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Description

***WARNING: May trigger suicidal thoughts, actions, self harm, and/or depression. There is also a heavy amount of blood mentioned in this, so if you're a bit squeamish to that, I suggest you do NOT read this. If you believe that you can handle this, read at your own risk. I didn't mark this as mature because there are no lemons, but I wanted to let the viewer know that it is a bit dark. Also, there is a heavy amount of swearing. Thank you! ***

Hours had  gone by. Days? Or could it have only been seconds? It felt like months. But it was still dark outside, so I stuck with hours.

Hiro was still holding me, arms and legs wrapping around my limbs, even though I wasn't trying to struggle anymore. He was leaning against the edge of my bed; I had assumed that he had fallen asleep, since his head was leaned into the mattress. His chest slowly moved up and down, rocking me peacefully as I listened to the leisurely rhythm of his heartbeat. Every exhale that he made caressed the top of my head warmly and caused my hair to sway with each breath.

I, on the other hand, was still wide awake. Not only was the heat of Hiro's embrace smothering me, but I was also replaying the horrific scene from earlier in my mind, like a broken record. I wasn't angry anymore; just exhausted from the crying, the screaming, the fights. I wondered if the loss of blood had anything to do with my fatigue. There was a substantial amount of the red fluid on the floor, on my clothes and Hiro's, and in the bathroom, visible from a mile away. My wrists were stinging from being held against his shirt for so long, and I knew that it wouldn't feel any better once I had to move.

Carefully, and hesitantly, I pulled my arm off of his shirt; the material stuck at first, as the blood acted as an adhesive. Then it peeled itself away, tugging painfully at the slits on my skin. They began to bleed a tiny bit, and once again that stinging, burning pain that occurred once before had returned.

Deciding to clean myself up, I slowly moved Hiro's limbs away from my body. He continued to sleep, undisturbed by my actions. I wondered what he was dreaming about, if he even could dream. I probably gave him nightmares after the fit I'd had.

In the bathroom, I soaked a towel in warm water and began to clean the blood from my body. It had gotten onto my face, my legs, even my stomach, as far as I could tell. I stared back at my reflection in the mirror, half expecting it to grimace at my presence and walk away. A small urge flew through my mind to shatter the mirror with my fist, watching as the shards pierced my skin and made more blood flow. Maybe one would even hit a vein...

I shook my head, clearing it of the thoughts that lured me into the dark corners of my mind. Right now, I just wanted peace - and not the distracting, crowding peace that I only received from cutting, but the quiet peace of resting. I quickly finished wiping the blood off of my face before cleaning the towel. I hung it back on it's rod, about to leave the bathroom, when I saw it.

The razor blade.

The crime weapon.

My only and best friend.

It was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, where I had dropped it. The blood was still wet. The massive amount of it was satisfying; I was proud of it, that I could bleed so much, yet live.

The blade was still, though it cut through my mind. All of my sense suddenly moved into my wrists, as if every ounce of blood I had in my body was redirected into them. I wanted to slice the blade across my wrist and relieve the pressure.

Do it now. He won't know until you're dead when he wakes up in the morning. It's the perfect moment - it'd be better for him anyways. Look at the mess you've made, the trouble you made him go through. He walked all the way from the Lucky Cat Cafe in the cold and rain just to check on your irresponsible ass. You could have just returned his texts, saving him a trip and you a demented night. So go ahead and end it now, before you cause any more damage.

It was tempting. The words in my mind made every bit of sense to me. It was true. My fingers buzzed excitedly, though the excitement was more demanding than intriguing. I reached my hand out towards it, but my will refused to let myself bend down and pick it up. There was something there, something that was never present in the other times I had cut. It wasn't Hiro, and it wasn't fear... I couldn't recognize it, but it had a strong hold on my mind.

I gave up, letting my hand fall to my side. As I disconnected my focus from cutting, my mind was able to think of other things; ranging from simple images of color, to paragraphs from books I had read, to how someone would feel if I was to kill myself. I was thinking of everything - thoughts of cutting myself had taken up my entire mind, keeping me from realizing anything else. It wasn't that I was suddenly appreciating all the little things in life, just that I was acknowledging them.

But now, I didn't want to think of all these things. Normally, sliding the razor blade across my wrists would fix this problem, but I decided to replace that method and go to bed.

