I didn't remember much from the next few hours; most of it flew by as a blur, a scrambled collection of memories flying passed like cards being shuffled in a deck. I remembered regaining consciousness a few times, just to fall back into the enveloping darkness moments later. Eventually, however, I finally fully resurfaced from my long sleep. I found myself to be in my bed, with some sort of wrapping around my chest and head. I sat up, and swung my legs off of the side of the bed, ready to stand, when Shura came by. When she saw me, she cursed and called Yukio over.

"Agh, you're awake! Out fer nine hours..." She sighed. "Don't ya worry, you should be fine. Just a bit a healin'. But ya have a bit a explainin' ta do." As she spoke, Yukio came over and stood next to her.

"Jesus, Rin. I didn't... I don't... What were you thinking?" He gave me a harsh and slightly disappointed look. "Tell me, Rin. Why the hell would you let something like that in?"

"I... I don't...." I stared at my lap, and sighed. "I don't know. I just... I don't know why, or any of that shit, so don't even ask. I don't know."

"Rin, ya can't expect us ta be okay with that answer," Shura snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "Explain, or I'll beat yer ass."

"I fucking can't!" I cried, finally meeting her eyes.

"Rin, just answer us. Do it," Yukio snarled. After a moment of silence, he drew his guns and aimed them both at my head. Shura's eyes widened with surprise.

"Oi, Yukio. What the hell do ya think you're doing?!" She tried to step in between us, and Yukio hit her across the face with his gun. She was silenced by her surprise, and she stepped aside. I still stared at my lap, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Go ahead. Shoot me. God knows I deserve it." My response had snapped Shura out of it, and she started to yell at both of us.

"What?! Rin-"

"Don't bother, Shura. We all know I've had this coming for a while now." I laughed humourlessly, and met her eyes with mine. "I'm the son of Satan. Don't you think it would be suiting for me to be shot in the face by my own brother?" My eyes went back to Yukio, who had a cold expression on his face. I spread my arms. "C'mon, shoot. I dare you. Pull the fucking trigger. See where it gets you."

"Goddammit, you two! Snap out of it! Put down yer fuckin' guns, Yukio!" Shura drew her sword, and stepped in between us. She then shoved Yukio away. He scoffed, and strode out of the room. As he left he turned.

"You know what? You're right. Next time, I should pull the trigger. We would be better off without you." He slammed the door behind him, and I listened as his footsteps receded. Shura sighed and shook her head, putting her sword away. She then turned to me.

"Ya better have some sorta explanation sometime. Oh, and try ta not freak anyone out in school tomorrow, okay? Everyone in cram is fuckin' creeped out. Think ya've gone crazy or somethin'." She then left too, leaving me to my own thoughts.

What have I done? I wondered, staring at the ground. I sat back down on my bed, and put my head in my hands. What is wrong with me? This bloodlust... I summoned a fucking demon, for Christ's sake. I really am a danger to everyone around me, even myself. Maybe it would be best if I wasn't here... Maybe... Maybe then I couldn't hurt anyone else... I looked up from my bed and to the bathroom. Yukio kept razor blades in the medicine cabinet. If I just took one of them, slid it across the fat blue vein on my wrist, it would all be over. Yukio wouldn't have to be burdened by me anymore, no one would worry... It would all be over...

I stood and walked into the bathroom, opening the cabinet and fishing through it until I found the small container. I pulled out one of the small razors, and slipped the plastic protective sleeve off of it. With slightly shaking hands, I held the blade up to my wrist, and sliced it across my pale skin. I did it again, again, the blood flowing down to my hand and dripping off of my fingers into the sink. The pain didn't bother me; it never had. The pain inflicted by the blade was preferable to that horrible hopeless feeling that settled into your soul and rotted out your mind. The despair that accompanied it was also a disease, working it's way into even the kindest and happiest people who happened to have been troubled by horrible misfortune and the chaos that followed. The pain inflicted by the blade was never a cure; no, never that. It was a temporary safehouse, protecting the mind from the agony it endured. My safehouse, however, was quickly decaying, as was the rest of my mind. Soon I would have nowhere to run; soon, I would succumb to the hopelessness and weakness and despair, and there would be nothing left of me but ash and dust. Even the dust would fall, eventually, and I would be forgotten, blown to the winds like pollen from flowers. It was too late to save me from this fate; even at that stage, I understood it fully. I was already broken, the person I used to be under lock and key, wasting away to nothing. He was supressed, confined, beaten, until nothing was left of him. Who I used to be was gone; I knew that. But as I stood there in that bathroom, my self-inflicted wounds pumping out blood, the person I had become crumbled a bit too. My time to welcome eternal rest was coming, and I was ready to welcome it with open arms. I was ready. I was ready for the end.