Roxas never really thought he was a person. He felt like a shadow of a boy, a reflection of his perfect brother. Sora was everything anyone could want, he was handsome, strong, courageous and loveable.

Roxas was short, pudgy, and disgusting inside.

Roxas knew this every time his mother would yell at him to do the dishes, to wash laundry, to get out of her sight for being a horrible son and forgetting to make dinner in favor of drawing a picture that he'd finally been inspired to do. Roxas knew he was disgusting when his room was cluttered and he was struck down for standing up for the messiness, claiming it to be made by a costume he'd been working on for a play.

He knew he was a horrible child because he hated his mother.

He wanted to move away.

To never see Sora, or Cloud, his mother or father ever again.

That was when it began to get worse. Flashes of razorblades and pill bottles surfacing in his mind. Flashes of random strangers kidnapping him off the streets, raping him and murdering him, the satisfaction in his minds eye to see his mother sobbing and mourning over the son she never understood- the son she ridiculed and tried to change into her ideal child.

That's when Roxas found the small white box in the far left drawer of the kitchen.

Single edge razorblades, it said.

Without thinking, Roxas had snatched up one of the two packages and stuffed it in his pocket before continuing to clean up the kitchen before bed. From there, he'd locked his bedroom door and flipped open the box to reveal five blades with a slip of cardboard over the sharp edges. He took one out, removing the cardboard and staring at the razor in some form of awe.

He pressed it to the underside of his left arm, pushing down until he felt a prick of pain. Then, he wrenched the blade as fast as he could against the expanse of too-pale skin.

White hot pain flared up to his fingertips and down to his elbow as the skin bloomed open to reveal a disgusting white film underneath. He stared, a sickening feeling stirring up in his gut before the blood began to slowly well in from the sides of the cut. Instantly, the life fluid rushed in to fill the wound, quickly pouring out over the side and sliding down his arm, red dropping against his white comforter. Jerking into action, Roxas moved to sit atop his black quilt, fingers trembling and pain throbbing from the wound- making it itch.

He placed the razor down to shakily hit play on his radio, listening to the sounds of his favorite band play as anger began to pulse in his head and he picked up the razor again. This time, not so deep, Roxas pulled the blade across his arm-- not wanting to kill himself-- and watched the blood slowly start to follow the movement. Again and again he did it, until he couldn't find a place on his arm left to cut without running over another opened wound. Red stains covered his arm, and part of his leg and toe, where his feet were crossed. He felt the wet comforter beneath him and ignored it- knowing that blood couldn't be seen through the black.

The next day, he wore one of his favorite long sleeve checkered shirts - the red and black one - and people were none the wiser.

It went on like that for months, the blade helped Roxas to deal with his family, his teachers, friends that betrayed him and friends that he fought with.

A year passed, and then two.

Roxas went through a new box every few months when the blade began to dull to a point where he could barely scratch the surface of his mutilated skin. By the third year, the scars on his left arm were too prominent. Roxas began to cut on his hip. It spread open more skin and left bigger scars and more pain -- making it harder for Roxas to sleep on his side and to wear any kind of pants that rode too low.

Roxas went back to his arm by the end of that year.

That summer, leading into his junior year, Roxas's mother told him he wasn't mature enough to graduate. He was held back and sent to a new school, a public school. He was ridiculed by children he didn't know because they didn't try to understand him. He made new friends-- two senior boys named Axel and Demyx. He confided in Axel everything but his darkest secret, his fears for his future, his self hatred and insecurities, his family and his old friends. Axel listened to it all and commented where it was necessary, earning a level of adoration from the blond. Axel was tall, lanky and cocky, but he was everything that Roxas wasn't. He approached Roxas first, holding out a long-fingered hand to the blond with a small half-smirk stretched across his thin lips, eyes lined with red and black diamond tattoos underneath each mirth-shining emerald orb. He'd introduced himself as The Axenator, telling Roxas that he was now one of Axel's minions and that Demyx, the deranged blond behind him, was the second-in-command. Roxas, albeit reluctant, had allowed the two boys to continue communicating with him.