I shuffled back into my bedroom, languor suddenly washing over me. I changed into loose pajama bottoms and a tank, ignoring Hiro as he snored quietly. Being trapped under his arms for so long made me uncomfortably warm, so I threw open a window, watching as the curtains flounced in the breeze. The cool air engulfed me, the wind swishing past my ears with a whispering sigh. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes as I let the city air carry my senses away.

Looking back at Hiro, I noticed his crumpled position; he couldn't have possibly been comfortable. I laid a pillow down on the floor before slowly guiding his head to it. He followed, mumbling nonsense in his subconscious. I then tossed an extra blanket over him, even though the room was stuffy and humid. I saw the smears of blood on his hands and face - my blood. Not wanting to wake him up, I left the grime on his face, knowing he would probably wash it off later that day.

Finally, I climbed into bed, choosing to take the side farthest from Hiro. I was extremely fatigued, but not in the usual way; most nights, I would go to sleep when my eyes were so dry, that I couldn't open them. Or when I was bored, or I didn't want to do anything but lie still. Now, my muscles ached, and my mind was full but ready to rest. I sighed, pulling the covers over my head, now surrounded by darkness. I waited for the degrading commentary of the day, provided by the voice in my head.

But, for the first time in my life, it was quiet.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


It was one in the afternoon. The red numbers glared at me from my bedside clock, taunting me with words such as lazy, or useless. I couldn't even remember when I had opened my eyes; I wasn't even fully awake, and the voice in my head was fully operational, screaming and shouting and criticizing me before I had even rose out of bed.

It was pathetic. I knew it. The voice knew it. Did Hiro know it?

Suddenly, my eyes widened with realization. Hiro.

I had completely forgotten about him. I crawled across the bed to where he had been laying hours before, only to find a blanked folded on top of a pillow. His shoes were placed by them, along with the grey jacket he had been wearing the night before. I glanced around the room, just to make sure I hadn't looked over him, but he was gone. Did he go home?

I quickly scrambled out of bed, pulling a loose cardigan over my tank top and shorts. As I made my way down the stairs, I silently prayed that he was gone. Though, is that what I actually wanted? Guaranteed, I would feel irritated if I had walked into my living room to find that he had settled himself in - but I felt a need to explain myself, even if I did so falsely, since he had caught me cutting myself.

Upon entering the kitchen, I found it empty. I could tell he hadn't eaten anything since there were no dishes in the sink or on the stove. It was oddly quiet, and I half expected to hear footsteps somewhere else in the room, indicating that he was still there. But everything was silent, giving me a much needed relief. Or did it?

I sighed. What the hell is wrong with me...

"Hey."

I jumped, turning to find Hiro sitting tensely on the couch in the living room. He was wearing the same clothes from the night before, save the jacket and shoes. His eyes cast a worried look to me - it seemed as though he was fighting with himself to avoid staring at my arms.

"Hi..." I responded weakly. I wasn't sure if I was comfortable, finding him just sitting there alone. "Did you eat something?"

"Not hungry." he answered, his eyes now moving to stare at the floor.

I slowly made my way over to the couch opposite of Hiro, sitting in front of him. He looked traumatized, whether from having blood all over him or seeing it drip from my arm - I wish I knew.

"How did you sleep?" he asked nervously.

I turned to meet his gaze, before rubbing one arm anxiously. "Uh... fine. It was kind of warm in there, actually."

He nodded, unsure of how to respond. The conversation slowly began to drift into silence until I spoke again.

"How about you, did - were you alright?" I faltered when my eyes landed on the bloody spots on his shirt. His skin was clean, but his clothes still held evidence of the previous night's bloodbath.

"Yeah, I was fine." he answered. "And thanks for the blanket, by the way."

"Oh, you're welcome." I said; I had forgotten about most of the night post-fight. There were only a few things swarming in my head, and one of them was: why didn't Hiro call the cops? Or and ambulance, or something? Why did he think, and how did he know, that he would be able to stop me himself? Had it not crossed his mind that I might have already been dead? Or what if he was completely wrong about my wounds? He had never actually seen them before the previous night. I squeezed my eyes shut, clearing my head from all of the questions. I didn't want any more than my already had.

