Tearing Me Apart
Yamato has been cutting himself for a year now, and wants help. However, he's afraid... can he find the courage to tell someone? Contains self-injury. Taichi/Yamato friendship fic. R&R please? Angsty!
Digimon - PG-13 - English - Angst/General - Chapters: 2 - Words: 16620 - Reviews: 16 - Updated: 12-9-03 - Published: 12-7-03
Disclaimer: Digimon is not mine. It belongs to Toei Animation and original creators. Arrangement of words and any characters not mentioned in Digimon series belong to me. Please do not reproduce any of this in any way. The lyrics belong to Linkin Park, and are from the song called “In the End” on the CD Hybrid Theory, Track 8.
Author’s Notes: Well, I didn’t think I’d do any more fanfiction, but here I am. This fic deals with self-injury by way of cutting. If this triggers you, or bothers you, don’t read it. It’s as simple as that. This takes place when Yamato-tachi are all ninensei, or 11th graders. So they’re between the ages of 16-17. And yes, the Digiworld stuff happened, but there’s not really any reason to bring it up here. This is a one-shot fic, and is probably full of angst and self-abuse. This is not Taito, it’s simply a friendship fic, though anyone who’s read my other stuff knows I whole-heartedly support both yaoi and Taito. “Just because you’re wearing a tie doesn’t mean to say you're bloody important.”
Tearing Me Apart
by: butterflie, formerly known as Crimson Goddess
start: 3 December 2003 Wednesday
It starts with one thing
I don’t know why
It doesn’t even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind
I designed this rhyme to explain
in due time all I know
Time is a valuable thing
watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
watch it count down to the end of the day
the clock ticks life away
it’s so unreal didn’t look out below
watch the time go right out the window
tryin to hold on but you didn’t even know
I wasted it all just to watch you go
I kept everything inside and even though
I tried it all fell apart what it meant to me
will eventually be a memory
-In the End, LINKIN PARK
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Crimson pools of red, blossoming, spreading, running down pale white. A sudden sharpness biting down into softness, dragging through. Lift. Repeat. Lift. Repeat. Impassionate blue eyes staring. A small smile tugging. Tensions bursting, emotions too complex for words forming and falling apart. Everything jumbling together, not making sense and yet nothing more perfect. Release...
Drops of red falling, spattering, staining. A replacing frown, soft curses breaking the silence.
Yamato sighed, and stared at the blood staining his carpet. “Damn,” he let out softly. He put down his blade, but instead of cleaning up his mess like he knew he should, he stared at his arm instead. Fresh red marks overlapped fading ones, criss-crossed patches of stark lines defining his arm. A lot were scars. Others were just cuts that over time would join the scars. And of course, there were the marks courtesy of just a few minutes.
He’d already forgotten what had set him off. Most likely a build-up of frustrated emotions, emotions he had no idea how to release. He was cutting a lot lately, and this was usually the reason why.
Hell, I can’t even remember the reason for half of these anymore.... At first, I had a reason. Or as much of a reason one can have for this kind of thing, anyway. But now.. every little thing can set me off, it seems. And sometimes the urge just comes over me, without any real reason at all. And I’m stuck in it’s tight grip until I release it.
I should get help. Yamato couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought that in the past year and a month. He’d tried, God knows he’d tried. But in the end he couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t speak the four words that would release him from the hell he’d created for himself. So he went on cutting, and cutting, and things just went further and further past that point of no return.
He let out another sigh, and picked his blade back up, heading to the bathroom to clean up. He had to get everything back to normal before his dad came home. Didn’t need him suspecting anything.
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Never-ending pounding on his door woke Yamato the next morning. He groaned as he cracked a sleep-filled eye open.
“Yamato! Get up, you’ll be late for school!” That was his dad, yelling through the locked door.
He forced his eye open and looked at the clock. 7:45. His dad was right. Usually he was up at 7:20. He propped himself up on one elbow, but winced when a stinging feeling assaulted his arm. Ow.... what the hell? He looked down at his arm, caught sight of those red marks, seemingly innocent but nevertheless reminding him of all the reasons to just go back to sleep and make it all go away. Oh yeah... I cut again yesterday. Can’t believe I forgot.
Tossing aside his covers, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slid out. Wonder if I should wrap that up... Nah... I think it will be fine.
“Yamato, are you up yet?”
“Uh, yeah-“ he cleared his scratchy-sounding throat and tried again. “Yeah dad, I’m awake. Thanks.”
“Alright, well hurry up son, don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” he called back, even as he was quickly pulling on his uniform for school. He unlocked his door and heading down the hall to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and fiddled with his hair, getting it just so. Dammit, why is my arm hurting so much? Usually it barely bothers me. He removed his blazer and rolled up the white sleeves. As he did so, he noticed a few spots of red. Oh come on! Don’t tell me... It was. One of the cuts was bleeding again.
That stain will never come out. He pulled out the bandages, deciding it would be good to wrap them after all. Once he was finished, he ducked back into his room to quickly snatch up his knapsack, and headed down the hall, waving a hurried goodbye to his dad, who was busy making coffee--the only thing he managed not to burn.
“Yamato, don’t you want some coffee or toast or something?” his dad sounded surprised.
“No time today dad, gotta run, thanks anyway.” And he was gone.
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Classes went by slowly. To Yamato, every minute spent at school was torture. Maybe not as bad as right after that had happened, but he still hated school. And today was going badly. He’d came in late and received a detention. Then he’d managed to get into a fight with Taichi--something that hadn’t happened in awhile. It left him feeling unsettled and strangely guilty. He’d been missing his homework in two of his classes. Two more days of detention for that. He hadn’t had time to make a lunch this morning, and there was no money to buy something. Then to top it all off, that cut from the morning kept sporadically bleeding. He must have cut deeper than he’d realized, not that he really remembered.
And now he wanted to do it again. Cut.
It’s getting worse. Used to, I could get by with cutting once, maybe twice a month. Then it was about four times a month. Then twice a week... now it just keeps moving up. But this is the first time I’ve ever had the urge to do it two consecutive days. This can’t keep going on. It’s crazy. But I don’t know how to stop it anymore. I almost wish someone would just find me, or ask me..
But I’d be so ashamed then, and they’d want to know why, and I’d have to tell everyone about Eric... and I don’t want to do that.
“Ano.... Yamato?”
He looked up. Taichi was standing over him, a look of slight confusion on his face. “Class is over, you realize that?” Yamato looked around, saw all the students cleaning up the room.
“Oh. Heh. How’d I miss that, I wonder...” he gave Taichi a sheepish grin. Taichi grinned back at him, but Yamato didn’t miss the concern in his eyes.
Hell. Way to go Yamato. He tossed his books into his bag and stood, smiling brightly. “Sorry, I can’t go home with you today, Taichi.”
“Detention, right?”
“Yeah... three days.”
“That’s not like you, Yama.”
“Eh.. I fell asleep early last night. Didn’t finish my homework and didn’t set my alarm. This is what I get in return. Oh well. I’ll live.”
“You should have told me earlier. I’ve could have got detention and shared it with you!”
They both laughed. “Well, there’s still two more days left, if you really want to try,” Yamato joked.
“Try? I don’t even have to try!”
“Alright boys,” Ishikawa Sensei said. “Don’t loiter around after class.”
“Hai, Sensei,” they said, and immediately begin heading towards the door. After a quick stop at lockers, they parted company at the front gate, and Yamato headed towards the room where detention was held, thankful it was Tadaji Sensei who was in charge today.
“Hello Yamato-kun,” Tadaji Sensei greeted him as he walked in the classroom. “What are you doing here?”
“Serving detention,” the blond answered ruefully.
Tadaji Sensei raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t have expected it of you.”
Yamato just nodded and handed him his detention slip, then went to sit down in a sit near the front. He waited an appropriate time of about twenty minutes, growing ever more anxious with each minute that passed. I can make this, I can make this.. only twenty more minutes.. When about twenty minutes had passed, he stood and made his way to the desk.
“Tadaji Sensei,” he whispered urgently. The man looked up. “Yes?”
“May I please use the restroom? It’s an emergency!”
The teacher hesitated, but then conceded, “Well, alright.. but try to hurry.”
“Thanks!” He hurried down the hall to a bathroom, and then locked himself in a stall, where he pulled up his left sleeve and promptly yanked his blade out of his pocket.
The feel of the cold steel sinking into his skin was heaven. He dug it in as deep as he dared, then dragged it across his arm quickly. Red blood immediately started to seep out of the jagged cut, and to Yamato it was a beautiful sight. He lifted the blade out of his arm, then slashed at his arm over and over, quick shallow marks that would leave only tiny scars, if any. But the pain... it’d leave a stinging sensation he’d welcome, different from the pain he got from the deeper cuts. Better. The deeper cuts didn’t really feel good. They hurt in a bad way, though they gave him lots of relief while he was making them. The shallower cuts would hurt for days on end, and just enough so that he felt real, felt alive.
Satisfied now, and with the edge off of that burning urge deep inside him, he rolled down his sleeve and blazer, then washed the blade off at the sink before heading back to the classroom. Hopefully he hadn’t been gone too long.
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There was a note waiting for him on the table when he got home from school.
Hey, I stopped by, but you weren’t here. Taichi said you were serving detention..? I didn’t know whether or not to believe him. I thought maybe you’d be interested in going to see that new movie this weekend, but I guess I’ll ask you later. Call me sometime soon, ‘niichan, ‘k?
Takeru
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to do anything this weekend other than sleep. But he didn’t want Takeru worrying about him. He couldn’t deal with questions. Questions led to things he meant to keep secret. “So I guess I’m stuck going to this movie,” he said out loud.
There was also another note left for him on the fridge.
Have to work late tonight. Sorry. Don’t worry about dinner--I’ll get something at work. Just get yourself some take-out or something. Call if you need anything.
His dad. Nothing unusual there, he thought bitterly. Just once I wish you’d be here for me when I so desperately need you. Need somebody. But of course your damned tv station is more precious than your own flesh and blood son..
He knew he was being unfair, that his father loved him, but dammit, it was so hard to acknowledge that when all his father ever did was work! He’s never around hardly, doesn’t notice me much.. I bet if I killed myself, it’d be a week before he even noticed, and only then because he wouldn’t get dinner when he came home. That was even more unfair, and Yamato hated himself for even thinking it. Yet he couldn’t stop wondering if it was true sometimes. The thought made him feel awful inside, and before he knew it he was sobbing wildly, picking up things and throwing them around the kitchen. He picked up a cup and hurled it across the room, watching the glass shatter and enjoying the sight, oddly enough. He picked up a plate, and threw that too.
“I hate you! You’re never here for me when I need you! You weren’t there a year ago, you weren’t there the first time I hurt myself, and you’re not here now! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” Each “hate” was punctuated by some random dish. A cup, a bowl, a plate... whatever breakable was available, he threw it. Eventually he ran out of things to throw, and reached for silverware. The first thing his frenzied fingers happened upon was a knife. Without hardly being aware of it, he’d seized it and started slashing out angrily at his arms, marking over the cuts he’d made yesterday and earlier today, not really feeling anything, only enjoying the site of crimson spilling out everywhere, painting his arms and the floor. He was still screaming at his absent father.
Eventually the blond came back to himself, still sobbing quietly, but no longer angry and frantic. Now he just ached. He sank to his knees amidst all the broken glass and porcelain, lowered his head, and wept.
It was an hour before he finally collected himself. Once he did, he slowly got to his feet and grabbed the broom and dustpan, starting the tedious task of sweeping up the mess he’d made. Most of their dishes were currently lying on the floor of the kitchen, with just a few left inside the cabinets. At least there was still the silverware. When he’d finished with the glass, he soaked a sponge and began scrubbing at the congealing blood on the floor. To his relief it came off fairly easily. He didn’t know how he would have explained the stains to his dad.
