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Torn	By : sweetchaos Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1101 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Prologue
- 2-Chapter 1
- 1
- 2
Title: Torn

By: On a Day of Snow

Series: Weiss Side B

Genre: Angst, romance, etc

Warnings: Self-mutilation, shonen ai

Characters/Pairing: mainly Michel, Free and Yuki

Summary: Sometimes, those among us who seem the most well-adjusted have the biggest problems. As Michel's self-destructive spiral continues, Free and Yuki become more and more concerned...

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

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"You weren't focused. You didn't pay attention. You sat there, and didn't hear, didn't see....refused to acknowledge the signal! If not for Ken, this entire mission would be shot. All because of you."
Harsh words can cause any one to recoil, especially when the person they are aimed at is already in a fragile state of mind. The body will flinch away as if shielding the mind and emotional core from the blow; the head will bow in shame. It takes a hardened mind to shrug off such blame and the young of the human race are usually none so hard. Tears; shame; guilt. All are part of the packaged deal that comes with accepting blame.
At two weeks shy of fifteen, and also the youngest and most naïve member of the team, Michel was no exception to this generality.
At the hardened tone of Aya's voice, the young man had flinched, gaze dropping to the floor. He was shivering; miserable. He knew he'd messed up and Aya's harsh reproach only made it that much worse.
He was vaguely aware of Free interrupting the reprimand with a soft interjection of "Aya....please....he knows." Every one else was simply silent, probably staring at him, gaze accusing. Ken and Yuki were both spattered with blood as a result of Michel's failure to perform his part in the mission and Chloé had been glaring at him since the incident had occurred only an hour before.
He couldn't look at any of them; just stood there with his head bowed. It was his fault; all his fault. If he had only eaten before they left, like Free had asked him too…If only…Everything wouldn't have been so fuzzy. His mind wouldn't have been such a haze. He would have been able to focus; to participate effectively. Yuki had nearly been killed; every one could have been hurt. His fault.
Had he looked up, he would have seen Aya and Free glaring at one another, locked in a wordless dispute. The room crackled with a heavy, oppressive energy and the silence was becoming overwhelming.
He felt a body shift nearer and judging by the shoes it was Yuki. Since the day the American had patched up his attempts at self-mutilation, the boys had been closer and talked more often, but he didn't think he could handle Yuki's brand of compassion at the moment.
"I'm sorry!" He blurted to no one in particular, his voice sounding loud and shaky in his ears. He hated how childish he must have sounded; hated the tears in his eyes; hated -hated- himself for letting every one down.
Yuki was about to say something when Michel suddenly bolted from the room, dashing up the stairs to the apartments above the shop. Free took off after him instantly, Aya winning the childish glaring match by default.
Free was only a second too slow, as Michel's door was slammed and locked in his face. He grabbed the knob, rattling it desperately; who knew what Michel was doing to himself in there.
"Michel! Open the door!"
"Go-" There was a muffled sound somewhere between a sob and a choked-off cough "-away!" followed by a series of thumps and something that sounded vaguely like a drawer being opened.
"Michel…" Free rested his head against the door, one hand still wrapped loosely around the knob, "Please. Don't do this again. You promised…"
"Go away!" The blond shouted at Free through his door. He was hunched on the edge of his bed, left arm bleeding from a shallow cut he'd already carved into the skin. Yuki had found and thrown away most of the sharp implements hidden around Michel's room, but he hadn't found the penknife taped to the top of the nightstand's drawer. "Just…go away…"
Another cut, followed by another and another until his arm was a bleeding, torn mess. He had to -had to- hurt himself now so tomorrow he could smile. His tiny body shook with each gasping sob, tears and snot mixing in a trail down his face, pooling above his upper-lip and dripping down his chin.
Finally, exhausted, he let the knife slip from his fingers. It landed with a dull thud on the carpeted floor, the sound barely registering in his mind. Not bothering to change out of his dirty mission clothes, the young man curled up in a tight ball, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest.
It was only a matter of time before he cried himself to sleep.
Out in the hall, broad back leaned against the door, sat Free. He was staring down at his hands in his lap, ears ringing with the muffled sounds of sobs and hiccups reverberating from within the locked chamber. Michel's agony chaffed his heart and he longed to take the boy in his arms; tell him everything would be okay. But Michel had isolated himself, barring entrance to his room as if to say "I neither want nor need you."
Free sighed. Michel was proud and stubborn, and -while those qualities were sometimes admirable- the man was worried. For the past couple of months, his young companion had seemed out of sorts. Yuki had managed to skim the surface of their teammate's problems the night he caught him slicing up his legs in the bathroom, but no amount of coaxing and reassurance (or bullying, as the case sometimes was with Yuki) had gotten either of them any real answers.
The sounds from inside the room had ceased, but that didn't quell the worry creeping through the pit of his stomach. It was possible that Michel had simply fallen asleep. Or there was the chilling possibility that he'd hurt himself badly enough to leave him unconscious, a thought Free tried to push from his mind as soon as it entered.
Free had no intention of leaving his post outside the room until he knew Michel was okay, whether it took all night or the boy got up to use the bathroom at some point. He toed off his sandals, trying to get comfortable.
It was going to be a long night.
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