Hiro leaned forward on the couch, resting his chin on folded fingers. "You should probably put bandages over those." He said, looking at my scars.

I looked at them as well, and sure enough, they weren't quite closed. The larger ones were still wet and angry; I just now noticed the slight burning sensation spreading from that point on my arm.

God... I thought, How did this not kill me?

I turned the attention away from my arms. "... and you should probably change. You can't go home like... that." I pointed at one of the blood stains on his shirt.

He glanced at down at his clothes, then quickly back at me. "Yeah, Aunt Cass would probably die if she saw me like this. But I called her and said that I'd be at a friends house for a few days."

I faltered. "You're staying?"

Hiro nodded, slightly wary of my reaction.

Ugh. The voice in my head returned, commentating on the situation. Good luck getting him off of your back...

You're a part of me, you should be helping me with this shit! I replied to it angrily.

Nope, you're on your own here. It's your life, I'm just here to watch it fall apart.

I turned my attention back to the present. "How long are you going to be here?" I said, trying not to sound annoyed.

Hiro shrugged. "I mean... for as long as I need to, I guess."

'For as long as I need to'?! I imagined whoever the voice belonged to, sitting on a couch, eating popcorn, watching my life through a shitty television screen as if it were some cheap-thrill drama. Oohh, this is getting good! He's actually imposing himself on you! Who knew Hiro could be so ignorant of your feelings and just decide to live with you? I can't wait to see how long it takes for you to break under him.

I ignored the voice - or, I tried, at least - and stared at my chipped fingernails, instead.

The two of us sat in silence for a while, staring awkwardly at random objects in the room. I was dreading the next questions Hiro would ask, the next moments of interrogation. I didn't assume, I knew, he was going to ask me multiple questions. That's how it always was: someone confronts me about the scars climbing up my arms, and they ask me more than enough questions about it. I - not purposely - had recorded answers in my head for each one, making them look sincere by adding emotion to my words.

Hiro's voice broke me from yomy ur thoughts: "Why do you do it?" he asked shyly.

Here we go...

I turned to face him, putting on my masked emotion of confusion. "Do what?" I said, innocently-but-realistically.

"You know..." he faltered, obviously too uncomfortable with the aspect of self harm to answer me.

"Slit my wrists?" I filled in the words for him, purposefully using a harsh phrase to make him even more uneasy; it worked, as he simply nodded in response, and his face reflected the tension he was feeling.

I sighed, pretending to feel doubtful if I should open up to Hiro. "I'm... not exactly sure, that... I want to talk about it. It's a stupid reason... " I said, wringing my hands. Maybe I can just avoid this conversation altogether if I can get him to feel bad for me.

Hiro scooted closer towards me, now leaning off the edge of the couch. "I mean... it can't be that stupid, if it makes you so depressed. And... you can tell me. I promise I won't tell anyone else."

Ugh, I thought, now I have to make up some crap story for him...

I paused, adding effect to the 'hesitant' attitude. "I cut myself because... because of my parents." I bit my lip after that sentence, making me seem nervous.

"Why?" Hiro asked. "Did they abuse you, or- "

"No, they didn't abuse me." I quickly derailed his assumptions. Maybe bringing my parents into this was a bad idea. "It's just that... they were never there. At all. As a kid, I was just a creation of theirs used to get praise from others. But as I got older, they lost interest in me. I went from a trophy in their hands to a trophy on the shelf. I did that typical 'get-straight-A's-and-be-a-good-kid-to-please-your-parents' thing, but they still treated me like I was an alien. Ever since I was around thirteen years old, they've just stopped caring about my well being. So I coped... by distracting myself from the need to have... better parents."

There was a long pause, as I went over everything I'd said. There was no absence of emotion in my words, and it seemed believable enough; even though it wasn't the reason for my self harm, it was all the truth. In fact, it was only the tip of the iceberg.

"So..." Hiro began, capturing my attention. "You cut yourself... because of your parents?"

I sighed, trying to express as much self-loathe as I could. "I told you, it was stupid. And it's selfish because I need so much attention from them. I'm seventeen! I should be doing my own thing, not chasing after my parent's praise!"

"Well, I can see why you would." he continued. "You didn't get any encouragement, especially when you needed the most. Thirteen is that age where you need help shaping yourself into who you want to be, whether you get that help from friends or family. So that might explain the need for praise, and even the depression, too." he was now barely on the edge of his seat; he seemed as if he were trying to nail the words into my head, in case I wouldn't believe him.