Then he went about the task of cleaning himself up. This took the longest. There were many cuts, and they varied in shallowness. To be on the safe side, he poured disinfectant over his arms, screaming at the unbearable pain as it bubbled and frothed. The knife probably had been a little rusty, a lot of their knives were. Once the disinfectant was finished, he rubbed Neosporin over the cuts, and finished it all off with layers of white bandages wrapped around his arms. He pulled his white shirt off completely, and carried it to his room. He’d have to trash it, but not where his dad could see it. So he just stuck it in an empty desk drawer and got a clean black shirt out of his dresser. His blazer he threw in the wash with some bleach, hoping that would remove the few drops of blood on that. After that he crawled into bed and cried some more, hating himself for being so weak, and hoping against hope his dad wouldn’t even notice the dishes.
He had no such luck. A little after midnight he was woken by his dad bellowing for him to get in the kitchen, this instant!
He made sure his sleeves were pulled down completely, then acknowledged his father’s yelling and slowly went into the kitchen.
“Hai?” he asked, blinking his eyes sleepily, trying to appear innocent. His dad wasn’t in the mood for his little act, however.
“What the hell happened to all our dishes? Why are most of them in the trash?”
“Ano....” his brain scurried around frantically, trying to find an excuse hidden in a corner somewhere that he could pull out and make it sound plausible. “Well, I broke them,” he said stalling.
Masaharu scowled. “I’m aware of that. What I want to know is how. And why.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Yamato said truthfully. Because he really hadn’t. He’d just sort of... lost it.
“So how did you?”
“I... I....” dammit Yamato, think of something! Gah, you’re so stupid! He could feel his eyes starting to fill with tears, and he panicked. “I- I dropped them!” he blurted out, then immediately winced. What the hell kind of excuse was that?
“Dropped them?! All of them? Maybe if it had just been a few, I could understand, but how the hell could you drop all of them?”
Quickly, “Eto.. I was just lifting the strainer to carry them closer to the cabinet, and it just slipped out of my hand, and they all broke! I’m really sorry! I’ll replace them! I’ll save up the money and buy some new ones myself!” And then to his horror he burst into tears anyway.
Masaharu looked surprised. “Yamato...”
But Yamato wasn’t having any of it. With another apology, he fled the kitchen to the safety of his locked room. He sobbed angrily at himself for awhile. I’m falling apart.. breaking down. I can’t take this much longer. I’m sick of living like this. Hell, I’m sick of living, period. I wish I could die.
The thought shocked him to automatic silence for a moment, and when the realization hit home a few moments later, he started crying again, even harder this time. It’s not true! I don’t really want to die! I don’t want to leave my family and friends behind, I don’t want to leave my band behind, or all the memories of happier times. I want to live.. but I want to die. Thank God I don’t have the courage to do it myself... Thank God I’m torn between life and death. Each moment of uncertainty means another moment of living.
Oh God, I need help. Somebody help me, please. I can’t do this anymore!
“I can’t do this!” he screamed, forgetting his dad was home. Even if he’d remembered, it was doubtful he’d have cared. Angrily he snatched up his school textbooks off his desk, and sent them slamming into the wall across the room. “I can’t do this anymore! I’m sick of it! I’m sick of it...”
A knock came at his door. “Yamato?” Masaharu sounded scared, and with good reason. “Yamato, open this door.”
“Go away!” the boy shouted at his father, still sobbing, even as he picked up a small unused lamp. He threw that at the wall as well, and the bulb inside shattered. “Just leave me be!”
“Ishida Yamato, open this door right now!”
“NO! Go... AWAY!!” And then he said no more, just continued to cry.
Masaharu stayed outside the door, and eventually sat down with his back to it, listening worriedly to the sounds within and wondering if something had happened to his son. At least now I know what really happened to our dishes.
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His head was pounding, that was the first thing he noticed. The second was that he was on the floor. For a moment, he was confused, but then yesterday and last night’s events came seeping back through his memory, and he realized he must have fallen asleep on the floor.
I had a breakdown.. he thought distractedly. Groaning, he stood and opened his door. His dad fell over backwards.
Yamato frowned down at him. Okay....
Masaharu let out a moan, and opened his eyes. “Ow....” He looked up at his son standing over him. He still remembered the events of the night quite clearly. Whatever was wrong though, Yamato seemed to have gotten over it now. “Are you okay?” he asked his son, still somewhat frightened over Yamato’s behaviour.
The teen didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m fine.” He glanced over at his clock. 10:22. “You’re late for work.”
The older man frowned. “What? What time is it?”
“10:22,” he was informed.
“Damn!” he got to his feet. “Here, get ready for school and I’ll take you on the way to work.”
Yamato shook his head. “Not going.”
“What?” His father frowned. “Of course you are. You’ll just be late, that’s all. I’ll write you an excuse.”
“No,” he replied, a bit forcibly. “I’m not going.”
“Yamato...” Masaharu began, then thought better of it and stopped. It’s not worth it. I don’t have time to argue, and I’m a little afraid to push him.. He sighed. “Fine. You can stay home. Just for today.”
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Taichi was in the middle of fighting a bunch of Tonberries when the phone rang. After two rings, it stopped, so he ignored it and continued fighting. Hikari appeared a minute later, phone in hand. “S’for you.”
The brunette scowled, and paused his game. And I was just about to get a Limit Break too... “Who is it?” he asked his sister.
She looked troubled. “I.. I think it’s Yamato, but I can’t be sure..”
Frowning, he took the phone she held out to him. “Hello?”
“Taichi? Oh God Taichi, I saw him, I was just crossing the street and he was there, I saw him and he saw me and he smiled and I saw him oh God Taichi I ran home but I’m so scared now Taichi...” Yamato was blubbering, barely making any sense at all.
Taichi scowled again and interrupted. “Yamato, I don’t really understand what you’re saying, but I’m coming over right now, okay?"
Yamato hiccupped, still sobbing, but he managed to get out an “okay”.
Taichi hung up the phone, and snatched his jacket up from where it’d been stretched out across the back of the couch. He shoved his shoes on then disappeared out the door, practically running to Yamato’s. He sensed something was terribly wrong, though he had no idea what.
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Yamato didn’t answer the door right away when there was a knock. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to figure out if it was Eric or Taichi. The problem was solved when Taichi spoke.
“Yama, it’s me, let me in!”
At that, Yamato dived towards the door and yanked it open, pulling Taichi inside quickly, then slamming the door back and locking it. Taichi took one look at his friend and didn’t even bother with questions, just pulled the crying blond into a tight hug, smoothing back his hair and whispering soothing things into his ear.
Yamato clung to him like he was the only lifeline left, and eventually he managed to stop crying enough to make sense. Taichi released him and led him over to the couch, sitting him down. “Stay there. I’m going to get you some water.”
Yamato nodded, and in few moments was gulping down cold and welcome water from one of their few remaining glasses. Taichi was sitting down next to him, and he placed his empty glass on the floor, then put his head down on Taichi’s lap, still crying slightly. Taichi didn’t say anything, just resumed stroking his hair lightly. “So what happened?” he asked gently. “I.. I saw him again, Taichi.. I was.. I was.. and I saw him, and..” He started to get hysterical again, but Taichi just shushed him, and let him sit in silence for a bit more.
“Who’s ‘him’?” he finally asked.
“I.. You wouldn’t know him,” Yamato whispered, eyes closed. “Him is Eric. He was..” he paused. He’d never told Taichi he was gay, and he wasn’t sure how his friend would react. But he plunged on anyway, consumed by the need to tell someone, anyone, his horrible secrets and not have to deal with it alone anymore. And if Taichi damned him for it, well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. “Eric was my boyfriend.” He opened his eyes and looked up into the face of his friend, scared of the reaction. Taichi merely smiled softly at him, and Yamato felt better about continuing. He smiled back.
“And?” Taichi prompted. “You say was.”
Yamato attempted a nod. “Yeah. Was. I sort of dumped him a year and a month ago.”
“Why?”
This was it. He couldn’t look back after this. You can do this, Yamato.. “I-I never told anyone this before. I was so scared, and hurt, and didn’t want anyone to worry, didn’t know how anyone would react...”
“What? What happened, Yamato?”
“I thought he really liked me..” more tears filled his eyes. “We’d went to the movies for a date. Dad was working late again, so we came here... I’d made out with him before--this isn’t grossing you out, is it?” he interrupted himself, suddenly self-conscious.
Taichi laughed ever so slightly. “No, go on.”
“Well.. so anyway, it wasn’t anything new. I was comfortable, and we both enjoyed it. Nothing real serious, you know? I still don’t know what went wrong.. but he started getting more intense, more physical, and suddenly it wasn’t fun anymore. I didn’t like it, felt uncomfortable. I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen.. just kept going and going until he went too far, and it couldn’t be taken back, couldn’t be made better... After it was over, I threw him out. Today was the first time I’d seen him since, since..” He found he couldn’t go on. He didn’t need to. Taichi understood.
“Oh Yama..” he said, and there were tears in both his voice and his eyes. “You should have told someone...”
“I was scared.. and hurt.. I didn’t want to think about it.. I just wanted it to all go away, and I wanted no one to find out, ever. But then I.. I started.. Well, ever since I’ve been.. dammit!” Frustration underlined his voice, and he took a deep calming breath. Why was it so hard to say? Four words. I cut myself, Taichi.
“You what?”
Well, if I can’t tell him, I’ll show him. Silently, he rolled up his sleeves. He’d pulled off the bandages early, after he ran from Eric, but then the shakes hit and he’d been unable to replace them. So his arms were bare, exposed to the world.
Taichi frowned, not sure what he was looking at. He pulled Yamato to a sitting position, and took one of Yamato’s arms in his hands, and it was only then he realized just what he was staring at. Cuts and scars, adorning Yamato’s arms like an intricate, gruesome tattoo. Except this tattoo was made of dried blood and broken skin rather than ink.
“I... you did this?”
Yamato nodded, a few more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“I.. I can’t really explain it. You have to actually do it to understand it. But.. it.. it makes me feel alive. It gives me a rush. It’s a release of tension.. It lets me know that I’m real.”
“I still don’t understand.” The poor brunette frowned.
“I’m sorry, Taichi. I can’t really explain it any better than that. It’s just... I don’t know..” he trailed off, sighing at his inadequacy to put what the cutting made him feel into words powerful enough to convey.
“Does.. does anyone else know?”
“Me. And you. And no one else.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Only after the fact.”
Taichi looked puzzled at that, but didn’t bother saying anything. Instead, he just asked, “And you’ve been doing this for how long?”
“About.. about a year. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“I should have told you, should have told someone.. but everything just hurt so much, and I didn’t know how to make it go away.”
“How did you know cutting would make it go away?”
Yamato looked away at the question. “It was an accident. I was making dinner and cut myself... it felt good. So I took the knife and experimented.” He pointed to a very faint mark running the length of his right arm. “This was that first cut I made. And then about a month, I just cut myself again, because I felt so horrible. And it just kept happening, and more often...” he dissolved into tears again, and Taichi pulled him back into another tight hug.
“Yama, I think you should tell your dad.”
The blond let out a shriek and attempted to pull away from Taichi. He only held him more tightly. “No! I can’t tell him! Besides, he probably wouldn’t even care.”
Taichi didn’t miss the bitter tone to Yamato’s voice. “What makes you say that?” he questioned, frowning.
“All he cares about is that stupid television station of his,” came the quiet mutter.
“What? Come on, you know that’s not true. Your father loves you!”
“No! He doesn’t! You don’t know, Taichi! You’re not me! You’re never here to see the notes he leaves me almost every day. The ones that tell me that once again, he’s working late. He’s never here for me when I need him! He doesn’t even notice me, he doesn’t! I bet if I were to die, he wouldn’t even notice for a week! Or longer! And when it finally did, it’d be cos dinner wasn’t waiting for him in the fridge! That’s all I am to him, Taichi! His personal maid! He doesn’t care about me, he never has! Neither of my parents do! I hate them, I hate them both! And I hate dad more! When I was raped, he wasn’t here for me so he never noticed something was wrong! And when I started cutting, he wasn’t here then either! And he’s not here now! My best friend is taking the place of my father! I HATE HIM!”
Taichi didn’t say anything, just let his friend have his little tirade, all the while still holding him and rocking him gently from time to time. Yamato had probably needed that.. It was certainly true that his father wasn’t ever really here when he needed him, and everyone knew Natsuko didn’t care much for her oldest son. But he was still pretty sure Mr. Ishida loved his son. He just wasn’t good at showing it. He didn’t tell Yamato that, though. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear right now.
