Broken: Part Fourteen “My Blood is Your Blood… Nothing in Between”

7/6/00

By: Hikari

E-mail to: [email protected]

Notes: Language.

 

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Little girl’s voice: Why do we hurt ourselves?

 

Man’s voice: … Sometimes we don’t like what’s there…

 

                        Then why do we hurt each other?

 

                      … Sometimes we are nothing, nothing but selfish fools…. We have yet to learn…

 

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            My body jolts as I am pulled back to the world from my reminisce. I shift slightly, and- because of my movement- cause several of my solidified gems to fall from the alter. Instead of ‘clinking’ onto the ground, they crashed and shattered at impact with the tiling. Sitting up, my arm immediately moves to my tender stomach to ease the pain. I look down, taken aback at the idea that my tears had become so cheap they no longer lived to their worth and expectations. With great effort, my arms heave me off of the marble, and feet step onto the ground gingerly. However, shock electrocutes my whole form, making me collapse to the ground. As I had landed on my palms, the powder from the smashed gems embed into my almost dead flesh. Quivering, I raise my hands to my face- gazing at the tiny pricks and holes scarred on me. Shutting my eyes and compressing my hands into firm fists, blood is pressured out- dripping and blotching the surface.

 

            “Is this what you want…” I rasp. “Do you want everything to hurt me…?… I bring… enough hurt… to myself… You DON’T need to help me!” Knees cave in slightly as I make myself stand and swing to the cross. “DON’T GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING HELP!!!”

 

            My cursing echoes throughout the building, and more tears disperse- showering over me. Viciously, I shrug it off. The hot water wipes away the blood from my face and arms- even smoothing my hair down. Drips of it run from separate strands, washing the blood off from there as well. Still I frown. I don’t care for over-romanticization from anyone- I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.

 

            “Go find someone else to cry over… if you’re not crying for yourselves… Leave me… Don’t you think I am undeserving? Contemptible? Don’t cry over shit!” Warmth surrounds my eyes… hurtful warmth… “Don’t cry… over shit like me…”

 

            A door creaks open, and slowly- I turn around to see who it is. “Ku…Kurama…?”

           

He silently closes the wooden door behind him, later meeting with a man all in black and with a white collar. My friend speaks to him, the elder nodding at his statements. Increasing my stare, I notice that grave concern crosses the other man’s features- wrinkles forming at the corners and angles of his understanding face. He motions for Kurama to come to a room, I decide to follow.

 

            Hobbling from the front, I use the line of pews for support to make it to the back. The process of getting there was sluggish and tiresome- what a disgrace for the wielder of the kokuryhua to be so lame… so feeble…             My feet drag themselves scruffily against the floor, and I can’t prevent from panting at nearly every-other bench. Halfway there, I give way again- only to pull myself to continue further.

 

            When I finally reached the door to the room, I depended on the walls to keep me upright. I was perspiring so much that my fingering slipped around the round copper knob. Completely gripping around it, only then was I able to open the entrance and come inside. The lighting was fairly poor, as the only source of light came from a humble lamp set on a cedar wood table. Kurama was sitting on an armchair, the old man being across from him. The old man was hunched over, hands linked- covering the lower half of his facial appearance. Kurama, on the other end, had his face in his hands… devastated.

 

            “What’s happening to me…father…?” He whispered. “Have I done wrong…?… Is it because I have never entirely devoted myself…?… Have a faulted so horribly…?”

 

            The ‘father’ unlocks his hands to smile affectionately. “No…” He replies, eyes glistening through his bifocals from being moved by Kurama’s words. “The only pain we can ever truly experience… is from what we do to ourselves…”

 

            The redhead uncovers his pale face, his own hands shivering and wary. “What is it then…?”

 

            In response to my friend’s question, the other signals for Kurama to bare his palms. His palms were dotted and smeared with blood. Feeling my eyes broaden, I rush closer- plunging down at the heel of Kurama’s chair. More panting. I can merely glance upwards from this position.