I mentally laughed. If only you knew, then you might just give up on me altogether.

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. I'll be going to college soon, and I won't be getting anything from them after that."

He chewed on his bottom lip, searching through his mind for the right words. "You could talk to someone else about this. About your parents, about the depression, everything."

I dropped my facade, now truly expressing shock. "You want me to see a shrink?"

"Well..." he shrugged, "you make it sound worse when you put it that way, you make it seem awful. But really, it wouldn't hurt just to have one session with someone."

"Hiro," I sighed, "I'm past the point of help; a therapist would only make it worse."

He fidgeted his fingers. "It's never too late to try."

"Ugh..." I stood up from my seat, making my way to the stairs. "You sound like you're reciting something from an infomercial."

Hiro was quick to follow at my heels. "I'm just giving suggestions. I don't want you to give up on yourself, there's still time to turn around and get help."

I ignored him, grabbing my laptop off of the coffee table and continuing to march towards the stairs. I was angry at Hiro; angry that he was so persistent, angry that he was following me... it made me feel suffocated. Most of the people who insisted on helping me with my depression would be satisfied after hearing the fake backstory, along with a small promise to stop cutting. But Hiro... he was going to be hard to shake off. Hell, he even invited himself to stay at my house for the next few days!

Before I could go upstairs, Hiro grabbed the sleeve of my cardigan. I turned to face him and shot him a glare.

"Just promise me that you'll talk to someone at least once?" his eyes were frantic and pleading.

I stared back at him, searching through the many untruthful masks my had. I chose the simple 'Shy' expression, giving Hiro a soft and sad smile.

"I'll try." I said quietly.

He smiled, releasing my hand.

I quickly turned away from him. I had done this a million times, made a million promises that I would never keep. but for some reason, I couldn't look Hiro in the eyes after I lied to him. I rushed up the stairs, frantically trying to get as far away as possible from the entire situation. I needed to do something to get the matter off of my mind.

But, much to my disappointment, that something wouldn't be cutting myself.

Description

***WARNING: May trigger suicidal thoughts, actions, self harm, and/or depression. There is also a heavy amount of blood mentioned in this, so if you're a bit squeamish to that, I suggest you do NOT read this. If you believe that you can handle this, read at your own risk. I didn't mark this as mature because there are no lemons, but I wanted to let the viewer know that it is a bit dark. Also, there is a heavy amount of swearing. Thank you! ***

Hours had  gone by. Days? Or could it have only been seconds? It felt like months. But it was still dark outside, so I stuck with hours.

Hiro was still holding me, arms and legs wrapping around my limbs, even though I wasn't trying to struggle anymore. He was leaning against the edge of my bed; I had assumed that he had fallen asleep, since his head was leaned into the mattress. His chest slowly moved up and down, rocking me peacefully as I listened to the leisurely rhythm of his heartbeat. Every exhale that he made caressed the top of my head warmly and caused my hair to sway with each breath.

I, on the other hand, was still wide awake. Not only was the heat of Hiro's embrace smothering me, but I was also replaying the horrific scene from earlier in my mind, like a broken record. I wasn't angry anymore; just exhausted from the crying, the screaming, the fights. I wondered if the loss of blood had anything to do with my fatigue. There was a substantial amount of the red fluid on the floor, on my clothes and Hiro's, and in the bathroom, visible from a mile away. My wrists were stinging from being held against his shirt for so long, and I knew that it wouldn't feel any better once I had to move.

Carefully, and hesitantly, I pulled my arm off of his shirt; the material stuck at first, as the blood acted as an adhesive. Then it peeled itself away, tugging painfully at the slits on my skin. They began to bleed a tiny bit, and once again that stinging, burning pain that occurred once before had returned.

Deciding to clean myself up, I slowly moved Hiro's limbs away from my body. He continued to sleep, undisturbed by my actions. I wondered what he was dreaming about, if he even could dream. I probably gave him nightmares after the fit I'd had.

In the bathroom, I soaked a towel in warm water and began to clean the blood from my body. It had gotten onto my face, my legs, even my stomach, as far as I could tell. I stared back at my reflection in the mirror, half expecting it to grimace at my presence and walk away. A small urge flew through my mind to shatter the mirror with my fist, watching as the shards pierced my skin and made more blood flow. Maybe one would even hit a vein...

