I Draw Too

Chapter Two: Nobody Saw

He drew pictures that nobody saw.
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Ivan and Yao sat silently, staring at the river as it rushed passed them. The sound of the trees as the wind pushed against them, followed by the sound of clothing shuffling as they adjusted in their spots filled the quiet yet comfortable atmosphere. Yao hummed, standing up before offering his hand to Ivan.

"Come on Ivan, I'll take you to my house if you'd like. My brother's wouldn't mind." His brown eyes bore into the larger Russian boy. Ivan nodded, knowing his choice wouldn't matter in the long run anyways. He stood up, grabbing the Chinese boys hand. Yao grasped his hand tightly, leading him away from the clearing and towards the forest. Ivan looked over at his watch, staring at the hour hand as it pointed to the small silver one, signalling the time. 

"Ivan," Yao spoke up against the wind and crunching of branches and leaves under their feet. "Do you have any siblings."

"Da, I have an older and a younger sister at home." He informed, stepping closer to him. He tightened his grasp, leaning against the small Chinese boy. Yao looked over at him, smiling slightly. A police car sped by as they walked onto the sidewalk, their eyes following it as it turned down a street.

"I wonder what happened." Yao hummed aloud, tightening his grip on the Russian bot's hand. Ivan unnoticeably flinched, biting his lip as he ignored the stinging pain of the silver watch rubbing against his open wounds. The two continued silently until Ivan spoke up.

"How did you know I wanted to jump?" His soft voice broke the steady barrier between them.

"I could see it on your face. The look of pain and urgency in your eyes. The longing to be in the water, under it as you couldn't breathe. As the murky water filled your lungs. I could see it. It was like you were meeting with a friend, someone you need. You were ready. I knew that look. I've seen it before. The greeting of death so casual. I saw it during one of Alfred's many attempts to take his own life. There is no fear present. It was as if you and death were old lovers, even if you were mere strangers." Yao spoke quietly as Ivan stared at him, his violet eyes unwavering as the small Chinese boy slowed to a stop. He looked over his shoulder at a small vanilla-colored house. The large open yard with a porch swing hanging at least two feet above the boards of the deck seemed like something Yao would have. "We're here." Yao said, leading up the slightly hilled sidewalk leading up to the porch, grass and a few clovers growing in between the cracks in the concrete walkway.

"Yao..."

"Hm?"

"Thank you." Ivan stated, pulling the smaller boy into a warm hug.

"Don't thank me. But promise me. Death is not your friend, not yet at least. If you need to, go find that needed friend."

"But Yao, I will not be needing to."

"Why not...?" Yao questioned, tightening his grip on Ivan as the Russian held him to his chest.

"Because I already found you."

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Ivan stared at the mirror, pulling off his pink tinted scarf as he eyed the cuts along his collar bone. He could hear Katyusha walking around in the kitchen outside, humming a joyful tune. One almost sickening to his stomach. He scanned the scars and wounds, almost proud, yet very very shameful. He looked down at his wrists, his sleeves rolled up to his arms as he slowly counted each scar.

Sixty-eight.

His goal?

One hundred.

The tall teenaged boy reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pencil sharpener. He used his fingers to turn the loose screw, successfully removing the small razor before setting the plastic down onto the sink. He looked down, slowly lifting up his shirt with his left hand. His army-green jeans clung to his body under his pelvis, leaving his pale skin visible. He gently drug the blade across his skin with force, watched as the red droplets firmed before turning into red lines that traveled down to meet with his jeans. Ivan ignored the outside world, leaving cut after cut after cut. A large crash was heard, startling him as he dropped the blade in a panic. He dropped to the floor, his shirt rising to his middle back as he searched for it. Added light filled the room, earning his attention. The door stood open, revealing Katyusha as she began her want.

"Ivan you've been in here for thirty minutes! What's taking so-" She stopped, her eyes focusing on the bloody cuts in his skin. "Ivan..." He swallowed, leaning back onto his legs as he looked down in shame. "Ivan..." Katyusha slowly approached him, kneeling down before cupping his cheeks. She stared at the cuts in his collar bone, as well as his wrists as he held onto her.

"I'm sorry..." His voice cracked as he looked up at her, silent tears marking his face.

"Why didn't you tell anyone...? Why didn't you tell someone you were in pain? We could have helped, Ivan. Why didn't you tell us?" She urged, eyeing him. He stayed silently, staring at her face. "Tell me, Ivan! Tell me! Answer me god dammit!"

"Nobody asked."