that he wouldn’t even attempt to defend himself, whether it did any good or not. He hated that he didn’t know why Kento had chosen him, and hated it even more that he couldn’t stop any of it.
He reached the apartment he and his dad lived in without further mishap, and after a frantic search for his misplaced key, let himself in the front door. His father wasn’t home, as usual, so Yamato didn’t have to worry about his father asking him questions about everything. ‘Thank the gods for that’ the blond thought as he locked himself in the bathroom. He didn’t bother to clean himself up, just angrily stared at his sorry looking reflection in the mirror over the sink, the rage he’d felt on the way home still accompanying him.
He reached out a trembling hand and lightly touched his reflection. The glass felt smooth and cool to the touch. Completely opposite of the emotions he was feeling now. “Fucking moronic pathetic loser,” he whispered to the tear-streaked teen in the mirror. Somehow the tears had found a way out, despite his efforts to keep them in. He sighed and leaned his head back against the opposite wall. “I’m so hopeless...” He stayed that way for a few minutes, then suddenly jerked up and glared at his twin trapped on the other side of the glass. “I hate you!! Fucking moronic pathetic loser...” he repeated it, feeling a little angrier as he did. Yet, at the same time, he also felt a little better. So he repeated it a third time. And a fourth, slightly louder. And a fifth, louder still, like a mantra. And a sixth, and a seventh, an eighth, a ninth, until he was yelling the words, his face right up against the mirror.
Suddenly he felt an irrational surge of rage, unlike anything he’d felt before. He felt so out of control of himself. He wanted to hit things, to break them. He wanted to scream and scream and never have to stop. He wanted to pick up something and hurl it out a window. He wanted to take a knife and slash things. Desperately he tried to calm down, afraid of what he might do. He felt so out of control. Why couldn’t he calm himself? “Please.. I need...” But it was no use. There was no fighting what he felt. Unable to supress his rage and his actions, he ran into the kitchen, snatched a boxcutter from the junk drawer, and slashed. And slashed. And slashed. And slashed.
Already he felt control begin to seep back into him, forcing the rage out. He continued to slash his arm, not really aware of what he was doing. He started to slash his other arm, and even his chest. He lost all sense of time, caught up in the swirl of emotions he was currently experiencing. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes. He didn’t know.
Only when the front door slammed did he come back to himself. Throwing the blood smeared boxcutter back in the drawer, he fled to the safety of his room, locking the door behind him.
Yamato looked down at the bloody mess he’d made of his arms and chest with consternation and yet, at the same time, a strange sense of pride. They were his, these cuts. He’d inflicted them himself. Not Sento. Not Kento. They were his.
“Yamato?” his father knocked on his door. “Tadaima.”
“Okaeri,” Yamato replied, managing to sound normal. “Be out in a minute.” He rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, unable to do anything about the cuts and not really wanting to. The blood would stop soon enough. He looked down at himself, immediately realizing the state of his clothes. They were caked with dirt and blood and grass stains from the beating he’d taken earlier. Plus, where he had slashed up his chest, there were matching slashes on his shirt, because he had cut through it in his rage.
“Oh hell,” he said out loud, going over to his dresser. He shed the clothes he was wearing, swapping them for clean ones. Then he left his room and headed to their small living room, flopping down on the couch with a loud sigh.
Mr. Ishida didn’t look up from the tv where was mindlessly flipping through channels. He winced when he caught a glimpse of himself on a rerun of the news. He hated to watch himself on tv.
Yamato sighed again, and the elder Ishida glanced over at his son, frowning when he spotted a purplish bruise on the boy’s left cheek. “What happened to you?” he asked, pointing to the injury.
Yamato frowned, reached up and touched his cheek, wincing at the pain even that light touch brought. “I got in a fight.”
Mr. Ishida raised his eyebrows, but his only comment was “You put ice on that?”
Yamato shook his head. “No.” Then, before his father could say anything else, he decided to change the subject. “I have band practice tonight. I need to leave soon. Probably won’t be back home until late. Will you leave the door unlocked?”
The man nodded. “Be careful.”
Yamato said nothing to that, just stood and slowly made his way into the kitchen for food, trying not to groan when he bumped his head on the low hanging chandelier that was his father’s only claim from the house he’d left in the divorce.