Eventually the blond became exhausted by it all, and Taichi released him from his grasp, easing him down on the couch. Pretty soon after that Yamato was asleep. Taichi eased his shirt sleeves back down, then went and got the blanket from his room, covering him up with it. He leaned down and softly kissed the sleeping boy’s cheek. “Sleep well,” he whispered.
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Taichi was already there when Yamato arrived in homeroom the next day. He took his seat next to his friend. Taichi smiled at him. “Hey. How are you doing?”
Yamato didn’t look at him. “I’m fine. Thanks.. about yesterday.”
The smile grew wider. “No problem. I’m just glad you told me.”
Yamato mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “go jump in a lake”.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “I said, it wasn’t a mistake.”
“Uh-huh. That better be what you said.”
Nishiki Sensei walked in just then, and the boys quieted for roll call.
Homeroom and second period passed uneventfully, with the exception of Taichi earning two days worth of detention for sleeping in class. He looked sideways at Yamato after being whacked on the head with a ruler. “See? Told you I didn’t have to try!” Yamato had to smother his laughter.
Third period went badly. Very, very badly. It was an algebra class, Yamato’s worst subject. And, just his luck, there was a test he hadn’t studied for. He sat there, staring at the problems sitting there innocently on that white piece of paper. He found them incomprehensible. He begin sweating, and berated himself for his stupidity. When the bell rang at the end of class, he stood, miserable, and turned his test in blank, trying desperately not to cry. At least Taichi hadn’t been in the class. He would have noticed something was wrong.
Fourth period was Tadaji Sensei’s biology class. Taichi was in the class as well. Almost as soon as the bell had rang, his hand shot up. “Sensei, I need to use the restroom!”
“Very well. Hurry back, there’s a test.”
Fuck. Another one I’m going to fail. He thanked the man and headed to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall. He removed his blazer and rolled up his sleeve, then pulled his blade out. He tried to avoid cutting in school, but sometimes the urge just gripped him, and he absolutely couldn’t help it. This was one of those times.
He’d just stopped cutting when he heard the door open, and the sound of someone’s footsteps walking in. He went deadly silent, hoping whoever it was would leave. Then Taichi’s voice called, “Yamato? Are you in here?”
He sighed, which he discovered was immediately a mistake.
“Yamato, I know you’re in here. I just heard you. And I can see your feet.”
Yamato sighed again, then pulled open the stall door. Taichi was standing just outside, and he caught sight of the red marks.
“Oh Yamato....”
“I couldn’t help it,” came the quiet explanation. “I just turned in a test blank last class.”
“That’s not a reason to hurt yourself..”
“Don’t tell me what’s a reason and what’s not, Yagami Taichi!” he responded fiercely, angry suddenly. “You wouldn’t know.. wouldn’t understand.”
“Well, no, you’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’d want to deliberately hurt yourself, and I don’t understand how it makes you feel better. But I do understand that you need to get that wrapped.” He motioned towards the bleeding marks on the pale arm.
Yamato looked away. “I don’t have any bandages with me.” He tried to change the subject. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Sensei sent me in after you. Said you’d been gone too long.”
“Guess we’d better get back then, huh?”
“Yamato..”
The boy in question yanked down the sleeve of his shirt, and patches of crimson automatically burst up, spreading through and ruining pristine white. Taichi winced. He grabbed his blazer from the floor of the stall and pulled it back on, then turned towards Taichi. “Shall we go?”
“I can’t believe you’re not taking care of that,” the brunette muttered. They headed back to class.
Tadaji Sensei greeted them as they entered. “Everything alright, Yamato-kun?”
“Hai, Sensei.” He took his seat, and Tadaji Sensei passed out the tests. He did better than he’d expected, although he knew that if he even passed, it’d be with a very low grade. The bell rang, and he turned in his test with the rest of the students, grateful that this one at least wasn’t blank.
Taichi pulled him aside before they made it to the lunchroom. “It’s bleeding!” he hissed.
“What?” Yamato was confused. What is he talking about...?
“Your arm! Look at it!”
He looked.
Indeed, it was very definitely and very visibly bleeding. Dark reddish-brown areas spotted his green blazer. Quickly he yanked up the sleeve. His white shirt was completely soaked through with red blood. “Damn!”
He ducked into a bathroom, Taichi right behind him, and was thankful it was empty. They shut the door, and Taichi managed to jam it up to keep people out, although he didn’t really think anyone would come in. They were all busy enjoying their lunches, or stuck in class. Yamato wrestled out of his blazer, and pulled his shirt up over his head. They both looked at his arm. It was still bleeding quite profusely. He ordered Taichi to wet some paper towels and give them to him, which Taichi rushed to do. He blotted away a lot of the blood, hissing at the pain. Though still bleeding, he could see the cut now, and realized just how deep he’d actually cut. I’m going to have to be more careful from now on..
Taichi looked frantic. “Yamato! Your arm..”
“It’s fine. I just cut too deep, that’s all. Do you have anything I can wrap it with?”
“I.. I’ve got an old school shirt..” he sounded unsure.
“Do you mind parting with it?”
“Not really.”
“Then say goodbye, and hand it over. “
Taichi took it out of his knapsack, and handed it over as requested. Yamato worked to tear it into useable strips, and Taichi helped him wrap it around his arm. They finished shortly, and Taichi literally sighed with relief.
“Sorry,” Yamato apologized.
“I told you before, you don’t have to apologize!”
“Sorry,” Yamato repeated again, and there was a grin accompanying the words.
“Oh, you!” Taichi pretended to whack him, and they both laughed, but Yamato hadn’t missed the pure panic and fright in Taichi’s eyes when they’d seen his arm. He began to wonder if he should have told his best friend after all.
“Come on. Let’s go to lunch.”
+-+-+-+
Yamato walked home slowly after he’d been let out of detention. He’d checked his arm before he’d left, and it seemed to have stopped bleeding, though it still looked a bloody mess. He’d take care of it when he got home.
I know I scared Taichi with it earlier. But I honestly hadn’t meant to cut that deep. Hell, I don’t even remember cutting that deep. In fact, the whole episode is sort of a blur.. They’ve been becoming like that a lot lately. It’s kind of scary. Maybe it’s a good thing I told Taichi. He can help me from cutting so much.
He pulled his keys out of his pocket, and in doing so accidentally disloged his blade. With a small surprised gasp, he leaned down and hurriedly snatched it back up, shoving it into his pocket before unlocking his door.
He let himself in and slipped off his shoes, then passed through the living room to the kitchen. He stopped short when he caught sight of his dad in front of the sink, a glass of water in hand.
“Ano... T-Tadaima....”
“Okaeri,” Masaharu replied softly.
“What.. what are you doing here?” It came out blunt, and he winced, but he was genuinely shocked and didn’t know how to conceal it.
His dad didn’t really seem surprised, though. He gave his son a sad little smile. “I took the rest of the day off. We need to talk, Yamato.”
Yamato looked away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Isn’t there, though? The other day-“
“No. There isn’t. And besides, I have band practice today.”
“I know something’s wrong,” his father continued on anyways. “Your fit the other night proved that. And I know you didn’t break the dishes by dropping them. I’m pretty sure you threw them the way you did your books and lamp. Happy people don’t do that. So something’s wrong. I wish you’d tell me what. I’d like to help you, if possible.”
“Nothing’s wrong. You could have saved yourself and stayed at work.”
Masaharu sighed. “I know I don’t show it, but I do care about you, Yamato.”
“I have to go. Practice starts soon.” He walked to his room, telling himself that he wasn’t really running, that he really did have to get to practice, or Ratsuii would be pissed. He quickly grabbed his guitar and left the apartment, knowing all to well that he was running, and wishing whole-heartedly he could convince himself otherwise.
+-+-+-+
Two weeks passed. Things were going pretty well for Yamato, and he hadn’t cut once. Having Taichi helped, but Yamato knew the self-restraint was all his own doing, and he was damned proud of himself. A couple of times, he’d sort of wanted to, but they were brief moments, and passed quickly.
Taichi had managed to get his hands on an anime they’d both been wanting to see, called Azumanga Daioh, and they spent the better part of the second week watching that and laughing their asses off. It helped. Yamato was occupied with it, it was light and humorous, and it distracted him from thinking about all the things that made him want to cut. School had been going pretty well too. Classes were good, his grades were good, he was there every day and studied well for tests and turned in all his homework.
He’d even managed to get some time in with Takeru. They’d went and saw that movie last weekend, the one Takeru had asked about. It sucked, as Yamato had suspected it would, but afterwards they went out for icecream and he just enjoyed the time with his little brother. He’d thought once, very briefly, about telling Takeru about his cutting, but almost immediately decided against it. It would worry his brother unnecessarily, and he really wasn’t ready for anyone else to know. Taichi was enough.
He wasn’t sure how things went downhill so quickly. It happened Tuesday night. The day had began well. School was fine, made better by the fact that they had just received a week off for fall break. But then he got home, and everything changed. First, it was seeing the note he hadn’t seen since the day his father had been home early.
Yamato, I’m really sorry, I have to work late, we’re trying to get a new show off the ground. Could you please make dinner and throw a load of clothes in the wash? Thanks. I’ll be home about eleven or so, most likely.
It upset him, but he didn’t want it to get to him. So he threw a load of clothes in the wash. Then he started dinner. That’s when things went horribly wrong. He burned himself on a pan. Knocked his head into the cabinet. Accidentally hit his arm hard against something, and opened up a healing cut. It started to bleed again. Then the washing machine started leaking soap all over the floor, and he rushed to turn it off, wondering if he’d put in more soap than he realized. So he sorted out the clothes, and suddenly remembered dinner too late. It had burned. There was nothing else in the house, and there was no money left anywhere for groceries or take-out. It was probably all in his dad’s wallet. Then he realized his arm was still bleeding, so he cursed and took care of that, sighing at seeing some of the blood on the floor. He dropped his favourite mug on the floor, watching it shatter into a million tiny shards, feeling a wrench in his gut. He’d had that mug since Takeru was born. It was his “Omedetou oniichan!” mug. Now he not only lost the mug, he lost the hot chocolate he’d been planning to make. So, frustrated and feeling that urge start to build up, he went to do his homework, hoping it would distract him. He went to the living room to get his knapsack only to then realize he’d left an important textbook back at his locker in school.
It was too much. Crying tears of frustration, hating himself for what he was about to do, knowing he should call Taichi instead, he grabbed his blade and held it over his arm, hesitating for just a moment before sinking it deep into his skin. Forget the shallow cuts, he needed the relief, the feeling of tension escaping, and he needed it right away. He sighed, and dragged the blade deep down his right arm, watching the blood rush out of the cut, and enjoying it. He removed the blade, went back to the top of his arm, to the right of the cut just a bit, then dug down again, making a cut parallel to the first. He’d just started on his third cut when the door clicked open. His eyes widened; he looked down panicked at the blade he still held in his arm. He thought about trying to hide it, or jumping up and running into his room.
His dad stepped into the room.
Everything was suddenly suspended in motion. Just for a second. Then his dad let out a sort of strangled half-gasp, half-cry, and the feeling was broken.
Yamato disintegrated into helpess, scared tears.
“Ya-Yamato?” Masaharu croaked out, frightened and unsure. He took a hesitant step towards his crying son. “Yamato?” he repeated. “What.. what’s going on?” He took more steps until he reached his son, and was soon kneeling by his side, holding his arm gently. He placed his hand over Yamato’s, and carefully pulled the blade out of his arm, then pried it out of Yamato’s stubborn clutching fingers. He set it down on an end table. He rubbed the fresh cuts ever so gently, and looked at the myriad of older marks on his arm.
“Did you do all these?”
Sobbing, Yamato nodded.
“Is this all of them?”
He shook his head, then pulled up the sleeve on his other arm, his hands shaking. Masaharu looked at those marks as well, then without another word, pulled his son into a tight hug, not even caring that Yamato’s blood was smearing all over his shirt. “Son, son,” he murmured gently. “Why’ve you been hurting yourself?”
He wasn’t really expecting an answer, so was slightly surprised when Yamato choked out, “Cos.. cos everything hurts so much.. and you were never there, and I needed you..”
