Chapter 1
Hana's home
Bathroom
2:34 am Monday
D'aho.
Baka!
You idiot Sakuragi! You're going to pay for this!
Who's the pretty boy here then? You shouldn't be wandering in
the streets alone...
Do you know me? Sakuragi stared at the mirror and mouthed the words. The boy in the mirror
mumbled back at him. Why does his eyes look so dead?
They all hate you. Look at you. You're ugly. You're dirty.
Don't cry. Boys don't cry. Sakuragi huddled himself next to the bathtub, instinctively drawing
his knees into his arms. Why won't the pain go away?
No one cares. They've all abandoned you.
How many times has he woken up in the middle of night, shaken and drenched in cold sweat as he relived his
past?
No one ever comes.
No one ever wants to know you. I'm just a stupid, idiotic
D'aho. The laughing maniac. The butt of all jokes. The red monkey. The Naive King.
The guy rejected by 50 girls
now going for the grand total of 51. Why should they care?
They don't know me.
Sakuragi struggled to suppress oncoming onslaught of pain. Memories. What are they anyway?
Why do they keep haunting me? Some slips away just like a sunset. One moment it was here, the
next, gone. Some just stays around, hovering over you like a ghost eager to deliver youto the edges of insanity.
Sakuragi stared at the sharp blade grasped tightly in his fist.
Go away please. I don't want to remember.
Flash of red and silver. Pain flooded through his senses as Sakuragi licked at the crimson drops.
Another slash on the other wrist. Pain. He could endure it. A reminder that he
was still alive, much
as he wanted to be in the other world. He deserved it.
Sakuragi watched, fascinated at the bright red river that gushed out from his wound. He had been cutting
himself for months, always in the same place so the others would not notice.
Temporary relief. Pain. Red.
Sakuragi sighed and leaned back staring at the ceiling.
Am I a freak? What will the others think of me now?
Sakuragi smirked to himself. I'm already a freak. Why would they care if I am one?
"Damn you Hanamichi! Get the hell out of there! I need the bathroom!" A loud banging woke
Sakuragi from his stupor.
Sakuragi cursed himself and scrambled for the bandages in the cabinet. Damn Oyaji for getting drunk
again. The blade was slippery with his blood but that was alright. He would
wash it tomorrow. Oyaji never
notices these things.
Can you get poisoning from rusty blades? Doesn't matter.
"Get the fuck out!"
Oyaji, Sakuragi 's adopted father, screamed through the thin door just as Sakuragi opened it. The
blast of sour alcoholic breath almost made Sakuragi gag.
"Get out!" Oyaji bellowed, shoving his
way past the red head.
Sakuragi winced as the door slammed behind him. He should be glad the old man didn't hit him *this*
time. He still had that large bruise on his chest from the old man's last drinking
spree. He often wondered
how that 60 year old man could hit with such a bruising force.
Sakuragi sighed and went back to his bedroom and started to wrap his cut wrist up with practiced ease.
He had been cutting himself almost nightly for the past two weeks. Part of
him wished to stop; part of him wished
it wouldn't.
Basketball.
That's all he lived for now. There is nothing more.
