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Ken's Weiß Underwear Drawer
" You're breaking up with me? " yelled Schuldich, blazing green eyes directed toward haunting purple eyes. The haunting purple eyes closed and blinked. " Yes," replied a broken husky voice. The sounds of a door slamming reached his ears. His green-eyed beauty was gone. He got up from the table, picking up the broken pieces of china, eyes glazed. He didn't even notice that he had pricked himself, looking listlessly outside at the thunder that lit up the otherwise dark, cold, morbid room. Ruby drops dripped off his pale skin.
Dumping the pieces into the trash, he headed for his room. Preparing for the long sleep ahead, all alone on the bed that they had bought together. For the last time, he collapsed onto the black satin bed sheets. Beside a black box that he had stolen from Omi the night before, while the young boy was getting some tea for him. He had snuck into the bedroom and retrieved the small box, where he knew what he wanted was there.
All he had to do was take the first step.
And it'll all be over.
He reached for the box. He sat up, placing the box in his lap. Opening it, little flasks greeted his eyes. He reached for a plastic packaged on his night table, knocking over a porcelain figurine. It didn't matter. Not in a few moments anyway.
He unwrapped the needle from the package.
Inserted the needle into the tiny flask, drew up the liquid.
Gently getting rid of the air bubbles.
And then rolled up his arm sleeves.
The hundred of neat straight scars, slightly darker then his own skin greeted him yet again. That brought him back to those fateful nights after he had come home. After dipping his katana yet again into another victim. True, they deserved it. It was why Abyssinian existed. It was why, night after night, he hunted. Those who had done wrong, were quickly justified. But wasn't he guilty as well? He had taken lives. But he was a hunter. Hunter shouldn't have feelings. They hunt. No questions asked. And yet.
He was afraid. Yes, he admitted he was afraid. For every life he took, he began to feel less and less. He was scared of that feeling. But he had to do it. It's for his sister. He failed her. He will not fail again. He will keep her safe.
So one night, after one of his missions, as he was brushing his teeth before crashing onto his bed, he spied a razor blade left on the counter. He rinsed and paused with one hand reaching toward the door, his gaze never leaving that blade. He slowly pivoted, with a trembling hand, slowly grasped the razor blade. He rolled up his sleeve, and made that first tiny cut. Blood oozed from the small wound. And inside, he felt better. For he couldn't stand not feeling. He couldn't stand being Abysinnian. There will always be that feeling like he's dropping into an abyss. He could feel the pain and take consolation in that he can feel that and make that dropping feeling go away. But it only lasts for a little while.
It was addictive. Like taking a drug. It just made him feel better inside. And from the small incisions, he started making bigger ones. But soon, even that didn't help anymore.
His friends didn't suspect a thing. He always wore long sleeves and always got rid of any evidence of his addiction. Both of his arms were littered with scars. They crisscrossed each other in a bizarre manner.
He couldn't stand it anymore. He didn't want to take drugs. That would upset his performance as an assassin and then his friends would suspect. He didn't want that. So here he was. Sitting in that lonely room. Lying on his bed. Alone. Even going as far as to breaking up with Schuldich. His love for him was infinite. But he didn't want to drag him down with him. Schuldich deserved better.
This was it. He's going to do it.
He brought up the needle to his arm.
Inserted the needle into a vein and injected.
And a man who really was just a scared little boy, died.