He closed his eyes momentarily at that, acknowledging the stab of pain Yamato’s statement brought. He didn’t know what to say though, so he didn’t say anything, just held Yamato until his crying finally stopped and he calmed. Masaharu set him on the couch, and went to the bathroom to get some bandages. He came back and wrapped up his son’s arm. Yamato watched him emotionessly. Soon he finished. He rolled Yamato’s sleeves back down and set the extra stuff on the end table. He picked up the bloody blade and sat down next to the boy. He held the blade out to Yamato. Yamato looked at it uncertainly for a moment, then up at his father. After a moment, he understood and took it. It was an expression of trust. By offering it to him, Masaharu was essentially saying he was trusting his son. And by taking it, Yamato was accepting that trust.
“So.. are you willing to talk about it?”
“I.. I guess. Maybe some of it.. it’s.. s’hard.”
“I know it must be. Would you be more comfortable if I just asked some questions, and you answered them?”
A nod.
“How long has this been going on?” The question he most wanted to know, and yet most wanted not to know. Knowing means he had to acknowledge how long he was oblivious while his son was so obviously having problems.
Yamato paused before answering, wondering if he should lie to soften the blow to his dad or just tell the truth. He took a deep breath, not sure which was coming out until he spoke. “About.. a little over a year.” Apparently the truth.
“What caused it?”
He averted his eyes. “I.. I don’t really want to talk about that.” Because I’m afraid to tell him I’m gay, and I don’t know if he can handle what Eric did.. It’s a lot to throw at him.
“Okay. You don’t have to.. Does anyone else know about this?”
“Taichi. I told him about two and a half weeks ago.”
“What about your brother?”
Yamato shook his head. “No.”
“Yamato... son... If you’ve been having problems.. why did you resort to that-“ he gestured at the blond’s arms “-before telling anyone? Whatever happened.. why didn’t you tell me? Why did you start cutting yourself instead?”
“I..” A few tears rolled down his cheeks. “I was mad at you.. I still am.. I thought.. I feel like your stupid tv station comes before me.. thought you barely noticed me.. didn’t think you’d listen..”
Masaharu leaned over and held his son again for a moment before sitting back up and speaking. “You and Takeru will always come first. You’re right... I’ve failed you as a father, and I know I’m never around for you, but if something is ever wrong, I will listen.. if you ever need me, just call me up and I’ll come right home.”
Yamato looked down at the blade still in his hands, fiddling with it. I don’t know what to say... and I don’t know what to do. I need help.. can I say that? Will he help me? Does he even know how? “Dad, I....”
“You what?”
“I need help.” The words were soft, barely spoken, but Masaharu heard them anyway. Just those three words made him want to cry. He didn’t, however.
“I know,” he said. “I’ll get you some help, okay? We’ll get this sorted out.”
“What kind of help?”
“I think you should see a counselor.. this is way beyond me, I’ll have to admit. I don’t know anything about people cutting themselves.. and you probably have a lot of things to work out that involve me, and your mother, and the divorce..and whatever happened to cause this in the first place.”
“I wish...”
Masaharu waited, hoping his son would go on.
“I wish it had never happened. I wish I could go back in time to that night, and change it, and do it over right. I wish I could just erase it right out of my memory and never have to think about it again. But I’ve tried, so many times... and yet... I can still remember it, much more clearly than I ever wanted...” he started crying again, softly. “I just wish things were right.”
He sighed, and lay down on the couch, using Masaharu’s lap as a pillow the way he’d used Taichi’s a few weeks ago. Long after his eyes had ran dry, and after Masaharu had given him up for asleep, he spoke. “How.. how come you came home early? You weren’t supposed to be here til late...”
“I was too grumpy at work. They got fed up with me snapping at them and sent me home.”
“Oh,” he mumbled drowsily. “see...” A few minutes later his breathing was slow and even, and he was asleep. Masaharu eased himself from under him, then leaned down and picked him up. The blade that Yamato had still been holding slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. He ignored it for the moment and carried his son to his room, putting him in bed. He yanked off the boy’s clothes and managed to get him into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, with a little help from the semi-conscious Yamato. Then he lay him back down and covered him up, flipping off the light and shutting the door.
He walked back into the living room, picking up the blade. The blood had dried. He stared at it, thinking, ‘This is my son’s own blood, and he put it there himself’. Suddenly angry, he threw it back down and sagged down onto the couch, closing his eyes and sighing.
+-+-+-+
The ringing phone seemed unnatural in the early-morning stillness of the house. Yamato groaned and opened his eyes. He glanced over at his clock. 12:45PM Okay, so maybe not early morning.
“Yamato, phone!”
“Ugh..” he muttered. He opened the door and went out to the kitchen, picking up the phone from the counter.
“Hello?”
“Hey! It’s Taichi!”
Yamato groaned loudly for effect.
“What? I didn’t wake you did I? It’s 1:00!”
Yamato only sighed. “Never mind. I’m up now anyway. So what’s up?”
“Just wondering if you wanted to come over and watch Star Ocean EX with me.”
“When’d you get that?”
“I borrowed it from Daisuke. So, you want to?”
“Sure, I guess so. Can I just come over later on and stay the night? I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s cool. So, I’ll see you in awhile?”
“Okay. Bai, Taichi.”
“Bai Yama!” He hung up.
Yamato replaced the receiver slowly. He knew his dad was standing behind him, and he was sort of embarrassed to turn around and face him. For the first time since he’d cut, he was in short-sleeves again, and it made him feel self-conscious to have his cuts out in the open like that. Even if his dad knew now.
“So, what’s going on?” his dad asked.
Yamato turned around, wishing he just cut his arms off and hide them. “I’m going to Taichi’s later on and staying the night. Is that okay?”
His dad nodded. “Sure. But I want to talk to you some more before you go, alright?”
Yamato looked at the floor. “A-About what?”
“What do you think?”
Silence for a moment. Then, “Alright. When?”
“Are you up for it now?”
“I guess.... what exactly do you want to know?”
Masaharu was silent for a minute, not quite sure how to phrase what he wanted to say. “This.. this thing you do, this cutting.. does it have a name?”
“Self-injury. Sometimes it’s called self-injurous behaviour.”
“I.. have you ever tried to.. well...”
Yamato could tell his father was uncomfortable asking this question, so he helped him. “Have I tried or wanted to kill myself?”
“Yes.” Masaharu was embarrassed, but he had to know.
“No... Cutting isn’t about dying, dad. Exactly the opposite, actually. It’s about feeling, being alive, knowing that you’re real... If it was about dying, I would have killed myself a long time ago.. but I don’t want to die.”
“That’s a relief.” He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. “Yamato... I know that just because I found out about this.. I know that doesn’t mean you’re going to suddenly stop cutting yourself. I don’t expect you to. But... I’m not ashamed to admit that it scares me, and I hope that when you do it.. I hope that you won’t hide it from me.”
“I can’t promise anything. I don’t want to promise anything.”
“But you’ll at least try?”
“That’s all I can do..”
“I guess I’ll have to accept that. I’ll start calling around for a pyschiatrist today. If I find one, you will go, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
+-+-+-+
“Hey Yama--You’re wearing a T-shirt?!”
Yamato gave him a shaky smile. “Can we go to your room and talk? Right now?”
“Sure. Lemme kick Hikari out.” Taichi disappeared, and came back in a few moments. “All clear. Come on.”
He followed Taichi to his room, and sat down on the bottom bunk Hikari and Taichi shared. Taichi sat down at the desk chair after shutting and locking the door behind him.
The brunette was the first to start the conversation. “So how come your in a T-shirt where everyone can see them?” Then he looked closer at Yamato’s arms. “You did it again.” It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement.
“Ano... yeah... Last night. Everything just went wrong, and I couldn’t help.. I needed...”
“How come you didn’t call me?”
“Because I knew you’d talk me out of it, and I wanted it.”
“Oh Yama..” Taichi sighed. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re not covering them now..”
“Dad came home early.”
“What?” Taichi frowned in confusion, not understanding at first--then he got it. “He walked in on you doing that?” A quick motion towards the scar-covered arms.
“Yeah. I had the blade in my arm, actually.”
“Did he take it bad?”
The blond frowned. “No.. not really. Just took the blade out of my arm, and then wrapped my arm up. We talked about it some. He’s going to get me a psychiatrist, if he can find one.”
“So.. so did you.. you know, tell him about-?
“Eric? No.” Yamato smiled sadly. “I’m not ready to yet. There’s so much.. I don’t want him to have to take it in all at once.. And I’m scared to admit I’m.. well, gay. I was scared to tell you.”
“It doesn’t bother me. You’re still my best friend, and I still love you, no matter what happens to you or what you do to yourself or what you are or will become. If you became a no good junkie, I’d still love you.”
Yamato laughed gently at that, but his next remark wasn’t in reply. “I want to tell everybody Taichi. About this. The cutting. I want to kick this thing for real, and I want the support of as many people as possible. But.. I’m scared.”
“Well, that’s understandable. Do you want me to tell some of them?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s-I feel like it’s something I need to do myself, you know?”
“Yeah. Have you told Takeru yet?’
“No..”
“You could start by telling him. Tonight.”
“What, right now?”
Taichi shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Just call him up and tell him to come round.”
“I.. but he’ll see.. I don’t want to scare him.”
Taichi stood up and started rifling through his dresser. After a minute he found what he was looking for and tossed it at Yamato. A long-sleeved black shirt hit him in the face. “Here. It’s yours. You left it over here once and I kept forgetting to give it back. Wear that.”
“Thanks.” Yamato swapped shirts quickly, and then hesitantly accepted the phone Taichi held out. “Call him.”
He dialed the number, his fingers shaking. Natsuko answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Natsuko... Okaasan.. is Takeru there?”
“Oh hi, Yamato,” she said sighing. “Sure, just a moment.” Then, a little further away, “Takeru? Yamato for you. On the phone.”
“Thanks. ‘niichan?”
“Hi Takeru.”
“What’s up?”
He looked for Taichi to reassurance. Taichi nodded and smiled at him. “I have to-I have.. I need to tell you something. Could you come over to Taichi’s?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. Is it too much trouble?”
“No.. not really.” Takeru sounded bewildered. “I’ll be there soon, I guess. Are you okay? Not sick or anything are you?”
Only mentally. “No. No, I’m not sick. I’m fine. Come soon. Sayounara.”
“‘nara.”
Yamato hung up and looked at Taichi again, still shaking slightly. Taichi moved to hold his friend, and they stayed that way until Hikari announced Takeru’s arrival.
Taichi let go of Yamato, and opened the door. Takeru walked in and looked them, and then took a seat next to his brother. He seemed a little unsure of why he was there, but there was concern in his eyes as well.
“So what did you want to tell me?”
“Um.. well.. it’s a little hard. Takeru, what do you think of the term ‘cutting’?”
Takeru frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “Cutting? I.. I’m not sure what you mean by it.”
Yamato rubbed his eyes. “Well, it’s something a person does.. to themselves.”
“People cut themselves?”
“Yeah. They do. It doesn’t make them strange or crazy.. often there’s a good reason behind it.”
Takeru’s frown just deepened. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with you?”
Yamato swallowed hard. He looked at his brother and smiled. “Because I do it,” he said softly.
The younger blond looked startled. “What--‘cutting’? You cut yourself?”
“Yes. I cut myself.”
“I.. but why?”
“Well... there’s lots of different reasons, and you wouldn’t understand them, and I can’t really explain them.”
“Where?”
“Huh?” Yamato asked, ataken back.
“Where are they? The cuts.”
“Uhh... on my arms.”
“Can I see them?”
“Oh Takeru... you don’t really want to.. it’s not pretty at all. It wouldn’t serve any purpose..”
“It would for me. Please, oniichan?”
Yamato looked to Taichi, pleading silently with his eyes for help. Taichi shrugged. “Why not? You showed me.”
He sighed. “Alright, fine. Here.” He rolled up his sleeves. There was no visible reaction from Takeru. He only stared at them, seemingly studying them. “That’s a lot,” he said at last.
“Yes. A year’s worth.”
“Can I.. can I touch one?”
“Eto... I guess so. Gently.”
Tentatively, Takeru reached out with a hand and ran his finger down an older cut. “I don’t understand,” he whispered.
