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by 닐 (nil_chan)
at June 14th, 2006 (11:40 am)

Title: Self-Righteous Suicide
Characters: Ke and Muka
Words: 800(!)
Rating: PG-13 to R
Summary: I promise I wasn't this depressed when I wrote it. I don't really know where this all came from, but I love it. As a side note, I'm not entirely sure if this is actually something Ke would do, but, I don't know, it's believable. And, after I wrote it, I totally listened to "Chop Suey!" about 80 billion times because it fits so well, haha.


What have I become? It was something he asked himself frequently now; every time he looked in the mirror he could hear it ringing in his ears, saw it reflected within his solitary grey eye.

Murderer. Adulterer. Mishaps left his hands slick with blood. Later, they would skim over hauntingly alabaster skin, and he would look into eyes as red as his guilt. He would meet beautiful lips with a mouth that had just said farewell to the cousin and promised of kisses upon return. He was sick, so sick.

The razor seemed tempting. He wondered idly if despair was an inheritable gene, if suicidal tendencies were passed on like hair color or body-type. That face in the mirror sickened him. He bit his lip, drawing blood. Not enough, not enough to compensate…

A thin line across his wrist, red and slowly bubbling, drawn with morbid precision; he was fascinated with his own pain as he slid the blade across. More blood flowed, slowly drizzling down his arm, a drop hitting the sink, splattering white with red that only made him think of the albino. Love them, love them both in a sick act of incest; they were better off without him.

Mewling? Purring? Something strange and cat-like escaped from his lips when he drew another line of bloody ink. Oh god, he was a masochist; a sick, twisted fuck. Much better without him, they really would be better off without him.

His arm was completely bathed in crimson by the time the door opened. He blinked dimly at the penetrating light and the silhouette before him, setting down the razor with a pang of dread. He had nothing to say.

The figure did, however, as they gasped and grabbed at his arm in protective fury. “What are you doing?! Dammit, Ke!”

He watched numbly as Muka fumbled around him, forcing towels and sheets of toilet paper against his wrist in an effort to staunch the bleeding, stunned by the severity of the curse. He felt as if he were in slow motion when he tried to follow the demands of “Hold this! Hold it!”

Stumbling, he realized he was being pulled from the bathroom as Muka dragged him to the phone, screaming obscenities, almost panicked.

The ceiling flew away from him. Black.

No, white. Too bright; it seared his tired eye. He blinked for long minutes, tears suddenly streaming in hopes to ease the pain. He couldn’t move is arm to wipe them away. He was dimly aware of a strange throb. Oh, bandages, anchoring his wrist to a white bed. There was a faint beeping by his ear. Bed railing? IV? Hospital.

Something stirred by his leg. Through a film of tears he could make out the outline of a green-tinted head. “Muka?” His voice sounded ridiculous. He barely recognized it as his own, too heavy and fogged with drugs, soulless.

A tanned thumb wiped the blurriness away. Brown-violet eyes, sad, angry, confused; it was too hard to start now. “’Morning.”

“…morn…ing.” It was so faint, he wasn’t sure if he had really said it.

No grin today; the brown-skinned man looked like he was going to burst. Tears lined his eyes. He looked away. “The doctor says you’re going to pull through…”

Eyes rolled up to the ceiling, studying the crags. More guilt; he had broken Muka’s heart.

“…Muka… I…” The beep beside him annoyed him, made him want to thrash around and off the bed, flee the damnably bright building and suffer on his own terms. The pain in those brown eyes was sharper than any razor. “…it’s not…your fault.”

He really looked like he was going to cry. “Why’d you- Why did you do that, Ke?!” Furious, he stood and turned to the wall, punching in a dent with a sickening crack. “Shiroi- Shiroi, he’s… I had to watch him to make sure he didn’t find his way onto a blade! He was scrounging your room like a madman! …they’ve got him sedated in the next room…”

Tired, he felt so tired. “I’m sorry… I…” Crushing guilt with realization. Shiroi had blamed himself. Poor Shiroi, Shiroi. “Muka…I…”

“I know you love Shiroi.” He paused, his face to the wall, his shoulders shuddering with the effort not to cry. “I know, Ke. And I don’t care!” His hand bunched into another fist as he punched the plaster one last time, half-hearted, defeated. “As long as I get to be with you, I… I just want to be with you, even if you don’t want to be with me.”

Another shudder and the sobs started, low and raw and heart-wrenching, and he started crying with him, and, God, he never knew that tears of salt and water could hurt more than the tears of his guilt-drawn blood.

Comments

Posted by: Fir-kun (fir_kun)
Posted at: June 14th, 2006 06:28 pm (UTC)
hotness

Beautiful. You got them exactly right. I don't see why you don't like to write with them.

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