I shook my head, clearing it of the thoughts that lured me into the dark corners of my mind. Right now, I just wanted peace - and not the distracting, crowding peace that I only received from cutting, but the quiet peace of resting. I quickly finished wiping the blood off of my face before cleaning the towel. I hung it back on it's rod, about to leave the bathroom, when I saw it.

The razor blade.

The crime weapon.

My only and best friend.

It was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, where I had dropped it. The blood was still wet. The massive amount of it was satisfying; I was proud of it, that I could bleed so much, yet live.

The blade was still, though it cut through my mind. All of my sense suddenly moved into my wrists, as if every ounce of blood I had in my body was redirected into them. I wanted to slice the blade across my wrist and relieve the pressure.

Do it now. He won't know until you're dead when he wakes up in the morning. It's the perfect moment - it'd be better for him anyways. Look at the mess you've made, the trouble you made him go through. He walked all the way from the Lucky Cat Cafe in the cold and rain just to check on your irresponsible ass. You could have just returned his texts, saving him a trip and you a demented night. So go ahead and end it now, before you cause any more damage.

It was tempting. The words in my mind made every bit of sense to me. It was true. My fingers buzzed excitedly, though the excitement was more demanding than intriguing. I reached my hand out towards it, but my will refused to let myself bend down and pick it up. There was something there, something that was never present in the other times I had cut. It wasn't Hiro, and it wasn't fear... I couldn't recognize it, but it had a strong hold on my mind.

I gave up, letting my hand fall to my side. As I disconnected my focus from cutting, my mind was able to think of other things; ranging from simple images of color, to paragraphs from books I had read, to how someone would feel if I was to kill myself. I was thinking of everything - thoughts of cutting myself had taken up my entire mind, keeping me from realizing anything else. It wasn't that I was suddenly appreciating all the little things in life, just that I was acknowledging them.

But now, I didn't want to think of all these things. Normally, sliding the razor blade across my wrists would fix this problem, but I decided to replace that method and go to bed.

I shuffled back into my bedroom, languor suddenly washing over me. I changed into loose pajama bottoms and a tank, ignoring Hiro as he snored quietly. Being trapped under his arms for so long made me uncomfortably warm, so I threw open a window, watching as the curtains flounced in the breeze. The cool air engulfed me, the wind swishing past my ears with a whispering sigh. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes as I let the city air carry my senses away.

Looking back at Hiro, I noticed his crumpled position; he couldn't have possibly been comfortable. I laid a pillow down on the floor before slowly guiding his head to it. He followed, mumbling nonsense in his subconscious. I then tossed an extra blanket over him, even though the room was stuffy and humid. I saw the smears of blood on his hands and face - my blood. Not wanting to wake him up, I left the grime on his face, knowing he would probably wash it off later that day.

Finally, I climbed into bed, choosing to take the side farthest from Hiro. I was extremely fatigued, but not in the usual way; most nights, I would go to sleep when my eyes were so dry, that I couldn't open them. Or when I was bored, or I didn't want to do anything but lie still. Now, my muscles ached, and my mind was full but ready to rest. I sighed, pulling the covers over my head, now surrounded by darkness. I waited for the degrading commentary of the day, provided by the voice in my head.

But, for the first time in my life, it was quiet.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


It was one in the afternoon. The red numbers glared at me from my bedside clock, taunting me with words such as lazy, or useless. I couldn't even remember when I had opened my eyes; I wasn't even fully awake, and the voice in my head was fully operational, screaming and shouting and criticizing me before I had even rose out of bed.

It was pathetic. I knew it. The voice knew it. Did Hiro know it?

Suddenly, my eyes widened with realization. Hiro.

I had completely forgotten about him. I crawled across the bed to where he had been laying hours before, only to find a blanked folded on top of a pillow. His shoes were placed by them, along with the grey jacket he had been wearing the night before. I glanced around the room, just to make sure I hadn't looked over him, but he was gone. Did he go home?