“I don’t think anyone really does, otouto.”
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This has been split into two parts due to the length. Please go to The Rest to finish reading. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Digimon - PG-13 - English - Angst/General - Chapters: 2 - Words: 16620 - Reviews: 16 - Updated: 12-9-03 - Published: 12-7-03
Disclaimer: Digimon is not mine. It belongs to Toei Animation and original creators. Arrangement of words and any characters not mentioned in Digimon series belong to me. Please do not reproduce any of this in any way. The lyrics belong to Linkin Park, and are from the song called “In the End” on the CD Hybrid Theory, Track 8.
Author’s Notes: Well, I didn’t think I’d do any more fanfiction, but here I am. This fic deals with self-injury by way of cutting. If this triggers you, or bothers you, don’t read it. It’s as simple as that. This takes place when Yamato-tachi are all ninensei, or 11th graders. So they’re between the ages of 16-17. And yes, the Digiworld stuff happened, but there’s not really any reason to bring it up here. This is a one-shot fic, and is probably full of angst and self-abuse. This is not Taito, it’s simply a friendship fic, though anyone who’s read my other stuff knows I whole-heartedly support both yaoi and Taito. “Just because you’re wearing a tie doesn’t mean to say you're bloody important.”
Tearing Me Apart
by: butterflie, formerly known as Crimson Goddess
start: 3 December 2003 Wednesday
It starts with one thing
I don’t know why
It doesn’t even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind
I designed this rhyme to explain
in due time all I know
Time is a valuable thing
watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
watch it count down to the end of the day
the clock ticks life away
it’s so unreal didn’t look out below
watch the time go right out the window
tryin to hold on but you didn’t even know
I wasted it all just to watch you go
I kept everything inside and even though
I tried it all fell apart what it meant to me
will eventually be a memory
-In the End, LINKIN PARK
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Crimson pools of red, blossoming, spreading, running down pale white. A sudden sharpness biting down into softness, dragging through. Lift. Repeat. Lift. Repeat. Impassionate blue eyes staring. A small smile tugging. Tensions bursting, emotions too complex for words forming and falling apart. Everything jumbling together, not making sense and yet nothing more perfect. Release...
Drops of red falling, spattering, staining. A replacing frown, soft curses breaking the silence.
Yamato sighed, and stared at the blood staining his carpet. “Damn,” he let out softly. He put down his blade, but instead of cleaning up his mess like he knew he should, he stared at his arm instead. Fresh red marks overlapped fading ones, criss-crossed patches of stark lines defining his arm. A lot were scars. Others were just cuts that over time would join the scars. And of course, there were the marks courtesy of just a few minutes.
He’d already forgotten what had set him off. Most likely a build-up of frustrated emotions, emotions he had no idea how to release. He was cutting a lot lately, and this was usually the reason why.
Hell, I can’t even remember the reason for half of these anymore.... At first, I had a reason. Or as much of a reason one can have for this kind of thing, anyway. But now.. every little thing can set me off, it seems. And sometimes the urge just comes over me, without any real reason at all. And I’m stuck in it’s tight grip until I release it.
I should get help. Yamato couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought that in the past year and a month. He’d tried, God knows he’d tried. But in the end he couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t speak the four words that would release him from the hell he’d created for himself. So he went on cutting, and cutting, and things just went further and further past that point of no return.
He let out another sigh, and picked his blade back up, heading to the bathroom to clean up. He had to get everything back to normal before his dad came home. Didn’t need him suspecting anything.
+-+-+-+
Never-ending pounding on his door woke Yamato the next morning. He groaned as he cracked a sleep-filled eye open.
“Yamato! Get up, you’ll be late for school!” That was his dad, yelling through the locked door.
He forced his eye open and looked at the clock. 7:45. His dad was right. Usually he was up at 7:20. He propped himself up on one elbow, but winced when a stinging feeling assaulted his arm. Ow.... what the hell? He looked down at his arm, caught sight of those red marks, seemingly innocent but nevertheless reminding him of all the reasons to just go back to sleep and make it all go away. Oh yeah... I cut again yesterday. Can’t believe I forgot.
Tossing aside his covers, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slid out. Wonder if I should wrap that up... Nah... I think it will be fine.
“Yamato, are you up yet?”
“Uh, yeah-“ he cleared his scratchy-sounding throat and tried again. “Yeah dad, I’m awake. Thanks.”
“Alright, well hurry up son, don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” he called back, even as he was quickly pulling on his uniform for school. He unlocked his door and heading down the hall to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and fiddled with his hair, getting it just so. Dammit, why is my arm hurting so much? Usually it barely bothers me. He removed his blazer and rolled up the white sleeves. As he did so, he noticed a few spots of red. Oh come on! Don’t tell me... It was. One of the cuts was bleeding again.
That stain will never come out. He pulled out the bandages, deciding it would be good to wrap them after all. Once he was finished, he ducked back into his room to quickly snatch up his knapsack, and headed down the hall, waving a hurried goodbye to his dad, who was busy making coffee--the only thing he managed not to burn.
“Yamato, don’t you want some coffee or toast or something?” his dad sounded surprised.
“No time today dad, gotta run, thanks anyway.” And he was gone.
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Classes went by slowly. To Yamato, every minute spent at school was torture. Maybe not as bad as right after that had happened, but he still hated school. And today was going badly. He’d came in late and received a detention. Then he’d managed to get into a fight with Taichi--something that hadn’t happened in awhile. It left him feeling unsettled and strangely guilty. He’d been missing his homework in two of his classes. Two more days of detention for that. He hadn’t had time to make a lunch this morning, and there was no money to buy something. Then to top it all off, that cut from the morning kept sporadically bleeding. He must have cut deeper than he’d realized, not that he really remembered.
And now he wanted to do it again. Cut.
It’s getting worse. Used to, I could get by with cutting once, maybe twice a month. Then it was about four times a month. Then twice a week... now it just keeps moving up. But this is the first time I’ve ever had the urge to do it two consecutive days. This can’t keep going on. It’s crazy. But I don’t know how to stop it anymore. I almost wish someone would just find me, or ask me..
But I’d be so ashamed then, and they’d want to know why, and I’d have to tell everyone about Eric... and I don’t want to do that.
“Ano.... Yamato?”
He looked up. Taichi was standing over him, a look of slight confusion on his face. “Class is over, you realize that?” Yamato looked around, saw all the students cleaning up the room.
“Oh. Heh. How’d I miss that, I wonder...” he gave Taichi a sheepish grin. Taichi grinned back at him, but Yamato didn’t miss the concern in his eyes.
Hell. Way to go Yamato. He tossed his books into his bag and stood, smiling brightly. “Sorry, I can’t go home with you today, Taichi.”
“Detention, right?”
“Yeah... three days.”
“That’s not like you, Yama.”
“Eh.. I fell asleep early last night. Didn’t finish my homework and didn’t set my alarm. This is what I get in return. Oh well. I’ll live.”
“You should have told me earlier. I’ve could have got detention and shared it with you!”
They both laughed. “Well, there’s still two more days left, if you really want to try,” Yamato joked.
“Try? I don’t even have to try!”
“Alright boys,” Ishikawa Sensei said. “Don’t loiter around after class.”
“Hai, Sensei,” they said, and immediately begin heading towards the door. After a quick stop at lockers, they parted company at the front gate, and Yamato headed towards the room where detention was held, thankful it was Tadaji Sensei who was in charge today.
“Hello Yamato-kun,” Tadaji Sensei greeted him as he walked in the classroom. “What are you doing here?”
“Serving detention,” the blond answered ruefully.
Tadaji Sensei raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t have expected it of you.”
Yamato just nodded and handed him his detention slip, then went to sit down in a sit near the front. He waited an appropriate time of about twenty minutes, growing ever more anxious with each minute that passed. I can make this, I can make this.. only twenty more minutes.. When about twenty minutes had passed, he stood and made his way to the desk.
“Tadaji Sensei,” he whispered urgently. The man looked up. “Yes?”
“May I please use the restroom? It’s an emergency!”
The teacher hesitated, but then conceded, “Well, alright.. but try to hurry.”
“Thanks!” He hurried down the hall to a bathroom, and then locked himself in a stall, where he pulled up his left sleeve and promptly yanked his blade out of his pocket.
The feel of the cold steel sinking into his skin was heaven. He dug it in as deep as he dared, then dragged it across his arm quickly. Red blood immediately started to seep out of the jagged cut, and to Yamato it was a beautiful sight. He lifted the blade out of his arm, then slashed at his arm over and over, quick shallow marks that would leave only tiny scars, if any. But the pain... it’d leave a stinging sensation he’d welcome, different from the pain he got from the deeper cuts. Better. The deeper cuts didn’t really feel good. They hurt in a bad way, though they gave him lots of relief while he was making them. The shallower cuts would hurt for days on end, and just enough so that he felt real, felt alive.
Satisfied now, and with the edge off of that burning urge deep inside him, he rolled down his sleeve and blazer, then washed the blade off at the sink before heading back to the classroom. Hopefully he hadn’t been gone too long.
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There was a note waiting for him on the table when he got home from school.
Hey, I stopped by, but you weren’t here. Taichi said you were serving detention..? I didn’t know whether or not to believe him. I thought maybe you’d be interested in going to see that new movie this weekend, but I guess I’ll ask you later. Call me sometime soon, ‘niichan, ‘k?
Takeru
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to do anything this weekend other than sleep. But he didn’t want Takeru worrying about him. He couldn’t deal with questions. Questions led to things he meant to keep secret. “So I guess I’m stuck going to this movie,” he said out loud.
There was also another note left for him on the fridge.
Have to work late tonight. Sorry. Don’t worry about dinner--I’ll get something at work. Just get yourself some take-out or something. Call if you need anything.
His dad. Nothing unusual there, he thought bitterly. Just once I wish you’d be here for me when I so desperately need you. Need somebody. But of course your damned tv station is more precious than your own flesh and blood son..
He knew he was being unfair, that his father loved him, but dammit, it was so hard to acknowledge that when all his father ever did was work! He’s never around hardly, doesn’t notice me much.. I bet if I killed myself, it’d be a week before he even noticed, and only then because he wouldn’t get dinner when he came home. That was even more unfair, and Yamato hated himself for even thinking it. Yet he couldn’t stop wondering if it was true sometimes. The thought made him feel awful inside, and before he knew it he was sobbing wildly, picking up things and throwing them around the kitchen. He picked up a cup and hurled it across the room, watching the glass shatter and enjoying the sight, oddly enough. He picked up a plate, and threw that too.
“I hate you! You’re never here for me when I need you! You weren’t there a year ago, you weren’t there the first time I hurt myself, and you’re not here now! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” Each “hate” was punctuated by some random dish. A cup, a bowl, a plate... whatever breakable was available, he threw it. Eventually he ran out of things to throw, and reached for silverware. The first thing his frenzied fingers happened upon was a knife. Without hardly being aware of it, he’d seized it and started slashing out angrily at his arms, marking over the cuts he’d made yesterday and earlier today, not really feeling anything, only enjoying the site of crimson spilling out everywhere, painting his arms and the floor. He was still screaming at his absent father.
Eventually the blond came back to himself, still sobbing quietly, but no longer angry and frantic. Now he just ached. He sank to his knees amidst all the broken glass and porcelain, lowered his head, and wept.
It was an hour before he finally collected himself. Once he did, he slowly got to his feet and grabbed the broom and dustpan, starting the tedious task of sweeping up the mess he’d made. Most of their dishes were currently lying on the floor of the kitchen, with just a few left inside the cabinets. At least there was still the silverware. When he’d finished with the glass, he soaked a sponge and began scrubbing at the congealing blood on the floor. To his relief it came off fairly easily. He didn’t know how he would have explained the stains to his dad.
Then he went about the task of cleaning himself up. This took the longest. There were many cuts, and they varied in shallowness. To be on the safe side, he poured disinfectant over his arms, screaming at the unbearable pain as it bubbled and frothed. The knife probably had been a little rusty, a lot of their knives were. Once the disinfectant was finished, he rubbed Neosporin over the cuts, and finished it all off with layers of white bandages wrapped around his arms. He pulled his white shirt off completely, and carried it to his room. He’d have to trash it, but not where his dad could see it. So he just stuck it in an empty desk drawer and got a clean black shirt out of his dresser. His blazer he threw in the wash with some bleach, hoping that would remove the few drops of blood on that. After that he crawled into bed and cried some more, hating himself for being so weak, and hoping against hope his dad wouldn’t even notice the dishes.