+-+-+-+
“Hey Yamato, how -oh jesus, what happened to you?!” This was the greeting he received upon walking into Nyusumi’s house for band practice. “Kento,” came the quiet reply, and Kenji flinched. “Yamato, I’d stop him and Sento if I could..” he began, then trailed off. He knew he couldn’t, Yamato knew he couldn’t, the band knew he couldn’t, and there was no point in reiterating so. It’d be wiser to just shut up. Which was precisely what he did.
Silently Yamato set down his guitar case and opened it. Ny, Kenji, and Ratsuii watched him, not saying anything. In truth, they really didn’t know what to say.
The blond finished setting up and looked over at Ny, who was fingering his blue-streaked hair nervously. “Taichi’s not here?”
Nyusumi let go of his hair, choosing instead to look down at his keyboard. “Couldn’t make it. Hikari caught the flu from him and he’s stuck taking care of her. Sorry Yamato.”
The teen merely sighed. “S’aright. Not like it’s your fault or anything anyways.”
“No, but I know how much you wanted to see him...” Ny said, in a rather suggestive tone.
Yamato blushed and looked down at the floor. “Taichi’s just my friend. Nothing more.”
“Yet,” Ratsuii added, grinning. “He’s nothing more yet.”
“Oh shutup and let’s just practice.”
+-+-+-+
It was dark on the way home. That made sense, considering it was 1130PM. Band practice had gone over fairly well, until Genjitsu showed up and began screwing Ratz into oblivion. Then Ny’s twin sister, Emiko, walked in on them and started chewing them out. And then Kenji had started hitting on Emi, and the Asashi’s returned home, and the successful practice had become chaos.
Oh well, Yamato reflected as he walked along the dark streets of Odaiba. It could have been worse. He continued along the sidewalk, not frightened in the least by the looming shadows of the tall apartment buildings lining both sides of the street.
There was a slight breeze that swayed the trees, and a nearby clap of thunder made Yamato jump. “Oh bloody hell, it’s going to rain,” he muttered. He wished he could run, but since he was carrying his guitar, that was rather impossible. Luckily the rain didn’t start up until he was but a few feet from his apartment; big fat drops of cold H2O. They fell fast and hard as thunder rumbled again, but not many landed on the blond before he entered the building.
He nodded a hello to Miss Niko as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for his floor.
“Hello Yamato,” Miss Niko greeted him pleasantly. “You’re out late.”
“Yeah, I just got back from band practice.”
“That’s right, you’re in that band.. what was the name?”
“Teenage Wolves.”
“Hai, hai, I remember now. My daughters are big fans of yours.” She smiled. “They want to date you. Guess I better not mention you live in this building.”
Yamato blushed, brushing back blond strands nervously. “Yeah, well.. I’d appreciate it,” he said sheepishly.
The elevator lurched sickeningly, then stopped, and the doors slid open smoothly with a ting! Yamato lifted his guitar case back up and stepped off, waving goodbye to Miss Niko. He headed down the corridor until he reached his apartment.
The door was open. Good. His father had remembered then. He let himself in quietly, not wanting to wake his father. After setting down his guitar, he headed to his room and crawled into bed, not even bothering to undress. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
+-+-+-+
“Yamato! Get up! You’ll be late!”
The blond groaned and buried himself deeper under the covers. He wasn’t going to school today. He didn’t want to have to face Kento. And he was so damn sore. They’d beat him worse yesterday, perhaps as punishment for avoiding them the last few days.
“Yamato?” Mr. Ishida asked, coming into the teen’s room. There was no movement from said teen whatsoever. Mr. Ishida sighed. “Yamato, I’m getting tired of having to go through this every day. Get up. Now.”
Still no response. The elder Ishida was starting to get annoyed. He yanked off the covers and pulled the boy to his feet.
Yamato merely crumpled right where he was, as if he was a doll not made for standing.
Angrily, Mr. Ishida reached down and grasped Yamato’s left arm tightly, and pulled him back up.
Yamato’s eyes snapped open, and his mouth opened to let out a loud scream of pain. Tears came to his eyes as he reared back away from his startled father. Still crying, he dived back in bed and huddled under the covers, cradling his stinging arm.
Mr. Ishida was too surprised to even say anything. Instead he just left the room, shutting the door behind him.
+-+-+-+
“Hey.”
Startled, Yamato rolled his sleeves back down and whirled around. “Taichi!”
Taichi offered a hesistant smile. “Your dad said you were back here, and had been all day.”