I quickly scrambled out of bed, pulling a loose cardigan over my tank top and shorts. As I made my way down the stairs, I silently prayed that he was gone. Though, is that what I actually wanted? Guaranteed, I would feel irritated if I had walked into my living room to find that he had settled himself in - but I felt a need to explain myself, even if I did so falsely, since he had caught me cutting myself.

Upon entering the kitchen, I found it empty. I could tell he hadn't eaten anything since there were no dishes in the sink or on the stove. It was oddly quiet, and I half expected to hear footsteps somewhere else in the room, indicating that he was still there. But everything was silent, giving me a much needed relief. Or did it?

I sighed. What the hell is wrong with me...

"Hey."

I jumped, turning to find Hiro sitting tensely on the couch in the living room. He was wearing the same clothes from the night before, save the jacket and shoes. His eyes cast a worried look to me - it seemed as though he was fighting with himself to avoid staring at my arms.

"Hi..." I responded weakly. I wasn't sure if I was comfortable, finding him just sitting there alone. "Did you eat something?"

"Not hungry." he answered, his eyes now moving to stare at the floor.

I slowly made my way over to the couch opposite of Hiro, sitting in front of him. He looked traumatized, whether from having blood all over him or seeing it drip from my arm - I wish I knew.

"How did you sleep?" he asked nervously.

I turned to meet his gaze, before rubbing one arm anxiously. "Uh... fine. It was kind of warm in there, actually."

He nodded, unsure of how to respond. The conversation slowly began to drift into silence until I spoke again.

"How about you, did - were you alright?" I faltered when my eyes landed on the bloody spots on his shirt. His skin was clean, but his clothes still held evidence of the previous night's bloodbath.

"Yeah, I was fine." he answered. "And thanks for the blanket, by the way."

"Oh, you're welcome." I said; I had forgotten about most of the night post-fight. There were only a few things swarming in my head, and one of them was: why didn't Hiro call the cops? Or and ambulance, or something? Why did he think, and how did he know, that he would be able to stop me himself? Had it not crossed his mind that I might have already been dead? Or what if he was completely wrong about my wounds? He had never actually seen them before the previous night. I squeezed my eyes shut, clearing my head from all of the questions. I didn't want any more than my already had.

Hiro leaned forward on the couch, resting his chin on folded fingers. "You should probably put bandages over those." He said, looking at my scars.

I looked at them as well, and sure enough, they weren't quite closed. The larger ones were still wet and angry; I just now noticed the slight burning sensation spreading from that point on my arm.

God... I thought, How did this not kill me?

I turned the attention away from my arms. "... and you should probably change. You can't go home like... that." I pointed at one of the blood stains on his shirt.

He glanced at down at his clothes, then quickly back at me. "Yeah, Aunt Cass would probably die if she saw me like this. But I called her and said that I'd be at a friends house for a few days."

I faltered. "You're staying?"

Hiro nodded, slightly wary of my reaction.

Ugh. The voice in my head returned, commentating on the situation. Good luck getting him off of your back...

You're a part of me, you should be helping me with this shit! I replied to it angrily.

Nope, you're on your own here. It's your life, I'm just here to watch it fall apart.

I turned my attention back to the present. "How long are you going to be here?" I said, trying not to sound annoyed.

Hiro shrugged. "I mean... for as long as I need to, I guess."

'For as long as I need to'?! I imagined whoever the voice belonged to, sitting on a couch, eating popcorn, watching my life through a shitty television screen as if it were some cheap-thrill drama. Oohh, this is getting good! He's actually imposing himself on you! Who knew Hiro could be so ignorant of your feelings and just decide to live with you? I can't wait to see how long it takes for you to break under him.

I ignored the voice - or, I tried, at least - and stared at my chipped fingernails, instead.

The two of us sat in silence for a while, staring awkwardly at random objects in the room. I was dreading the next questions Hiro would ask, the next moments of interrogation. I didn't assume, I knew, he was going to ask me multiple questions. That's how it always was: someone confronts me about the scars climbing up my arms, and they ask me more than enough questions about it. I - not purposely - had recorded answers in my head for each one, making them look sincere by adding emotion to my words.

Hiro's voice broke me from yomy ur thoughts: "Why do you do it?" he asked shyly.

Here we go...

I turned to face him, putting on my masked emotion of confusion. "Do what?" I said, innocently-but-realistically.

"You know..." he faltered, obviously too uncomfortable with the aspect of self harm to answer me.