Time had passed, and Roxas found himself looking forward to school, solely for the fact that it was whenever he saw both Axel and Demyx. October had been a flutter of activity, Demyx struggling to sew his costume by hand, Axel dragging Roxas to every possible Halloween store within a two hundred mile radius of their homes, and Roxas resisting his own dark temptations in order to feel a little less disgusting. They went trick-or-treating (though the majority of houses they went to discouraged the boys being out at their age) and had all gotten stomach aches at Demyx's house in the living room after participating in a contest to see who could eat the most candy in thirty seconds.

During November, Axel hadn't stopped talking about how annoying customers were at his job, and how he'd have to work on Thanksgiving weekend- which resulted in the three teens not spending as much time together. Demyx had sympathetically consoled the redhead, stating that Roxas and Demyx would have Zexion (Demyx's neighbor) drive them over to the small grocery store to visit Axel under the guise of buying yams.

Axel had laughed off Demyx's statement, saying how only Roxas could pull off buying anything that needed to be cooked, because he was too cute to commit any kind of suspicious activity. Roxas, shyly, had ducked his head down and continued playing around on Zoo Tycoon on Axel's computer.

Thanksgiving Day rolled around and Roxas was trapped for six hours in the kitchen, helping his mother to cook as she yelled orders at him and cursed at him whenever he dropped anything or couldn't find a specific cooking pan or spoon. He ended up locking himself up in his room after a relatively tragic dinner that involved Cloud ignoring all conversation and Sora going off about how Roxas was always pouting and that he should just enjoy his food, to which his parents had wholeheartedly agreed. Cloud remained neutral.

December rolled in with an icy gust of winter, causing all the students to begin bundling up and for the questions regarding Roxas' long sleeves and jackets to disappear completely. Axel now came to school every day sporting a black trench coat that had gotten him sent to the office three times in the past week before he'd been written off as being unable to afford anything warmer and less intimidating. Demyx himself had on the same blue hoodie, his hand always held in the tight, small-fingered grip of a cobalt-haired boy who, Roxas soon found out, was the famous Zexion.

Demyx had stopped hanging out with them as frequently, leaving Roxas alone with Axel on a common basis, which the blond wasn't sure was a good or a bad thing. Axel had shown up at Roxas' house on Christmas Day to take him out to the movie theater, ignoring the none-too-kind stare that Roxas' mother had leveled him with a good portion of the time that Axel had spent waiting for Roxas to get dressed and to grab his wallet and hoodie. It had been one of the happiest days of Roxas' life, even though when he'd gotten home, his mother had punished him through taking down all of the ornaments throughout the house, cleaning the kitchen (which was full of dishes that had piled up for the family's dinner 'feast' ) and to help his father take down the tree and get to work on the Christmas lights. He hadn't gone to bed until nearly midnight, after his mother had yelled at him for attempting to sneak off to his room earlier, before he'd finished the dishes.

In February, the day before his seventeenth birthday, Roxas rose his hand to answer a question, for his paranoia had dimished so frequently in the last months that he no longer cared whenever other students looked at him whenever he quietly responded to the teachers. At the same time, Demyx-- who sat next to Roxas-- pulled on the boy's shirt to get his attention. Those looking at Roxas gasped whenever his sleeve fell no more than three inches to reveal scarred flesh that also happened to be littered with gashes that could be no more than a few days old. Eyes wide, Roxas pulled his hand down and the teacher softly called him up to the front of the class.

Roxas sat rigidly, his heart beating- fluttering in his chest as he struggled to regain breath. He felt hands holding onto his arm- Demyx softly calling out for him to respond. Axel got up from his chair on the other side, grasping to the blond's shoulders.

"Hey man. Roxas... Roxas listen to me. Look at me." Roxas ducked his head down, refusing to catch anyone's gaze. The teacher asked Roxas to come to the front of the class again. Roxas didn't move for a minute, and then pushed Axel back and stood. He moved towards the teacher's desk, and then his mind began playing different scenarios- his mother beating him when she found out, yelling at him for being manipulative, hating him for doing such a horrible thing to his mother, making Roxas realize that he was only doing this to spite his family, that he couldn't feel the pain himself and that it couldn't never be just about Roxas, it was always about everyone else.