“My dad stayed home all day?” Yamato asked in disbelief.
Taichi merely shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so. From the way he was talking, it sounded as if he did.”
Yamato raised his eyebrows, more than slightly surprised. His dad, the workaholic, the man who had been working during the birth of his second son, had actually taken a day off? And for no seemingly apparent reason. “My dad stayed home?” he asked Taichi again.
Taichi laughed. “You act as if you’ve just been handed a check for a million yen!” he said.
The blond laughed too, but then winced as it made the sore muscles in his face ache. Taichi didn’t notice. Or, if he did, he didn’t say anything. Yamato figured it was the latter, because there was no way Taichi missed the bruise on his cheek.
“So...” Yamato said.
“So...” Taichi echoed.
The silence stretched, and grew uncomfortable.
At last, fed up with the silence, Taichi broke it. “How come you weren’t at school?”
A shrug. “How come you weren’t yesterday?”
“I was sick. I’ve been gone all week. Haven’t you noticed?” Taichi asked, somewhat incredulous. How could he not have noticed?
The teen shrugged again, fixed his blue eyes elsewhere, not looking at Taichi. “I haven’t been at school, except for yesterday.”
“You skipped?”
“No.... I just stayed home, didn’t go. Dad knows.”
“Why? Do you want to fail?”
Yamato didn’t reply. Instead, he glanced around the room nervously. Even though he wasn’t looking at him, he could feel Taichi’s stare, and it was making him even more uncomfortable than he already felt. He didn’t want Taichi to find out about Kento, that he skipped school because he was too much of a coward to stop the gang’s abuse of him.
“Yamato?” Taichi asked again.
“What?”
“Yamato! Mou ii!” (in this case, it’s loosely “Enough already!”)
“Mou ii yourself Taichi! It’s none of your business why I stayed home,” Yamato snapped.
Taichi glared at him. “It is so my business! You’re my friend! I don’t want to see you fail!”
“I’m not going to fail. I’m fine, Taichi.”
“You are not fine,” Taichi muttered, then fell silent.
Yamato didn’t say anything, and the two boys were back in the uncomfortable silence of earlier.
Taichi was once again the first to say anything. “Well uh.. I gotta get him. See you at school tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.
“Maybe,” Yamato replied quietly, not making any promises.
The brunette stood. “Ok then,” he said, then was gone.
Yamato groaned and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
He hated this, hating feeling so guilty. He’d made Taichi worry about him. He hadn’t meant to do that.
But he couldn’t very well explain anything to Taichi either. The boy would just worry more. Or worse, he’d try to stop it, and then Kento would beat him up too. And that was a thing Yamato never wanted to see happen.
..... Now he was worrying about Taichi. Great. Life was just wonderful.
He needed his boxcutter.
+-+-+-+
His dad stayed home from work again the next day, but Yamato went to school.
He managed to avoid Kento all morning but was so afraid he’d see them that by lunchtime he was exhausted. Wearily, he handed over his yen to the lunch lady, then went out to look for Taichi.
He spotted the wild brown hair about five tables away, and worked his way over there, finally sitting down at the table with a sigh.
Taichi looked up as the blond set down his tray, then grinned. “Hey, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d skipped lunch.”
“I got in the line late,” Yamato replied, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn.
“That’s always your excuse!”
Yamato just rolled his eyes. “It is not.”
“Yes it is,” Taichi insisted. “That, or, ‘I had band practice’.”
“Hey!” Yamato protested. “That’s not fair! I have band practice a lot! I can’t help it!”
“Well maybe you wouldn’t have it so much if your band actually practiced.”
The blond merely glared at Taichi and refused to speak to him for the next five minutes.
“Okay, I can’t stand this silence any longer!” he burst out. “Taichi, why aren’t you saying anything? Normally it’s impossible to shut you up!”
Taichi shrugged. “You said you weren’t speaking to me anymore. I figured you weren’t listening, either.”
He glared again. “Well, I changed my mind. “Speak.”
Taichi laughed, then did as commanded, chattering about how snobby Sora’s new boyfriend was.
Yamato smiled and basked in the silence.
+-+-+-+
“You ready to go?” Taichi asked, stopping by Yamato’s desk after the last bell had rung.
Yamato looked down at his desk. He didn’t dare look at Taichi. “You go on without me,” he mumbled. “I have to stay after class.”
The brunette frowned. “I can wait.”