"Slit my wrists?" I filled in the words for him, purposefully using a harsh phrase to make him even more uneasy; it worked, as he simply nodded in response, and his face reflected the tension he was feeling.

I sighed, pretending to feel doubtful if I should open up to Hiro. "I'm... not exactly sure, that... I want to talk about it. It's a stupid reason... " I said, wringing my hands. Maybe I can just avoid this conversation altogether if I can get him to feel bad for me.

Hiro scooted closer towards me, now leaning off the edge of the couch. "I mean... it can't be that stupid, if it makes you so depressed. And... you can tell me. I promise I won't tell anyone else."

Ugh, I thought, now I have to make up some crap story for him...

I paused, adding effect to the 'hesitant' attitude. "I cut myself because... because of my parents." I bit my lip after that sentence, making me seem nervous.

"Why?" Hiro asked. "Did they abuse you, or- "

"No, they didn't abuse me." I quickly derailed his assumptions. Maybe bringing my parents into this was a bad idea. "It's just that... they were never there. At all. As a kid, I was just a creation of theirs used to get praise from others. But as I got older, they lost interest in me. I went from a trophy in their hands to a trophy on the shelf. I did that typical 'get-straight-A's-and-be-a-good-kid-to-please-your-parents' thing, but they still treated me like I was an alien. Ever since I was around thirteen years old, they've just stopped caring about my well being. So I coped... by distracting myself from the need to have... better parents."

There was a long pause, as I went over everything I'd said. There was no absence of emotion in my words, and it seemed believable enough; even though it wasn't the reason for my self harm, it was all the truth. In fact, it was only the tip of the iceberg.

"So..." Hiro began, capturing my attention. "You cut yourself... because of your parents?"

I sighed, trying to express as much self-loathe as I could. "I told you, it was stupid. And it's selfish because I need so much attention from them. I'm seventeen! I should be doing my own thing, not chasing after my parent's praise!"

"Well, I can see why you would." he continued. "You didn't get any encouragement, especially when you needed the most. Thirteen is that age where you need help shaping yourself into who you want to be, whether you get that help from friends or family. So that might explain the need for praise, and even the depression, too." he was now barely on the edge of his seat; he seemed as if he were trying to nail the words into my head, in case I wouldn't believe him.

I mentally laughed. If only you knew, then you might just give up on me altogether.

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. I'll be going to college soon, and I won't be getting anything from them after that."

He chewed on his bottom lip, searching through his mind for the right words. "You could talk to someone else about this. About your parents, about the depression, everything."

I dropped my facade, now truly expressing shock. "You want me to see a shrink?"

"Well..." he shrugged, "you make it sound worse when you put it that way, you make it seem awful. But really, it wouldn't hurt just to have one session with someone."

"Hiro," I sighed, "I'm past the point of help; a therapist would only make it worse."

He fidgeted his fingers. "It's never too late to try."

"Ugh..." I stood up from my seat, making my way to the stairs. "You sound like you're reciting something from an infomercial."

Hiro was quick to follow at my heels. "I'm just giving suggestions. I don't want you to give up on yourself, there's still time to turn around and get help."

I ignored him, grabbing my laptop off of the coffee table and continuing to march towards the stairs. I was angry at Hiro; angry that he was so persistent, angry that he was following me... it made me feel suffocated. Most of the people who insisted on helping me with my depression would be satisfied after hearing the fake backstory, along with a small promise to stop cutting. But Hiro... he was going to be hard to shake off. Hell, he even invited himself to stay at my house for the next few days!

Before I could go upstairs, Hiro grabbed the sleeve of my cardigan. I turned to face him and shot him a glare.

"Just promise me that you'll talk to someone at least once?" his eyes were frantic and pleading.

I stared back at him, searching through the many untruthful masks my had. I chose the simple 'Shy' expression, giving Hiro a soft and sad smile.

"I'll try." I said quietly.

He smiled, releasing my hand.

I quickly turned away from him. I had done this a million times, made a million promises that I would never keep. but for some reason, I couldn't look Hiro in the eyes after I lied to him. I rushed up the stairs, frantically trying to get as far away as possible from the entire situation. I needed to do something to get the matter off of my mind.

But, much to my disappointment, that something wouldn't be cutting myself.