Chapter Text
"He's wrong." The boy said, sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the side of the bed.
Of course, he wasn't smoking just to fit in was he? It's not like anything matters anymore. He's just another human in 8 billion. No big deal if he doesn't have a real personality.
It's no big deal that he wants to die.
He looks at his arms in guilt and a twisted kind of longing. The shiny lines look like they're calling out for him. "No.No absolutely not. Not after this long..." Yaguchi says to himself and lights up a cigarette.
A harmful habit to avoid another harmful habit. It makes sense to him. "I don't deserve not to suffer, anyway." he thinks as he breathes in the toxic smoke, exhaling.
He remembers the times when he was so little and swore he would never smoke when he grows up. An awkward smile creeps onto his face, than it turns into a bunch of emotions.
Guilt.
Sadness.
Hatred..
These three emotions are all he's felt for the last two years. He wants to get better but he can't even reach out for help because, surprise surprise.. nobody expects him to be depressed. This isn't like him.
He is the laughter source of anywhere he goes. He's supposed to be the fun guy, this is what they all expect from him. Now he's an artist ? He? An artist? At least this is what people like to call him.
He isn't quite sure.
Is he even.... real?
He looks down on his arms and takes a last inhale of the cigarette and puts it on the ashtray.
His arms are itchy. Funny. They always are. It's almost like the scars are aware of the pain he's in and they're laughing at him for being in such misery.
His hands also have scars, but they're small and less noticeable. Still noticible, though. This is why he kinda regrets having done it on his hands. Still, he doesn't quite "regret" you know.
He is trying his hardest not to relapse because lately, whenever he does it, he goes too deep, and that scares him, not being aware of his own self. That he can literally kill himself. He's actually capable of doing so.
He shakes his head to get rid of the train of unpleasant thoughts and gets up. Then he washes his face and gathers his stuff, and heads out for the art course.
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"Morning.." he silently greet the ones inside while setting his stuff by a stool.
"Morningg darling~ why the long face?" Hashida appeares beside him, almost making him fall.
"WAH! I almost fell.. Hi haruka, it's nothing. How are you?"
"Hmm, not very convincing.. I'm okay, I'm here if you ever want someone to talk alright?"
"..Sigh... Alright.."
A few minutes later, ooba sensei comes in, and the lesson starts.
She makes a composition of a few books, a fabric, a lantern, and a typewriter. "Today we are studying naturemort, with pencil, but.. without using an eraser! Lovely assignment, isn't it."
Groans of a few students can be heard.
"Oh, come on now, it's not that bad! Get to work you guys." She lets out a little laugh and sits on a stool after yelling to students to "Quit the drama".
Despite the agony of most students there, Yaguchi actually likes the objects and thinks it's fun to draw them.
A few hours later most of the students have finished their drawings, so as Yaguchi. Personally he likes it very much, but thinks his lines are still not good enough.
Lines not good enough.. that reminds him of things he does not want to be reminded of.
"Alright! Come on put them here so I can grade them"
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Yaguchi's home again. Laying on the floor which really shouldn't be that comfortable but is. Thinking "How?"
Turns out his drawing was the best of them according to Ooba sensei.
But that doesn't make any sense.
He's not even good at art. Could it be that Ooba sensei pitied him so much that she lied?
Why was he the first?
"This doesn't make any sense..Why.. why can't I just accept it.."
He's so tired of questioning ever little accomplishent He's made. He feels like an imposter.
Everything suddenly feels so overwhelming and unbearably unfair. He's crying so much but no noise coming out because "what if his mum heard? " When his throat starts to burn from holding his cries in so much, he heads to the bathroom.
He turns on the water and continues to cry for an hour or so. When he finds himself unable to do anything about this pathetic state of him, he grabs the small pencilcase he's brought with him.
☆☆☆☆☆☆SH HEREEEE☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Not even thinking that much, he takes a blade and puts it on his left forearm, pressing it down, he makes a big cut. Placing the blade a bit lower, a bit upper he makes cuts over and over again. Cuts create x shapes because of the old scars.. "One last cut.. " he puts the blade on his right wrist and cuts. Oh no..
"Ah..Shit!"
He's gone too deep this time. He's bleeding so much. Too much even. He starts to breathe heavily, and he feels his heartbeat fasten.
He takes a rag and presses it onto the wound. "No..no.no.no" he mumbles over and over again.
After 5 minutes he lifts the rag slightly to see if the bleeding has stopped. His fingers are sore from grasping the rag so tightly.
He sees that it's bleeding just a little bit and applies pressure for a few minutes more.
He cleans the wounds and takes some bandages and medical tape. He tries not to move his right arm so much, fearing it starts to bleed again.
He closes the wound with medical tape and bandages it well. Then he takes care of the other wounds as well.
He turns down the water and gets out of the bathroom, but, immediately goes back in.
He forgot about the bloody mess he's left on the floor. He cleans it and goes to his room.
Because all this chaos made him tired he lays down on his bed and gets a little rest, thinking "so much for staying clean huh.." he looks one last time at the number on the screen before resetting the counter.
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☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ITS OVERRRRR☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
He wakes up some time later. He slightly shifts his body and leans onto his elbow. "......please be a dream.. pleasebeadream.." he mutters and looks at his arms. "No.."
For a couple of minutes he freaks out about the fact that he's fallen asleep in short sleeves with bloody hands and bandages and could've been caught, then he puts on a comfy sweater, washes his hands and heads to the kitchen to have some water.
"I would be so dead if they saw" he thinks as he steps into the corridor
At least his family isn't home.
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