The Izuru Kamukura Ward

Loser Boy

Loser. Freak. Disappointment. Idiot. Teacher's pet. Suck up.

Words. They didn't really hurt much. Well, not to him. What hurt most were the punches, kicks and drownings. Yes, drownings; his classmates actually want him dead that much. He wouldn't mind so much if it actually killed him, rather than them just waterboarding him; that was just bogus. That was just stabbing pains in his lungs, coughing, and possibly throwing up; not to mentions the red lines he drew on his side when he got home.

Honestly, those weren't really related to the whole "wanting to die" thing, more a punishment for not provoking them enough so they snapped and killed him. That'd be nice. The noose didn't work, nor did the slit wrists, nor did jumping off the bridge, or the pills that only put him in a coma rather than finishing the job. He was in and out of hospital, his father was desperate, and he was annoyed. Nothing worked. Either he miscalculated, or fate would intervene because the universe just seemed to have it out for him. Perfect.

Counsellors and therapists were just as bad, and he father was paying them. They didn't have much money, and the debt only seemed to get worse, and his father was only adding to that by trying to hire people that would "help him" instead of letting him just leave. Besides, the few he'd gone to were worse than no help at all; the worst trying to convince him he was just a little gloomy and that he didn't really want to die, that it was just a plea for attention.

He couldn't name a therapist he hated more than that one, but he just didn't like talking to begin with. He shouldn't selfishly take up someone else's time with his problems. He couldn't even understand why his father wanted him around, anyway; if he was gone, then there'd be more money to pay off the debt and his father wouldn't have to work so hard. He was an annoyance, so why keep him around simply to waste food on?

Not that he ate much, a little rice and a few vegetables, maybe. Still, it was wasted on him.

He was just laying there now, wrists bandaged up to his elbows once more, staring up at the ceiling in general apathy. He was just so tired, but he couldn't sleep. His father was begging, imploring him to stop this "nonsense" and demanding to know why he kept doing this. Kiyotaka looked at his father with his dead, empty eyes and explained it as simply as he could.

"I'm tired of trying and failing. I just want to leave, and never come back... It'll be just like falling asleep..."

He didn't hear what his father said, and just turned back over. He closed his eyes, waiting for the nurse to come and collect him, to take him back to the ward that almost seemed to be perfumed with the scent of bleach and failure. He didn't want to go back. There was one positive, one thing that didn't suck as much as the rest of his life, and that was Mondo.

Mondo selflessly donated his time to him, tried to help him feel better. He held him and whispered white lies of "good enough" and "beautiful" into his hair. Even though Mondo shouldn't lie, Kiyotaka was addicted; he was addicted to rough lips and soft words, big hands and their almost worshiping touches. Even if every word and touch was laced with deceit, he couldn't stop hearing them while he was there, couldn't stop letting Mondo hold him close.

He'd still go, of course he would. He was useless and disgusting and needed to die. However, Mondo made it easier. However, taking up Mondo's time with his unimportant problems was selfish; Mondo needed to get better himself. Still, he supposed it didn't really matter...

He was going to die soon, anyway.