“No, it will be awhile. I have to make up a test.”
The frown deepened. “For what? None of our teachers told me about a test.”
“English.”
“Oh. Ok then. See ya later?”
“Yeah.”
Taichi left. Yamato continued to sit there, not wanting to leave. He’d bumped into Tetsuya between sixth and seventh and had been warned there’d be dire consequences if he tried to avoid them.
If only Kenji could do something about it.
He honestly didn’t know why Kento picked on him. Why him, out of all the other kids in this school? Was it because he was friends with Kenji? Was it because he was in a famous band? Or maybe something else. Because of the way he looked? Because of the way he dressed? Or... was it because he was gay?
If so, Yamato wondered how they knew, because nobody else knew about it. He told no one, and the band’s teasing about liking Taichi was simply that, teasing. Maybe they suspected, but they had no proof. And he planned to keep it that way. Though if -
“Yamato?”
The boy in question looked up. Tadaji Sensei was standing over him, looking slightly confused.
“Are you planning on leaving anytime soon? Or did you just figure you’d stick around all night?”
“Eto.. hai Sensei. Gomen,” he replied, a light blush staining his cheeks. Slowly he stood and retrieved his books, waving goodbye to Tadaji Sensei as he left. A quick stop at his locker, and all too soon he found himself exiting the school.
He started to walk home, looking fearfully over his shoulder every step of the way. So far, there seemed to be no sign of Kento anywhere.
He was only two blocks from his apartment when he rounded a corner, and there they were, waiting for him.
“Crap,” he muttered under his breath as Sento let out a yell. They had spotted him.
+-+-+-+
Yamato lay motionless on the sidewalk, not able to move and not wanting to. Once again, they’d beat him pretty badly, and once again he felt as if he’d just been run over by an eighteen wheeler. And once again, he hated himself for being so damn weak. He knew it was a given he’d cut once he got home again.
Home. Where his was dad was.
Damn.
Maybe he should just lay on the sidewalk for the rest of his life. It didn’t really seem like such a bad idea. It meant he wouldn’t have to face his dad and the endless questions that were sure to come.
Groaning, he sat up, trying hard to ignore the pain. Bad enough he was still sore from the other day, but now he had today’s pain to add to it. He hated pain.
Carefully, he maneuvered himself to his feet, then slowly walked the two blocks home.
He let himself into the apartment quietly, hoping he wouldn’t alert his dad to his presence. For once luck was with him, and he made it to the bathroom without being spotted.
Gently, Yamato pulled off his shirt, then tenderly examined the angry looking cuts and bruises that painted his body.
It only made him more angry, seeing what he allowed Kento to do to him. Dammit he hated being so weak and submissive! He could at least fight back or something. Hell, slash ‘em with his boxcutter or something.
He took out his boxcutter and stared at it. He could... no! The boxcutter was his own, his salvation from the pain. It made the only cuts on his body not inflicted by Kento’s gang. He didn’t want it tainted with their blood.
He took the boxcutter and drew it down the length of his left arm. Like this cut, for example. He’d made it himself, just now. So it was his.
He traced the newly made cut lightly with his finger, wiping up the blood that had begun to flow out. Then he switched the boxcutter to his left hand and made a similar slash down his right arm.
Then he switched again and ran the blade through the cut he’d just made, digging it deeper. It hurt like hell, but at the same time it felt wonderful, liberating. It was almost as if he could feel the stress and tension leave his body, only to be replaced by relief.
He continued to do this over and over, the same actions stuck on continuous repeat. It was as if he’d entered some kind of trance, broken only when there was a knock on the door.
“Yamato? Is that you?” It was his dad, of course. Who else would be here to knock on the bathroom door?
Yamato jerked back in surprise, the boxcutter slipping from his hand and clattering on the floor. He leaned down to pick it up, and as he was straightening up again, he banged his head on the vanity. Tears of instant pain pricked at his eyes.
“Yamato? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” the blond called out. “Be out soon.”
He listened until he no longer heard his father, then quickly pulled his shirt back on and slipped outside down the hall to his room. Once there he changed clothes, then looked in the mirror on his door to see if there were any more visible bruises.
There were. The skin on his left cheek had adapted a strange purplish discoloration. It matched his other cheek. Damn damn damn! He knew his dad would ask about it.
Sighing, Yamato opened the door and went down the hall into the kitchen. His dad was there, pulling some sandwich makings out of the fridge. He turned around, arms full of bologna and mustard, and caught sight of his battered son.