He had no such luck. A little after midnight he was woken by his dad bellowing for him to get in the kitchen, this instant!
He made sure his sleeves were pulled down completely, then acknowledged his father’s yelling and slowly went into the kitchen.
“Hai?” he asked, blinking his eyes sleepily, trying to appear innocent. His dad wasn’t in the mood for his little act, however.
“What the hell happened to all our dishes? Why are most of them in the trash?”
“Ano....” his brain scurried around frantically, trying to find an excuse hidden in a corner somewhere that he could pull out and make it sound plausible. “Well, I broke them,” he said stalling.
Masaharu scowled. “I’m aware of that. What I want to know is how. And why.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Yamato said truthfully. Because he really hadn’t. He’d just sort of... lost it.
“So how did you?”
“I... I....” dammit Yamato, think of something! Gah, you’re so stupid! He could feel his eyes starting to fill with tears, and he panicked. “I- I dropped them!” he blurted out, then immediately winced. What the hell kind of excuse was that?
“Dropped them?! All of them? Maybe if it had just been a few, I could understand, but how the hell could you drop all of them?”
Quickly, “Eto.. I was just lifting the strainer to carry them closer to the cabinet, and it just slipped out of my hand, and they all broke! I’m really sorry! I’ll replace them! I’ll save up the money and buy some new ones myself!” And then to his horror he burst into tears anyway.
Masaharu looked surprised. “Yamato...”
But Yamato wasn’t having any of it. With another apology, he fled the kitchen to the safety of his locked room. He sobbed angrily at himself for awhile. I’m falling apart.. breaking down. I can’t take this much longer. I’m sick of living like this. Hell, I’m sick of living, period. I wish I could die.
The thought shocked him to automatic silence for a moment, and when the realization hit home a few moments later, he started crying again, even harder this time. It’s not true! I don’t really want to die! I don’t want to leave my family and friends behind, I don’t want to leave my band behind, or all the memories of happier times. I want to live.. but I want to die. Thank God I don’t have the courage to do it myself... Thank God I’m torn between life and death. Each moment of uncertainty means another moment of living.
Oh God, I need help. Somebody help me, please. I can’t do this anymore!
“I can’t do this!” he screamed, forgetting his dad was home. Even if he’d remembered, it was doubtful he’d have cared. Angrily he snatched up his school textbooks off his desk, and sent them slamming into the wall across the room. “I can’t do this anymore! I’m sick of it! I’m sick of it...”
A knock came at his door. “Yamato?” Masaharu sounded scared, and with good reason. “Yamato, open this door.”
“Go away!” the boy shouted at his father, still sobbing, even as he picked up a small unused lamp. He threw that at the wall as well, and the bulb inside shattered. “Just leave me be!”
“Ishida Yamato, open this door right now!”
“NO! Go... AWAY!!” And then he said no more, just continued to cry.
Masaharu stayed outside the door, and eventually sat down with his back to it, listening worriedly to the sounds within and wondering if something had happened to his son. At least now I know what really happened to our dishes.
+-+-+-+
His head was pounding, that was the first thing he noticed. The second was that he was on the floor. For a moment, he was confused, but then yesterday and last night’s events came seeping back through his memory, and he realized he must have fallen asleep on the floor.
I had a breakdown.. he thought distractedly. Groaning, he stood and opened his door. His dad fell over backwards.
Yamato frowned down at him. Okay....
Masaharu let out a moan, and opened his eyes. “Ow....” He looked up at his son standing over him. He still remembered the events of the night quite clearly. Whatever was wrong though, Yamato seemed to have gotten over it now. “Are you okay?” he asked his son, still somewhat frightened over Yamato’s behaviour.
The teen didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m fine.” He glanced over at his clock. 10:22. “You’re late for work.”
The older man frowned. “What? What time is it?”
“10:22,” he was informed.
“Damn!” he got to his feet. “Here, get ready for school and I’ll take you on the way to work.”
Yamato shook his head. “Not going.”
“What?” His father frowned. “Of course you are. You’ll just be late, that’s all. I’ll write you an excuse.”
“No,” he replied, a bit forcibly. “I’m not going.”
“Yamato...” Masaharu began, then thought better of it and stopped. It’s not worth it. I don’t have time to argue, and I’m a little afraid to push him.. He sighed. “Fine. You can stay home. Just for today.”
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Taichi was in the middle of fighting a bunch of Tonberries when the phone rang. After two rings, it stopped, so he ignored it and continued fighting. Hikari appeared a minute later, phone in hand. “S’for you.”
The brunette scowled, and paused his game. And I was just about to get a Limit Break too... “Who is it?” he asked his sister.
She looked troubled. “I.. I think it’s Yamato, but I can’t be sure..”
Frowning, he took the phone she held out to him. “Hello?”
“Taichi? Oh God Taichi, I saw him, I was just crossing the street and he was there, I saw him and he saw me and he smiled and I saw him oh God Taichi I ran home but I’m so scared now Taichi...” Yamato was blubbering, barely making any sense at all.
Taichi scowled again and interrupted. “Yamato, I don’t really understand what you’re saying, but I’m coming over right now, okay?"
Yamato hiccupped, still sobbing, but he managed to get out an “okay”.
Taichi hung up the phone, and snatched his jacket up from where it’d been stretched out across the back of the couch. He shoved his shoes on then disappeared out the door, practically running to Yamato’s. He sensed something was terribly wrong, though he had no idea what.
+-+-+-+
Yamato didn’t answer the door right away when there was a knock. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to figure out if it was Eric or Taichi. The problem was solved when Taichi spoke.
“Yama, it’s me, let me in!”
At that, Yamato dived towards the door and yanked it open, pulling Taichi inside quickly, then slamming the door back and locking it. Taichi took one look at his friend and didn’t even bother with questions, just pulled the crying blond into a tight hug, smoothing back his hair and whispering soothing things into his ear.
Yamato clung to him like he was the only lifeline left, and eventually he managed to stop crying enough to make sense. Taichi released him and led him over to the couch, sitting him down. “Stay there. I’m going to get you some water.”
Yamato nodded, and in few moments was gulping down cold and welcome water from one of their few remaining glasses. Taichi was sitting down next to him, and he placed his empty glass on the floor, then put his head down on Taichi’s lap, still crying slightly. Taichi didn’t say anything, just resumed stroking his hair lightly. “So what happened?” he asked gently. “I.. I saw him again, Taichi.. I was.. I was.. and I saw him, and..” He started to get hysterical again, but Taichi just shushed him, and let him sit in silence for a bit more.
“Who’s ‘him’?” he finally asked.
“I.. You wouldn’t know him,” Yamato whispered, eyes closed. “Him is Eric. He was..” he paused. He’d never told Taichi he was gay, and he wasn’t sure how his friend would react. But he plunged on anyway, consumed by the need to tell someone, anyone, his horrible secrets and not have to deal with it alone anymore. And if Taichi damned him for it, well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. “Eric was my boyfriend.” He opened his eyes and looked up into the face of his friend, scared of the reaction. Taichi merely smiled softly at him, and Yamato felt better about continuing. He smiled back.
“And?” Taichi prompted. “You say was.”
Yamato attempted a nod. “Yeah. Was. I sort of dumped him a year and a month ago.”
“Why?”
This was it. He couldn’t look back after this. You can do this, Yamato.. “I-I never told anyone this before. I was so scared, and hurt, and didn’t want anyone to worry, didn’t know how anyone would react...”
“What? What happened, Yamato?”
“I thought he really liked me..” more tears filled his eyes. “We’d went to the movies for a date. Dad was working late again, so we came here... I’d made out with him before--this isn’t grossing you out, is it?” he interrupted himself, suddenly self-conscious.
Taichi laughed ever so slightly. “No, go on.”
“Well.. so anyway, it wasn’t anything new. I was comfortable, and we both enjoyed it. Nothing real serious, you know? I still don’t know what went wrong.. but he started getting more intense, more physical, and suddenly it wasn’t fun anymore. I didn’t like it, felt uncomfortable. I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen.. just kept going and going until he went too far, and it couldn’t be taken back, couldn’t be made better... After it was over, I threw him out. Today was the first time I’d seen him since, since..” He found he couldn’t go on. He didn’t need to. Taichi understood.
“Oh Yama..” he said, and there were tears in both his voice and his eyes. “You should have told someone...”
“I was scared.. and hurt.. I didn’t want to think about it.. I just wanted it to all go away, and I wanted no one to find out, ever. But then I.. I started.. Well, ever since I’ve been.. dammit!” Frustration underlined his voice, and he took a deep calming breath. Why was it so hard to say? Four words. I cut myself, Taichi.
“You what?”
Well, if I can’t tell him, I’ll show him. Silently, he rolled up his sleeves. He’d pulled off the bandages early, after he ran from Eric, but then the shakes hit and he’d been unable to replace them. So his arms were bare, exposed to the world.
Taichi frowned, not sure what he was looking at. He pulled Yamato to a sitting position, and took one of Yamato’s arms in his hands, and it was only then he realized just what he was staring at. Cuts and scars, adorning Yamato’s arms like an intricate, gruesome tattoo. Except this tattoo was made of dried blood and broken skin rather than ink.
“I... you did this?”
Yamato nodded, a few more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“I.. I can’t really explain it. You have to actually do it to understand it. But.. it.. it makes me feel alive. It gives me a rush. It’s a release of tension.. It lets me know that I’m real.”
“I still don’t understand.” The poor brunette frowned.
“I’m sorry, Taichi. I can’t really explain it any better than that. It’s just... I don’t know..” he trailed off, sighing at his inadequacy to put what the cutting made him feel into words powerful enough to convey.
“Does.. does anyone else know?”
“Me. And you. And no one else.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Only after the fact.”
Taichi looked puzzled at that, but didn’t bother saying anything. Instead, he just asked, “And you’ve been doing this for how long?”
“About.. about a year. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“I should have told you, should have told someone.. but everything just hurt so much, and I didn’t know how to make it go away.”
“How did you know cutting would make it go away?”
Yamato looked away at the question. “It was an accident. I was making dinner and cut myself... it felt good. So I took the knife and experimented.” He pointed to a very faint mark running the length of his right arm. “This was that first cut I made. And then about a month, I just cut myself again, because I felt so horrible. And it just kept happening, and more often...” he dissolved into tears again, and Taichi pulled him back into another tight hug.
“Yama, I think you should tell your dad.”
The blond let out a shriek and attempted to pull away from Taichi. He only held him more tightly. “No! I can’t tell him! Besides, he probably wouldn’t even care.”
Taichi didn’t miss the bitter tone to Yamato’s voice. “What makes you say that?” he questioned, frowning.
“All he cares about is that stupid television station of his,” came the quiet mutter.
“What? Come on, you know that’s not true. Your father loves you!”
“No! He doesn’t! You don’t know, Taichi! You’re not me! You’re never here to see the notes he leaves me almost every day. The ones that tell me that once again, he’s working late. He’s never here for me when I need him! He doesn’t even notice me, he doesn’t! I bet if I were to die, he wouldn’t even notice for a week! Or longer! And when it finally did, it’d be cos dinner wasn’t waiting for him in the fridge! That’s all I am to him, Taichi! His personal maid! He doesn’t care about me, he never has! Neither of my parents do! I hate them, I hate them both! And I hate dad more! When I was raped, he wasn’t here for me so he never noticed something was wrong! And when I started cutting, he wasn’t here then either! And he’s not here now! My best friend is taking the place of my father! I HATE HIM!”
Taichi didn’t say anything, just let his friend have his little tirade, all the while still holding him and rocking him gently from time to time. Yamato had probably needed that.. It was certainly true that his father wasn’t ever really here when he needed him, and everyone knew Natsuko didn’t care much for her oldest son. But he was still pretty sure Mr. Ishida loved his son. He just wasn’t good at showing it. He didn’t tell Yamato that, though. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear right now.
