Chapter Text
(Rui's POV)
This mindset couldn't be fit for a child.
Rui felt corrupted, like a feral being.
A feral being with ill intent only towards himself, yet he still ends up hurting the ones around him.
The only person he could trust was Mizuki. Someone with the same struggles as him. It felt as if they were the only one who understood him.
Not even his own parents understood his oh, so twisted mind.
It made him feel worse than a mere outcast. He felt as if he were cast astray into the sea.
Like a moth amongst a group of butterflies.
Yet, he somehow still managed to blend into the background, no matter how obviously he stood out from others.
He couldn't even properly stand out..
But that.. Maybe it was a good thing.
Perhaps, staring at the ceiling in the dark wasn't ideal. It always caused him to think too much.
Maybe, just maybe, if there were something to quiet his thoughts, he'd feel better.
He should—no. Not now. It wasn't the time for that.
Not after he promised not to.
But he couldn't not do it.
God, everything was all too confusing..
Was there a way for his mind to ever stop?
Was there a way for him to stop spiraling?
Should he?
.
.
He couldn't.
He'd promised he wouldn't resort to that, even despite having resorted to it in the past.
Why couldn't he just stop?
How incompetent could he be to even think about it?
Even in the months of being clean?
Pathetic. Truly, disgustingly, pathetic.
He truly was incorrigible.
Maybe he was just struggling.
But it felt like he wasn't struggling enough.
He felt invalid.
He needed to struggle more.
His situation wasn't even that bad, right?
Others had it worse.
He had not a right to complain.
It was a privilege.
A privilege someone as lowly as himself shouldn't have.
.
.
.
.
How tired could one's soul be?
How long could one go on like this?
Just how long could one feel completely helpless?
Rui had too many questions.
None of which would ever be given an answer.
He knew that better than anyone.
And yet, he couldn't help but wonder just what he could have done for his soul to ache.
It had ached for far too long.
He felt as though he were merely a pawn to the heavens above.
If they existed, that was.
If it did, then what could he have done to be a target of such despair, such anguish?
Though, there was no definitive answer.
And there lied no "why".
He would simply have to live with that.
For until the day he wasn't,
Which wouldn't be much longer.
Though,
Even he had doubts about his own death.
Even he wondered when the day would come, even having planned out everything.
He felt that having a death date would work out fine, as long as it went the way it needed to—
That was the dumbest thing he could've thought of.
Having a set date for his own death?
Only life was supposed to have a set date.
Fate was supposed to come naturally.
What, exactly, was so special about the afterlife—if it were even existent—anyway?
Maybe he wasn't even curious about that.
Maybe it was the feeling of dying in itself that made him curious.
What would it feel like, to have a rope surround his neck?
To suffocate?
Maybe he could even jump into oncoming traffic.
Maybe find a building to jump off of.
.
.
.
What a fucking joke.
He was far too much of a coward to even try to do it without stopping in the middle of it.
He needed to stop being so afraid of facing what he so deeply desired, to do the only thing that would help rid of his cumbersome soul.
Just..
not now.
Not yet.
He had to wait until January.
At least January.
That was, if he were to even withstand staying that much longer.
He wasn't sure if he could keep living this life, even if the day in which he'd meet his fate wasn't so far away.
He was indescribably exhausted.
Which brought him to one question;
Would anyone care if I were to vanish?
He asks this to himself, repeating the words within his mind over and over.
The words made less sense the more he commended them to memory.
Though it wasn't as if they ever once did.
He felt beyond repair, beyond any sort of salvation.
But he felt far closer to insanity than that alone.
He failed to understand himself, much like those around him did.
The one thing he did know for certain, however, were that his thoughts were beginning to overwhelm him.
They contradicted roughly.
He wanted to resort to completely destructing himself, and yet;
He knew full well he couldn't.
It wasn't that he didn't want to.
He was holding himself back merely because he knew he'd go far overboard if he were to do it now.
But a part of him wanted to cave in and just do it.
He hated thinking.
But his mind never seemed to stop.
It was like an endless corridor.
One that was full of rot.
His mind was rotting.
He knew that better than anyone, it seemed.
Yet, it was only to an extent to which could he understand himself.
A weapon his mind was.
Truly, it was pathetic, so very pathetic, how he was.
Quite restless, wasn't he?