He let out a loud sigh. “Let me guess. A fight?”
The teen mumbled something incoherent.
Mr. Ishida sighed again, but dropped the subject, much to Yamato’s relief.
“Taichi called,” he said as a way of new topic. “I told him I’d have you call when you got in.”
Yamato nodded.
Failing to get a response out of him, Mr. Ishida began to fix his sandwich, and Yamato disappeared into the livingroom to call Taichi.
+-+-+-+
Yamato did not go to school all the next week. Nor did his dad go to work.
Several days later, Yamato woke around twelve. He got up, and when he went into the livingroom his dad was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the mute television set. He looked up when the boy walked in, fully dressed as usual.
Yamato went and sat on the couch next to him, and the two sat there in silence for some time, before his dad suddenly spoke up.
"I want to know what's going on, Yamato."
There was no reply, and when Mr. Ishida glanced over at his son, he noticed the boy had gone pale. Nonplussed, Mr. Ishida plundered on. "I want to know why you get into fights, why you have bruises plastered all over your face, why you cover your body with clothing.. I know you're hiding something from me Yamato. You have been for a few months now. And I'm tired of being kept in the dark. Take off your shirt. I want to see what you're hiding."
Wildly, Yamato shook his head no.
However, Mr. Ishida was not to be deterred. Reaching over, he grabbed Yamato's shirt and started to pull.
Shocked, and terrified his dad would find out, Yamato pulled back sharp, and launched himself up and off the couch. He too off running, heading for his room with the intention of locking himself in there and cutting until he felt calm.
Mr. Ishida went after him, convinced more now than ever that what Yamato kept covered wasn't pretty.
He caught up with his son near the end of the hallway. For a middle-aged man, he moved fast. He reached out, pushed the blond gently. Yamato went down, stumbling over his feet from the sudden lack of balance.
He tried to get up again, but his father was on top of him, holding him down, preventing him from moving. For a split second, his mind flashed back to a certain night...
He started crying.
His dad pulled off his shirt.
v Yamato continued to lay there, crying, his secret exposed. His dad knew now. Oh, sure, he didn't know everything, but he knew more than he probably ever had really wanted to know. Yamato wanted to die. Slowly, with tears still streaming out of his eyes and snot coming out of his nose, Yamato sat up and turned around, facing his father.
The elder Ishida was staring at his son's body with a look of horror on his face.
Yamato cringed, afraid of what might be running through the other's mind at this moment. He let out a whimper, said a hoarse, "I'm sorry," then crumbled, crying harder than he ever had before.
That seemed to break the spell for Mr. Ishida. He reached out, grabbed Yamato, pulled him close in a tight hug, wanting to soothe him, but feeling helpless all the same.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why didn't you say something? What's been happening?"
Yamato didn't say anything, just kept crying into his father's chest, wishing he was somewhere, anywhere else right then. He hadn't wanted his father to find out.
+-+-+-+
Later, when both of them were calm and Yamato had stopped crying, he began to explain some of the things that had worried his father so. He explained how Kento was the most feared gang and how he had started beating up on Yamato. He explained that after awhile he just got sick of Kento and sick of hating himself, so that one day he just lost control and started cutting. "It's my salvation," Yamato whispered to his father.
Mr. Ishida wanted to know why that gang beat him up, but Yamato, being just as mystified, was unable to explain it to him.
"Well one thing is clear," Mr. Ishida said a little later after Yamato had explained everything about Kento. "You can't go on hurting yourself like you have been. Go and get that blade."
The blond gave him a panicky look. "You can't take it!" he cried. "I need it!"
The elder Ishida looked at his son in amazement. "Need it?" he asked. "For what?"
Yamato shrugged helplessly. How could he explain the sense of stability cutting himself gave him, the feeling of possessiveness, the relief it gave him to know he'd inflicted those cuts? Lightly he started to trail his fingers down the cut in his left arm where he'd dragged his blade through the skin over and over.
Mr. Ishida noticed this and grabbed his arm, inspecting the deep cut that still hadn't completely healed over. He frowned, looked up at Yamato. "What happened here?" he asked. "Did you do this?"
Yamato averted his eyes, not wanting to look at his father, not wanting to answer.
"You did, didn't you?" the man said quietly. "You did this to yourself. It's pretty deep. What, did you want to see if it would go all the way through?"