Eventually the blond became exhausted by it all, and Taichi released him from his grasp, easing him down on the couch. Pretty soon after that Yamato was asleep. Taichi eased his shirt sleeves back down, then went and got the blanket from his room, covering him up with it. He leaned down and softly kissed the sleeping boy’s cheek. “Sleep well,” he whispered.
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Taichi was already there when Yamato arrived in homeroom the next day. He took his seat next to his friend. Taichi smiled at him. “Hey. How are you doing?”
Yamato didn’t look at him. “I’m fine. Thanks.. about yesterday.”
The smile grew wider. “No problem. I’m just glad you told me.”
Yamato mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “go jump in a lake”.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “I said, it wasn’t a mistake.”
“Uh-huh. That better be what you said.”
Nishiki Sensei walked in just then, and the boys quieted for roll call.
Homeroom and second period passed uneventfully, with the exception of Taichi earning two days worth of detention for sleeping in class. He looked sideways at Yamato after being whacked on the head with a ruler. “See? Told you I didn’t have to try!” Yamato had to smother his laughter.
Third period went badly. Very, very badly. It was an algebra class, Yamato’s worst subject. And, just his luck, there was a test he hadn’t studied for. He sat there, staring at the problems sitting there innocently on that white piece of paper. He found them incomprehensible. He begin sweating, and berated himself for his stupidity. When the bell rang at the end of class, he stood, miserable, and turned his test in blank, trying desperately not to cry. At least Taichi hadn’t been in the class. He would have noticed something was wrong.
Fourth period was Tadaji Sensei’s biology class. Taichi was in the class as well. Almost as soon as the bell had rang, his hand shot up. “Sensei, I need to use the restroom!”
“Very well. Hurry back, there’s a test.”
Fuck. Another one I’m going to fail. He thanked the man and headed to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall. He removed his blazer and rolled up his sleeve, then pulled his blade out. He tried to avoid cutting in school, but sometimes the urge just gripped him, and he absolutely couldn’t help it. This was one of those times.
He’d just stopped cutting when he heard the door open, and the sound of someone’s footsteps walking in. He went deadly silent, hoping whoever it was would leave. Then Taichi’s voice called, “Yamato? Are you in here?”
He sighed, which he discovered was immediately a mistake.
“Yamato, I know you’re in here. I just heard you. And I can see your feet.”
Yamato sighed again, then pulled open the stall door. Taichi was standing just outside, and he caught sight of the red marks.
“Oh Yamato....”
“I couldn’t help it,” came the quiet explanation. “I just turned in a test blank last class.”
“That’s not a reason to hurt yourself..”
“Don’t tell me what’s a reason and what’s not, Yagami Taichi!” he responded fiercely, angry suddenly. “You wouldn’t know.. wouldn’t understand.”
“Well, no, you’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’d want to deliberately hurt yourself, and I don’t understand how it makes you feel better. But I do understand that you need to get that wrapped.” He motioned towards the bleeding marks on the pale arm.
Yamato looked away. “I don’t have any bandages with me.” He tried to change the subject. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Sensei sent me in after you. Said you’d been gone too long.”
“Guess we’d better get back then, huh?”
“Yamato..”
The boy in question yanked down the sleeve of his shirt, and patches of crimson automatically burst up, spreading through and ruining pristine white. Taichi winced. He grabbed his blazer from the floor of the stall and pulled it back on, then turned towards Taichi. “Shall we go?”
“I can’t believe you’re not taking care of that,” the brunette muttered. They headed back to class.
Tadaji Sensei greeted them as they entered. “Everything alright, Yamato-kun?”
“Hai, Sensei.” He took his seat, and Tadaji Sensei passed out the tests. He did better than he’d expected, although he knew that if he even passed, it’d be with a very low grade. The bell rang, and he turned in his test with the rest of the students, grateful that this one at least wasn’t blank.
Taichi pulled him aside before they made it to the lunchroom. “It’s bleeding!” he hissed.
“What?” Yamato was confused. What is he talking about...?
“Your arm! Look at it!”
He looked.
Indeed, it was very definitely and very visibly bleeding. Dark reddish-brown areas spotted his green blazer. Quickly he yanked up the sleeve. His white shirt was completely soaked through with red blood. “Damn!”
He ducked into a bathroom, Taichi right behind him, and was thankful it was empty. They shut the door, and Taichi managed to jam it up to keep people out, although he didn’t really think anyone would come in. They were all busy enjoying their lunches, or stuck in class. Yamato wrestled out of his blazer, and pulled his shirt up over his head. They both looked at his arm. It was still bleeding quite profusely. He ordered Taichi to wet some paper towels and give them to him, which Taichi rushed to do. He blotted away a lot of the blood, hissing at the pain. Though still bleeding, he could see the cut now, and realized just how deep he’d actually cut. I’m going to have to be more careful from now on..
Taichi looked frantic. “Yamato! Your arm..”
“It’s fine. I just cut too deep, that’s all. Do you have anything I can wrap it with?”
“I.. I’ve got an old school shirt..” he sounded unsure.
“Do you mind parting with it?”
“Not really.”
“Then say goodbye, and hand it over. “
Taichi took it out of his knapsack, and handed it over as requested. Yamato worked to tear it into useable strips, and Taichi helped him wrap it around his arm. They finished shortly, and Taichi literally sighed with relief.
“Sorry,” Yamato apologized.
“I told you before, you don’t have to apologize!”
“Sorry,” Yamato repeated again, and there was a grin accompanying the words.
“Oh, you!” Taichi pretended to whack him, and they both laughed, but Yamato hadn’t missed the pure panic and fright in Taichi’s eyes when they’d seen his arm. He began to wonder if he should have told his best friend after all.
“Come on. Let’s go to lunch.”
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Yamato walked home slowly after he’d been let out of detention. He’d checked his arm before he’d left, and it seemed to have stopped bleeding, though it still looked a bloody mess. He’d take care of it when he got home.
I know I scared Taichi with it earlier. But I honestly hadn’t meant to cut that deep. Hell, I don’t even remember cutting that deep. In fact, the whole episode is sort of a blur.. They’ve been becoming like that a lot lately. It’s kind of scary. Maybe it’s a good thing I told Taichi. He can help me from cutting so much.
He pulled his keys out of his pocket, and in doing so accidentally disloged his blade. With a small surprised gasp, he leaned down and hurriedly snatched it back up, shoving it into his pocket before unlocking his door.
He let himself in and slipped off his shoes, then passed through the living room to the kitchen. He stopped short when he caught sight of his dad in front of the sink, a glass of water in hand.
“Ano... T-Tadaima....”
“Okaeri,” Masaharu replied softly.
“What.. what are you doing here?” It came out blunt, and he winced, but he was genuinely shocked and didn’t know how to conceal it.
His dad didn’t really seem surprised, though. He gave his son a sad little smile. “I took the rest of the day off. We need to talk, Yamato.”
Yamato looked away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Isn’t there, though? The other day-“
“No. There isn’t. And besides, I have band practice today.”
“I know something’s wrong,” his father continued on anyways. “Your fit the other night proved that. And I know you didn’t break the dishes by dropping them. I’m pretty sure you threw them the way you did your books and lamp. Happy people don’t do that. So something’s wrong. I wish you’d tell me what. I’d like to help you, if possible.”
“Nothing’s wrong. You could have saved yourself and stayed at work.”
Masaharu sighed. “I know I don’t show it, but I do care about you, Yamato.”
“I have to go. Practice starts soon.” He walked to his room, telling himself that he wasn’t really running, that he really did have to get to practice, or Ratsuii would be pissed. He quickly grabbed his guitar and left the apartment, knowing all to well that he was running, and wishing whole-heartedly he could convince himself otherwise.
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Two weeks passed. Things were going pretty well for Yamato, and he hadn’t cut once. Having Taichi helped, but Yamato knew the self-restraint was all his own doing, and he was damned proud of himself. A couple of times, he’d sort of wanted to, but they were brief moments, and passed quickly.
Taichi had managed to get his hands on an anime they’d both been wanting to see, called Azumanga Daioh, and they spent the better part of the second week watching that and laughing their asses off. It helped. Yamato was occupied with it, it was light and humorous, and it distracted him from thinking about all the things that made him want to cut. School had been going pretty well too. Classes were good, his grades were good, he was there every day and studied well for tests and turned in all his homework.
He’d even managed to get some time in with Takeru. They’d went and saw that movie last weekend, the one Takeru had asked about. It sucked, as Yamato had suspected it would, but afterwards they went out for icecream and he just enjoyed the time with his little brother. He’d thought once, very briefly, about telling Takeru about his cutting, but almost immediately decided against it. It would worry his brother unnecessarily, and he really wasn’t ready for anyone else to know. Taichi was enough.
He wasn’t sure how things went downhill so quickly. It happened Tuesday night. The day had began well. School was fine, made better by the fact that they had just received a week off for fall break. But then he got home, and everything changed. First, it was seeing the note he hadn’t seen since the day his father had been home early.
Yamato, I’m really sorry, I have to work late, we’re trying to get a new show off the ground. Could you please make dinner and throw a load of clothes in the wash? Thanks. I’ll be home about eleven or so, most likely.
It upset him, but he didn’t want it to get to him. So he threw a load of clothes in the wash. Then he started dinner. That’s when things went horribly wrong. He burned himself on a pan. Knocked his head into the cabinet. Accidentally hit his arm hard against something, and opened up a healing cut. It started to bleed again. Then the washing machine started leaking soap all over the floor, and he rushed to turn it off, wondering if he’d put in more soap than he realized. So he sorted out the clothes, and suddenly remembered dinner too late. It had burned. There was nothing else in the house, and there was no money left anywhere for groceries or take-out. It was probably all in his dad’s wallet. Then he realized his arm was still bleeding, so he cursed and took care of that, sighing at seeing some of the blood on the floor. He dropped his favourite mug on the floor, watching it shatter into a million tiny shards, feeling a wrench in his gut. He’d had that mug since Takeru was born. It was his “Omedetou oniichan!” mug. Now he not only lost the mug, he lost the hot chocolate he’d been planning to make. So, frustrated and feeling that urge start to build up, he went to do his homework, hoping it would distract him. He went to the living room to get his knapsack only to then realize he’d left an important textbook back at his locker in school.
It was too much. Crying tears of frustration, hating himself for what he was about to do, knowing he should call Taichi instead, he grabbed his blade and held it over his arm, hesitating for just a moment before sinking it deep into his skin. Forget the shallow cuts, he needed the relief, the feeling of tension escaping, and he needed it right away. He sighed, and dragged the blade deep down his right arm, watching the blood rush out of the cut, and enjoying it. He removed the blade, went back to the top of his arm, to the right of the cut just a bit, then dug down again, making a cut parallel to the first. He’d just started on his third cut when the door clicked open. His eyes widened; he looked down panicked at the blade he still held in his arm. He thought about trying to hide it, or jumping up and running into his room.
His dad stepped into the room.
Everything was suddenly suspended in motion. Just for a second. Then his dad let out a sort of strangled half-gasp, half-cry, and the feeling was broken.
Yamato disintegrated into helpess, scared tears.
“Ya-Yamato?” Masaharu croaked out, frightened and unsure. He took a hesitant step towards his crying son. “Yamato?” he repeated. “What.. what’s going on?” He took more steps until he reached his son, and was soon kneeling by his side, holding his arm gently. He placed his hand over Yamato’s, and carefully pulled the blade out of his arm, then pried it out of Yamato’s stubborn clutching fingers. He set it down on an end table. He rubbed the fresh cuts ever so gently, and looked at the myriad of older marks on his arm.
“Did you do all these?”
Sobbing, Yamato nodded.
“Is this all of them?”
He shook his head, then pulled up the sleeve on his other arm, his hands shaking. Masaharu looked at those marks as well, then without another word, pulled his son into a tight hug, not even caring that Yamato’s blood was smearing all over his shirt. “Son, son,” he murmured gently. “Why’ve you been hurting yourself?”
He wasn’t really expecting an answer, so was slightly surprised when Yamato choked out, “Cos.. cos everything hurts so much.. and you were never there, and I needed you..”
