Lies

Chapter 2. Unhinged.

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Maybe it was the dripping that did. The monotone echoing of water, cascading over the edge of the sink to fall against his shattered skin, that woke him from his trance. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the now stagnant pool of blood that had formed at his feet that brought him out of his self inflicted stupor.

He was cold, his skin frigid and coated in a layer of goosebumps. His toes were colored, soaked in drying red. His hands, his back, his mind, even his fingernails were all locked into place and captured in one silent pose.

He was unmoving, unfocused, and unhinged. Beside him sat his means of release, his other lie. Its once pristine edges were dull, its frame warped by the slices of skin that still stuck to its surface. He would need a new one, a better one, one that.....accomplished its purpose. One that sustained him long enough to tack in place the new lie that filled his body with endorphines. One that kept him sane.

He would have to hide it, the gaping wound that stretched from his back thigh down to his knee. The task, the feat of angling his arm to be able press the steel down at such the right place and been tricky. He had to lie on the floor, his body naked and pressing against his cold, bathroom floor. He had done it slowly, breaking his own rule of going fast, and had slipped his fingers into his sliced up flesh.

It had been shocking to feel his insides. Their texture was at most reaffirming and he realized that he was human. Perhaps he wanted to feel a mystery or something that was out of place. Maybe he wanted to feel something over than vermilion slick skin. His fingers never reached deep enough inside himself. The several layers of skin constructed over his frame had kept him locked out from feeling what he truly wanted to.

Never less he had accomplished his goal. He had become unhinged, invulnerable to the lies that Yuki spoon fed him. He had traded them all in, all the pain, all the pleasure, all the completeness for something that sliced a little deeper. Soon he would exposed, able to shake away Yuki's chains and free himself from the man. Soon he would be able to rely solely on himself for his source of lies, for his way of surviving. He needed to breathe and cutting had become his lungs.

So maybe that was why he was laying on the floor as time ticked by. He could hardly remember a time when he wasn't. Tow months had past since he first started, and two months of feeling the cold tile against his cheeks was becoming routine. He didn't bother to think about anything anymore, he had been bad today. He had been forced to lie of the floor three times at least. Yuki would be home soon. Home with the sickly sweet smell of someones perfume, rumpled clothes, and less and less lies. It had seemed that honesty had home latched itself upon Eiri's form like a leech. The man now looked at his half heartedly and didn't even attempt to tell a lie or fictional storys to appease him. The man would just shrug and go back to living in his office.

The routine had become unchanging, void of lies, and absent of the burning pleasure that he loved. Maybe, just maybe that was the reason he envisioned himself as someone else when he stared into his mirror. He had saw himself as a clown, his face cut ear to ear from his lips. His dark blood flowing down his painted cheek like sweat until he'd open his mouth and smile. His lips would crack, his bloodied grin slipping into the section of darkness

I'd rather run away, crawl away, than have you perceive my slow decay.

He was a clown, a bloody mask of pure hatred and deception. How he loved it, how he loved to stare and Yuki's sleepy form while he clutched his most valuable lie and stood over his bed. The man would have to be careful, wary of everything he said. Otherwise......Yuki Eiri would find himself without a mask, without lips, and without a voice.