A shake of the head. "No, I..." he trailed off, once again finding words inadequate to express the utter rage he'd felt while inflicting that cut.
"Didn't it hurt? Doesn't any of it hurt? How can you do this to yourself?"
"You don't understand!" the blond cried, fed up with his father's questions. "It doesn't hurt! It never does! I just need it. You can't take it away from me, I won't let you!" With that Yamato jumped up from the couch and ran, ran out of the apartment and down the street, ignoring his father's call. He only stopped once he reached a secluded area of the park. Then he leaned against a tree, breathing heavily. After a few minutes he managed to regain his breath.
He reached his arm up and took a firm hold of one of the low hanging branches, then deftly swung himself up in the tree, continuing to climb until he felt he was high enough in the tree. Then he sat there and stared out over the park, thinking. Though on the outside he didn't cry and his face remained perfectly still, on the inside his mind was screaming, caught up in utter turmoil. His dad knew now. From now on, he'd be watched, inspected for new injuries. He'd never have a moment's peace to himself. Oh God, what must his dad be thinking of him now? He must hate him, and who'd blame him? His only son was a freak! A fucking moronic pathetic loser. Yamato just wanted to curl up in a little ball and die. No no no! his mind kept screaming over and over. His father knew, why? Why did he have to find out?
"I am a freak," Yamato whispered, and then the tears did come, not stopping for a long time.
+-+-+-+
His father was still sitting on the couch when Yamato came home some hours later. He didn't say anything as Yamato walked past him, just watched him silently.
Good. Yamato didn't want to deal with his father right now. Walking past him, he passed through the kitchen and down the hallway, shutting himself in his room. Once there, he drew out his blade from its hiding space. Then he raised his sleeve.
+-+-+-+
"Yamato?"
Somewhere, way far off, someone was calling his name. It was very faint.
"Yamato? ....Oh my God... Yamato!"
He was swimming in a crimson pond... darkness. Darkness for quite awhile. The pond was gone.
"He's losing a lot of blod! ... cross-match... is O posit.."
He winced. Something was in the darkness with him, poking him...
"...keep him steady..."
Slowly the darkness was leaving. There was a faint light seeping around the edges of the darkness, and it was growing steadily brighter...
"He's stable enough... move him... room..."
The darkness was completely gone now. Yamato opened his eyes.
+-+-+-+
"The hospital?" Yamato looked around at his surroundings in confusion. "Why am I here?"
Mr. Ishida had opened his mouth to reply when the door to the room suddenly burst open and Taichi raced in. He flung himself at the blond, sobbing wildly. Yamato awkwardly wrapped his arms around his best friend and held him as he cried.
"You stupid idiot!" Taichi sobbed. "You stupid, stupid idiot! Why did you do it? Why?! I almost... Oh God Yamato, I almost lost you!"
Yamato wrapped his arms tighter around the brunette, not even noticing when his father silently crept out of the room.
"I'm sorry, Taichi," he murmured. "I didn't mean to scare you. I ... I barely even remember what happened..."
Taichi lifted his head from the other boy's chest and looked at him. "You almost killed yourself," he whispered.
Yamato looked away, Taichi's words bringing a sudden flash of memory:standing in his room, slashing his arms with the boxcutter over and over again, feeling the blood gushing down his body, pooling around him on the floor, a feeling of intense dizziness overtaking him...
"Why would you do it Yamato? Why would you want to kill yourself?"
He could feel tears building up in his eyes. Oh no. Don't let him cry. Not in front of Taichi. But by then it was too late, tears were leaking out of his eyes and before he knew it the whole sorry mess with Kento was pouring out of his mouth.
Taichi listened quietly, and when Yamato was finally drained of speech, he pulled the boy close in a tight, fierce hug. Neither of them spoke for a long time.
"I'm so sorry, Yamato," Taichi finally mumbled. He leaned his head wearily on the blond's shoulder. "I.. I never knew. And then.. to think I almost lost you, without ever having a chance to tell you how much I love you..."
Yamato's breath hitched in his throat. Loved him? Did Taichi just...?
Taichi looked up at Yamato, who was staring down at the brunette in nothing short of shock. "Well, I do you know," he said quietly. "I have for a long time. I was just afraid to tell you, until this little incident helped me put thing in perspective.." he trailed off as he noticed Yamato starting to cry again. "What? What's wrong Yamato? It's okay if you don't feel the same way about me, you know."