He closed his eyes momentarily at that, acknowledging the stab of pain Yamato’s statement brought. He didn’t know what to say though, so he didn’t say anything, just held Yamato until his crying finally stopped and he calmed. Masaharu set him on the couch, and went to the bathroom to get some bandages. He came back and wrapped up his son’s arm. Yamato watched him emotionessly. Soon he finished. He rolled Yamato’s sleeves back down and set the extra stuff on the end table. He picked up the bloody blade and sat down next to the boy. He held the blade out to Yamato. Yamato looked at it uncertainly for a moment, then up at his father. After a moment, he understood and took it. It was an expression of trust. By offering it to him, Masaharu was essentially saying he was trusting his son. And by taking it, Yamato was accepting that trust.
“So.. are you willing to talk about it?”
“I.. I guess. Maybe some of it.. it’s.. s’hard.”
“I know it must be. Would you be more comfortable if I just asked some questions, and you answered them?”
A nod.
“How long has this been going on?” The question he most wanted to know, and yet most wanted not to know. Knowing means he had to acknowledge how long he was oblivious while his son was so obviously having problems.
Yamato paused before answering, wondering if he should lie to soften the blow to his dad or just tell the truth. He took a deep breath, not sure which was coming out until he spoke. “About.. a little over a year.” Apparently the truth.
“What caused it?”
He averted his eyes. “I.. I don’t really want to talk about that.” Because I’m afraid to tell him I’m gay, and I don’t know if he can handle what Eric did.. It’s a lot to throw at him.
“Okay. You don’t have to.. Does anyone else know about this?”
“Taichi. I told him about two and a half weeks ago.”
“What about your brother?”
Yamato shook his head. “No.”
“Yamato... son... If you’ve been having problems.. why did you resort to that-“ he gestured at the blond’s arms “-before telling anyone? Whatever happened.. why didn’t you tell me? Why did you start cutting yourself instead?”
“I..” A few tears rolled down his cheeks. “I was mad at you.. I still am.. I thought.. I feel like your stupid tv station comes before me.. thought you barely noticed me.. didn’t think you’d listen..”
Masaharu leaned over and held his son again for a moment before sitting back up and speaking. “You and Takeru will always come first. You’re right... I’ve failed you as a father, and I know I’m never around for you, but if something is ever wrong, I will listen.. if you ever need me, just call me up and I’ll come right home.”
Yamato looked down at the blade still in his hands, fiddling with it. I don’t know what to say... and I don’t know what to do. I need help.. can I say that? Will he help me? Does he even know how? “Dad, I....”
“You what?”
“I need help.” The words were soft, barely spoken, but Masaharu heard them anyway. Just those three words made him want to cry. He didn’t, however.
“I know,” he said. “I’ll get you some help, okay? We’ll get this sorted out.”
“What kind of help?”
“I think you should see a counselor.. this is way beyond me, I’ll have to admit. I don’t know anything about people cutting themselves.. and you probably have a lot of things to work out that involve me, and your mother, and the divorce..and whatever happened to cause this in the first place.”
“I wish...”
Masaharu waited, hoping his son would go on.
“I wish it had never happened. I wish I could go back in time to that night, and change it, and do it over right. I wish I could just erase it right out of my memory and never have to think about it again. But I’ve tried, so many times... and yet... I can still remember it, much more clearly than I ever wanted...” he started crying again, softly. “I just wish things were right.”
He sighed, and lay down on the couch, using Masaharu’s lap as a pillow the way he’d used Taichi’s a few weeks ago. Long after his eyes had ran dry, and after Masaharu had given him up for asleep, he spoke. “How.. how come you came home early? You weren’t supposed to be here til late...”
“I was too grumpy at work. They got fed up with me snapping at them and sent me home.”
“Oh,” he mumbled drowsily. “see...” A few minutes later his breathing was slow and even, and he was asleep. Masaharu eased himself from under him, then leaned down and picked him up. The blade that Yamato had still been holding slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. He ignored it for the moment and carried his son to his room, putting him in bed. He yanked off the boy’s clothes and managed to get him into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, with a little help from the semi-conscious Yamato. Then he lay him back down and covered him up, flipping off the light and shutting the door.
He walked back into the living room, picking up the blade. The blood had dried. He stared at it, thinking, ‘This is my son’s own blood, and he put it there himself’. Suddenly angry, he threw it back down and sagged down onto the couch, closing his eyes and sighing.
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The ringing phone seemed unnatural in the early-morning stillness of the house. Yamato groaned and opened his eyes. He glanced over at his clock. 12:45PM Okay, so maybe not early morning.
“Yamato, phone!”
“Ugh..” he muttered. He opened the door and went out to the kitchen, picking up the phone from the counter.
“Hello?”
“Hey! It’s Taichi!”
Yamato groaned loudly for effect.
“What? I didn’t wake you did I? It’s 1:00!”
Yamato only sighed. “Never mind. I’m up now anyway. So what’s up?”
“Just wondering if you wanted to come over and watch Star Ocean EX with me.”
“When’d you get that?”
“I borrowed it from Daisuke. So, you want to?”
“Sure, I guess so. Can I just come over later on and stay the night? I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s cool. So, I’ll see you in awhile?”
“Okay. Bai, Taichi.”
“Bai Yama!” He hung up.
Yamato replaced the receiver slowly. He knew his dad was standing behind him, and he was sort of embarrassed to turn around and face him. For the first time since he’d cut, he was in short-sleeves again, and it made him feel self-conscious to have his cuts out in the open like that. Even if his dad knew now.
“So, what’s going on?” his dad asked.
Yamato turned around, wishing he just cut his arms off and hide them. “I’m going to Taichi’s later on and staying the night. Is that okay?”
His dad nodded. “Sure. But I want to talk to you some more before you go, alright?”
Yamato looked at the floor. “A-About what?”
“What do you think?”
Silence for a moment. Then, “Alright. When?”
“Are you up for it now?”
“I guess.... what exactly do you want to know?”
Masaharu was silent for a minute, not quite sure how to phrase what he wanted to say. “This.. this thing you do, this cutting.. does it have a name?”
“Self-injury. Sometimes it’s called self-injurous behaviour.”
“I.. have you ever tried to.. well...”
Yamato could tell his father was uncomfortable asking this question, so he helped him. “Have I tried or wanted to kill myself?”
“Yes.” Masaharu was embarrassed, but he had to know.
“No... Cutting isn’t about dying, dad. Exactly the opposite, actually. It’s about feeling, being alive, knowing that you’re real... If it was about dying, I would have killed myself a long time ago.. but I don’t want to die.”
“That’s a relief.” He hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud. “Yamato... I know that just because I found out about this.. I know that doesn’t mean you’re going to suddenly stop cutting yourself. I don’t expect you to. But... I’m not ashamed to admit that it scares me, and I hope that when you do it.. I hope that you won’t hide it from me.”
“I can’t promise anything. I don’t want to promise anything.”
“But you’ll at least try?”
“That’s all I can do..”
“I guess I’ll have to accept that. I’ll start calling around for a pyschiatrist today. If I find one, you will go, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
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“Hey Yama--You’re wearing a T-shirt?!”
Yamato gave him a shaky smile. “Can we go to your room and talk? Right now?”
“Sure. Lemme kick Hikari out.” Taichi disappeared, and came back in a few moments. “All clear. Come on.”
He followed Taichi to his room, and sat down on the bottom bunk Hikari and Taichi shared. Taichi sat down at the desk chair after shutting and locking the door behind him.
The brunette was the first to start the conversation. “So how come your in a T-shirt where everyone can see them?” Then he looked closer at Yamato’s arms. “You did it again.” It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement.
“Ano... yeah... Last night. Everything just went wrong, and I couldn’t help.. I needed...”
“How come you didn’t call me?”
“Because I knew you’d talk me out of it, and I wanted it.”
“Oh Yama..” Taichi sighed. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re not covering them now..”
“Dad came home early.”
“What?” Taichi frowned in confusion, not understanding at first--then he got it. “He walked in on you doing that?” A quick motion towards the scar-covered arms.
“Yeah. I had the blade in my arm, actually.”
“Did he take it bad?”
The blond frowned. “No.. not really. Just took the blade out of my arm, and then wrapped my arm up. We talked about it some. He’s going to get me a psychiatrist, if he can find one.”
“So.. so did you.. you know, tell him about-?
“Eric? No.” Yamato smiled sadly. “I’m not ready to yet. There’s so much.. I don’t want him to have to take it in all at once.. And I’m scared to admit I’m.. well, gay. I was scared to tell you.”
“It doesn’t bother me. You’re still my best friend, and I still love you, no matter what happens to you or what you do to yourself or what you are or will become. If you became a no good junkie, I’d still love you.”
Yamato laughed gently at that, but his next remark wasn’t in reply. “I want to tell everybody Taichi. About this. The cutting. I want to kick this thing for real, and I want the support of as many people as possible. But.. I’m scared.”
“Well, that’s understandable. Do you want me to tell some of them?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s-I feel like it’s something I need to do myself, you know?”
“Yeah. Have you told Takeru yet?’
“No..”
“You could start by telling him. Tonight.”
“What, right now?”
Taichi shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Just call him up and tell him to come round.”
“I.. but he’ll see.. I don’t want to scare him.”
Taichi stood up and started rifling through his dresser. After a minute he found what he was looking for and tossed it at Yamato. A long-sleeved black shirt hit him in the face. “Here. It’s yours. You left it over here once and I kept forgetting to give it back. Wear that.”
“Thanks.” Yamato swapped shirts quickly, and then hesitantly accepted the phone Taichi held out. “Call him.”
He dialed the number, his fingers shaking. Natsuko answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Natsuko... Okaasan.. is Takeru there?”
“Oh hi, Yamato,” she said sighing. “Sure, just a moment.” Then, a little further away, “Takeru? Yamato for you. On the phone.”
“Thanks. ‘niichan?”
“Hi Takeru.”
“What’s up?”
He looked for Taichi to reassurance. Taichi nodded and smiled at him. “I have to-I have.. I need to tell you something. Could you come over to Taichi’s?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. Is it too much trouble?”
“No.. not really.” Takeru sounded bewildered. “I’ll be there soon, I guess. Are you okay? Not sick or anything are you?”
Only mentally. “No. No, I’m not sick. I’m fine. Come soon. Sayounara.”
“‘nara.”
Yamato hung up and looked at Taichi again, still shaking slightly. Taichi moved to hold his friend, and they stayed that way until Hikari announced Takeru’s arrival.
Taichi let go of Yamato, and opened the door. Takeru walked in and looked them, and then took a seat next to his brother. He seemed a little unsure of why he was there, but there was concern in his eyes as well.
“So what did you want to tell me?”
“Um.. well.. it’s a little hard. Takeru, what do you think of the term ‘cutting’?”
Takeru frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “Cutting? I.. I’m not sure what you mean by it.”
Yamato rubbed his eyes. “Well, it’s something a person does.. to themselves.”
“People cut themselves?”
“Yeah. They do. It doesn’t make them strange or crazy.. often there’s a good reason behind it.”
Takeru’s frown just deepened. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with you?”
Yamato swallowed hard. He looked at his brother and smiled. “Because I do it,” he said softly.
The younger blond looked startled. “What--‘cutting’? You cut yourself?”
“Yes. I cut myself.”
“I.. but why?”
“Well... there’s lots of different reasons, and you wouldn’t understand them, and I can’t really explain them.”
“Where?”
“Huh?” Yamato asked, ataken back.
“Where are they? The cuts.”
“Uhh... on my arms.”
“Can I see them?”
“Oh Takeru... you don’t really want to.. it’s not pretty at all. It wouldn’t serve any purpose..”
“It would for me. Please, oniichan?”
Yamato looked to Taichi, pleading silently with his eyes for help. Taichi shrugged. “Why not? You showed me.”
He sighed. “Alright, fine. Here.” He rolled up his sleeves. There was no visible reaction from Takeru. He only stared at them, seemingly studying them. “That’s a lot,” he said at last.
“Yes. A year’s worth.”
“Can I.. can I touch one?”
“Eto... I guess so. Gently.”
Tentatively, Takeru reached out with a hand and ran his finger down an older cut. “I don’t understand,” he whispered.
“I don’t think anyone really does, otouto.”
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This has been split into two parts due to the length. Please go to The Rest to finish reading. Sorry for the inconvenience.