Chapter Text
2:45 P.M., port mafia’s shipping containers.
Dazai let the razor blade slide across his un-bandaged wrist. It glided, leaving a white scratch on his pale skin, like the bleak white of chalk on a sidewalk. He hadn’t pressed deep enough for it to bleed yet. There was barely any light in the small space, only a few scarce lamps lit up the area to let Dazai see exactly what he was doing to himself. Without the light of day, it was rather hard to see in the contained area.
Dazai rummaged around in the bottom drawer of his nearby nightstand, looking for his sharp object of choice. He blindly chose a dull pocket knife that was already rusted from previous usage. His lips upturned ever so slightly at the sight, amused. He knew rust would give higher a higher chance of catching an infection. Maybe he’d just die from it. He hoped it wouldn’t be painful if he did. At that thought, his eyes sparkled in the dim light. A painless suicide. His goal in life. Though, he supposed dying itself was his actual goal. Death seemed to hate him after he failed at it so many times.
Sighing at his annoying thoughts that resembled self-pity way too much, he unwrapped his still-bandaged wrist without sparing so much as a glance at it. It was a practiced skill; after all, he had done it so many times by now. Besides, he was horrified of what he would think and feel once he saw the scarred and ruined skin underneath.
Dazai shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts, quickly pressing the blade to his skin. He pressed harder and deeper until he felt the tear of flesh. The refreshing feel of the red liquid that flowed through his veins. It felt good but also rather odd. Why should he have blood? He was hardly even human. He didn’t deserve such a thing that seemed so useless to something as inhuman as him.
He made another gash across his skin. He bit his lip from the pain it caused. He shouldn’t react to such things anymore. After all, he was supposed to be used to it, wasn’t he? He wanted to stab himself. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to bleed. He wanted- He wanted- Want. Want. Want. WantwantwantwantwantWANTWANTWANTωαηтωαηтωαηтωαηтWA——
Dazai inhaled sharply. He heard the familiar pop of a vein. He hadn’t meant to do that but the feeling wasn’t unwelcome. His arm was covered in sticky blood now. He felt disgusted at the icky feeling. A queer sense of satisfaction bubbled up in his inhumane body. His lips downturned. He scowled. He experienced the unwelcome twinge of bile boiling up in his stomach. He hated that feeling. He didn’t feel like vomiting right now. It was too much work. He’d much rather stab himself in the stomach than deal with such a hassle.
He moved on to cutting his thighs. His arms had no more space left. How annoying. He didn’t even bother to clean up the blood his cuts left. He grazed the knife against the light skin of his inner thigh, teasing, before he pressed deeper—harsher—into his skin. The blood welled up and bubbled to the surface, dripping down his thigh. He put a finger to the wound and then brought it up to his mouth. He made a face at the metallic taste it left on his tongue. The red was pretty, at least. It reminded him of the cherry blossoms that bloomed in Yokohama during March. How gorgeous.
Unlike how he cut his arms, he was more graceful with his thighs—caring, almost. He grazed the blade across his skin, leaving red and white marks in its path. It was truly a beautiful sight for him. He thought it was incredibly beautiful. The color red really suited him, didn’t it? Though, he absentmindedly wondered why his blood wasn’t black. After all, he was the port mafia’s dog through and through.
He felt a pang in his left thigh. He glanced down, seeing the marred skin. Oops. He zoned out and ended up going more deep than he normally did. He supposed it was fine. Mori would patch him up as usual once me found out.
Unless.
Unless, Dazai succeeded in killing himself. Unless, Dazai cut deep enough to kill at all his vital points.
Unless, Dazai dealt with the pain it caused and actually had the will to die.
Unless. Unless. Unless.
Dazai would show that stupid doctor. He would succeed at this if nothing else. He would win this time. No matter how much of his blood it took. He would win.
Dazai drew a fine line of blood across his thighs, relishing the feeling of the blood weeping down his skin. It felt good. It made him feel alive. Real. How odd. He shouldn’t feel things like that. He didn’t deserve to.
He decided he would target his cardiovascular system next. He thought that would help his death be quicker. He took off his shirt, starting to unwrap the bandages that went across his chest with a sense of desperation. He let himself feel that. No one was around to see anyways.
Drawing a line across his aorta, he felt the squirt of blood. His eyes widened. Fuck. He hadn’t expected it to hurt that much. The wind felt like it was knocked out of him. He supposed it might as well have been. Within a few seconds, he knew he wouldn’t be alive anymore. He pushed the knife deeper and he coughed blood.
Dazai’s vision blurred. He felt his legs giving out so, he sat down. Dazai was wheezing by now. He could hardly breathe correctly. All the oxygen he had felt like it was gone from his chest.
10 seconds had passed.
Dazai felt himself blacking out. He laid down on the floor. For once, he felt completely calm. Relaxed. His lips curved into a soft closed-mouthed smile. He felt at peace. It was as calming as hearing the aftermath of rain drip-dropping against your window sill.
15 seconds passed.
Dazai was unconscious by now.
He wouldn’t be waking up.
Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. EverevereverevereverEVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVERєνєяνєνєяνєνєяνєνєяEV-
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.
.
The door slowly creaked open.
“Dazai..?”