Chapter Text
The dim moonlight cast from the curtain- drawn window illuminated the boy’s hollow features, light glistening off the tears rolling down his pale cheeks. The boy shook with the anxiety gripping his heart, the hateful words tearing apart his mind. The razor blade stood a stark contrast against his soft inner thigh, pressing down to the point of drawing beads of bright red blood. The boy, age 15 years and incredibly skinny for his 5’6’’ height- which seemed small for how small he had compressed himself in the corner of his room.
‘You deserve this’ he heard, the echos of other teenages from his dreaded highschool assaulting his brain. ‘ You might as well kill yourself you dumb faggot’ another boy’s voiced mocked as he walked down the hallway. Things were thrown at him by the large assholes from the football team. Other students would look on him- sometimes with pity, other times with disgust, and the teacher bared witness to all of it but they didn’t care, no one cared for him- That’s not true. His mother and his father loved him, they told him every day- THEY'RE LIARS a vicious voice in his head screamed. THEY'RE NOT EVEN YOUR REAL PARENTS, YOU DUMB WHORE. YOUR REAL MOM IS DEAD AND YOUR FATHER US-
The silver haired boy gasped, as if in physical pain, curling further around himself. Yes, he deserved this, that had only been confirmed. He dug the razor deeper into his soft inner thigh, whimpering as the pain assaulted his senses. But he only cut deeper, carving those same words into his body; ‘Whore’, ‘Slut’, ‘Worthless’. After 30 minutes his legs were a mess of cuts- none too deep to bleed heavily, he didn't want his parents knowing. Afterwards, he was left shaking and gasping in pain. ‘This is what you deserve’ he told himself. ‘ Youre nothing but a worthless whore and nobody loves you’. A final tear slipped past his eyes- one blinded by an incident in his childhood- yes incident is the word for slicing his own eye with a knife. He shivered with the memory.
For a long time after that, he just layed there, mind blank and somewhat appeased for now. Finally however he gathered the strength to grab the paper towels he had brought to his room just for this purpose and wiped away the evidence. He stashed the soiled towels at the bottom of his trash can, knowing he’d take the trash out in the morning and wiggled his way under his covers. And then he stayed still, waiting for sleep and hoping this night would not be plagued by nightmares. He knew that was too much to ask for.
The boy fell asleep, watched over by the moon. This is the legacy of the ‘great’ Hatake Sakumo, the white fang.