Yamato shook his head. "No, I do like you Taichi. I like you a lot. It's just.." he stopped, sniffling.
"It's just what?" Taichi prompted softly.
"I thought you'd hate me if I told you. I thought you'd stop being my friend. After what you said about Hikari, I thought maybe.." he trailed off, surprised as Taichi began to laugh.
"Oh Yamato!" Taichi gasped out between giggles. "You always did worry too much! I didn't know you'd see it that way! I only said that about Hikari because I thought she'd get with Takeru. 'Sides," and here he sobered, "We're friends. I'd never hate you or drop you. I'd accept you no matter what."
"Taichi.. I'm such a fool."
"I love you anways."
Yamato let out a half-laugh, half-sob. "God, what a mess I've gotten myself into." He looked down at his scarred arms. "What am I going to do about this?" he asked Taichi, lifting an arm. "And Kento?"
"Tell your dad. He can get you help."
"Dad already knows."
"Then that's good. Tell him you've decided you want to get help."
"I don't know, Taichi.." Yamato began uncertainly.
Taichi reached up and gave the blond a quick peck on the forehead. "At least think about it." He stood. "I've got to go now. I'll be back tomorrow."
"'k. See ya Taichi."
+-+-+-+
"I'll do it," Yamato said the next day as Taichi walked into his hospital room.
"Do what, Yama?" Taichi asked, his face twisting into confusion.
"I'll... I'll get help," he admitted softly. "I can't go on doing this anymore. I can't keep destroying myself this way.."
"Yamato," Taichi breathed. He approached the bed, gathering the blond in his arms.
"You're doing the right thing," he murmured. "Thank you, Yamato."
Yamato smiled. "I love you, Taichi."
I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll
I hide behind a smile as this perfect plan unfolds
But oh God, I feel I've been lied to
Lost all faith in the things I have achieved
And I
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
Away from this place I have made
Won't you take me away from me
Crawling through this world as disease flows through my veins
I look into myself but my own heart has been changed
I can't go on like this
I loathe all I've become
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
Away from this place I have made
Won't you take me away from me
Lost in a dying world I reach for something more
I have grown so weary of this lie I live
I've woken now to find myself
In the shadows of all I have created
I'm longing to be lost in you
I've woken now to find myself
I'm lost in shadows of my own
I'm longing to be lost in you
Away from me
-Evanescence, Away From Me
©2003 butterflie April 29, 2003 Tuesday 12:59AM
Author's Notes: Oh my god, the SAP!! *drowns* Ahem. Yeah. Obviously not one of my better pieces of work. The beginning isn't so bad, I like it. But when it gets to the band practice scene, everything just started going down-hill. It didn't help that this thing dragged on for a year. I know, Waiting's dragged on even longer, but I just got sick of this after awhile. As evidenced by that horrible ending. This was the very first fic I wrote that dealt with self-injury, and I was still working on fleshing out the characters personalities trying to keep them in character as much as possible while figuring out just how much something like this would change them. The one thing I can't stand most of all in fanfiction is when people write characters OOC (out of character), unless it was done in humor on purpose. I've been writing and reading Digimon fanfiction for over three years now, and it's obvious how much my writing style has changed and improved. This fic is when I was just was starting to really get a feel for writing Digimon fanfiction, everything before this was pretty much not so good. And then there's the matter of it being from a third person perspective. I can't do that. I just can't write well. I only do good with first person point of view. Ah, sorry for going on like this. Anyways, I just want you all to know that I understand the quality of writing is not so good, and I apologize for it, so don't feel afraid to tell me anything you don't like about this fic. I prefer reviewers to be honest in a way that doesn't attack me. I'm probably the only person that honestly judges my work, and judges it well. I've got high standards of writing, typical for one who wants to be a writer, but I know when something of mine is good or not, and this is mediocre. Even so, I hope it was tolerable. ^_^ Sorry it took so long to post. It was originally written completely in hand, and about half went through a re-write. There was also one scene that was left out when I typed it. It was stupid, and I didn't really see a major need for it. The only important thing about it was that Yamato was thinking about something Taichi had said to him about Hikari dating Miyako. He took it the wrong way, thinking Taichi didn't approve of homosexuality, thus that little thing at the end about Yamato fearing Taichi would stop being his friend. I hope that cleared things up. Sorry for making the author's notes so long, I'm good at doing that!