 

            “Not only that…” He added, carefully he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves- rolling them up to view the numerous scars and slashes. As I look more intently, I recognize one of the wounds. There was a puncture at the inside fold of the elbow, a long drawn scar from there, and another deep puncture at the main vein in the wrist. Breathing heavily, I begin to undo the bandages at my left arm. The scars we had were identical- except Kurama’s scars were fresh. His skin was purplish from the wound, muscles throbbing visibly. Did I… do this to you?

 

            “How… How do you feel when you experience these abrasions?”

 

            He lowered his head, scarlet bangs shadowing over his eyes. “It’s not the wounds that actually hurt… father…”

 

            The other blinks, just a little surprised. “Would you care to tell me about it… Perhaps I can… provide you with help… This is certainly not the stigmata, but there could be… maybe… another reason for this…”

 

            “It’s the feeling after… the feeling after these scalds appear that I suffer…”

 

            “How… do you feel?”

 

            “It’s… hard to describe… It’s…” Kurama looks away, startling me for he was now gazing downwards… towards me… right AT me. In his irises, I saw no reflection of myself- I saw only sadness. “It’s like I have… lost something… something very important… It’s the loss that is more aching than the physical pain… The feeling… it’s almost like a cross with failure too… Did I do something wrong? Had I erred?”

 

            His voice was wavering, and one… one single tear of his, pours from his cheek and splashes on mine. Another tear? For me…? Why…?

 

            “I’m not very religious… father… but… I sense that a very familiar presence… simply disappeared… and… I don’t know why, but… these days… it seems I have no one to talk to…”

 

            “Are you that lonely…?”

 

            My friend nods weakly. “I lost something… and I’m afraid that I may never get it back…”

 

            Kurama… you never forgot me? Did I bare that much significance to you…? I thought…

 

            After some contemplation, the father offers his insight. “It could be… you are enduring another’s hurt…”

 

            My hurt? My blood?

 

            “Why… is that?”

 

            The elder pats Kurama on the shoulder, squeezing it for comfort. “As I see it… the loss and the pain are one in the same… You are undergoing it yourself because you obviously mean something to a certain lost soul… the presence YOU feel is missing… Do you remember of a death that… what’s the word? Stirred you?”

 

            This time, he shakes his head. “No. Not at all… Either way though… I think I’m slipping… I can’t focus on anything anymore. Nothing seems to matter… I mean… what is life worth if you can’t make the most of it? The best of it? I… I… don’t know. I’m just confused…”

 

            “Have you tried talking to your other friends… family too?” He plays with a ballpoint pen, clearly trying to assuage the misery in the quarters by acting naturally. It helped little.

 

            “Yes… My group… it’s funny how quiet they’ve become…”

 

            Standing from his chair, the father goes behind his desk to retrieve something from his drawer. Flipping and groping around through his many papers- he takes one and walks back to Kurama. Handing him the small laminated sheet, he wipes his glasses with a white handkerchief. My friend’s eyes skim the paper.

 

            “What’s this?” He asks. “A prayer?”

 

            The old man replaces the tissue into his pocket, looming over Kurama’s chair as an actual father would. “Yes… it’s not much, but I guarantee you it will help- if your heart is in it… It’s called the Chaplet of Divine Mercy…”

 

            “I’ve… never sincerely made a formal prayer like this before…”

 

            “First time for everything… hm…?

 

            Kurama grins hopefully. “We… all need to start somewhere…”

 

            “Of course… that’s part of the reason why we’re here. There can no be happiness otherwise…”

 

            Happiness…

 

            “I won’t be doing this for myself… This is only for the loss, and for the loss alone…”

 

I blink.            For me? You give more and more for me? How could you? Kurama… why do you want help someone who is hurting you? Do you believe in something… someone that is not there to see? My hand reaches to stroke the wounds on his arm. His flesh was cushy- blood smudging onto my fingertips. Bringing my hand to me, I rub my fingers together. His blood dried and flaked.

 

You may bleed… but the stains will always vanish. The stains belong to me…don’t ever blame yourself for what I do… You haven’t erred… I have… Forget about me… for your own sake…

 

My arms embrace a leg of the chair-

 

…Forget about me…