Roxas turned and fled from the classroom, ignoring Axel, Demyx, and his teacher's shouts for the blond to return. He heard the classroom door slam open again a few moments later as he shot through the halls. Axel was yelling after him, but Roxas didn't respond. He dodged a teacher who tried to grab at him when he ran by, never stopping until he was outside. He paused, breathing in heavily and panicked tears welling up in his eyes before he caught sight of the empty football field that was opposite the school's parking lot. Behind him, the door opened and Roxas turned for a moment to see Axel walking towards him.

Roxas began running again, his heart pounding in his chest, throat and head. He couldn't will anymore breath into his lungs, and barely made it to the field entrance when Axel grabbed his right forearm. Roxas wrenched the appendage towards himself- wincing whenever Axel tightened his grip to an almost painful pressure. "Let me go." He gasped out, weakly stepping towards the bleachers. He couldn't bear to look Axel in the face.

"No." Axel replied firmly. Roxas turned around and, in a panic, punched Axel. It stunned the redhead into releasing him. Roxas ran for the bleachers, intent on locking himself in the announcer's box for the rest of eternity. He heard Axel running after him and wrenched open the small door, slamming it just in time to lock the older boy out. The redhead pounded on the door, and Roxas slid down until he was in a fetal position.

"Roxas! Roxas, open the door!" More pounding, and Roxas crawled until he was underneath of the desk, clutching to his knees and releasing a shaky sob. His mother was going to beat him, he was going to have his computer, television and phone taken away, his clothes thrown out, his room ransacked and himself thrown into rehab. Axel probably hated him now, thought he was disgusting and weak. Sora was going to tell the rest of the school how much of a freak he was and everyone would know. Cloud would shun him, mock him and hate him and Roxas would be all alone again.

All alone... unless..

He dug into his pocket, retrieving a small white box with a single, cardboard wrapped blade. His hands trembled and he nearly dropped it. He didn't want anyone to touch his things. Axel had been the kindest to him, but he couldn't leave without a reason. People would question, make assumptions and call him a coward. Axel would tell the others he had been too afraid to even defend himself before dying, Demyx would be the only one to cry becuase he had too much empathy not to.

He grabbed the microphone, clicking the loudspeaker on after a few seconds of searching for the switch.

"I'm sorry Axel. You won't... have to worry about me at all. I'm nobody... and tell my parents I'd rather be creamated. I think... it's better that way." He whispered it, so that Axel and anyone else on the field would be the only ones to hear it. The pounding stopped and Roxas dropped the mic with a thud, unwrapping the blade whenever Axel suddenly threw himself at the door, his voice a screaming plead for Roxas to please open the door, to please not hurt himself and to please stop, to please please please let him in.

Roxas placed the tip of the blade against the top of his vein, pressing in until he felt a prick of pain, just like so many years ago, when he started.

This time, he was going to stop it, forever.

He breathed in deeply, tensed, and then wrenched his arm down against the length of that oh-so-blue streak that had always presented itself to Roxas through the many scars and cuts.

White hot pain flared up, and Roxas didn't bother to stifle his scream of pain this time as blood began to well and flooded over his arm- so much blood that it almost overwhelmed Roxas. He released every single emotion he felt inside of him through his cry, curling around his dying body and letting his voice grow hoarse. Axel's screams still hadn't stopped, his fists beating upon the door until they suddenly stopped.

Roxas let the blade fall and tap against the floor with a dull clink. Axel had given up on him. He slumped against his knees, arms rdopping to the dirty floor, his heartbeat throbbing in every single nerve of his body. His eyes drooped, his lullaby becoming the voices of his teachers trying to coax him out, knocking gently and the door knob being jiggled none-too-gently.

Then... the sound of breaking glass broke through Roxas's stupor and Axel slid over the desk and landed in front of Roxas on the ground, his hands bloodied and his eyes rimmed red from tears. He scrambled over to Roxas, ignoring the blond's weak protests and gathering him up in his arms. Roxas couldn't stop his head from dropping limply to Axel's bony shoulder, his breathing ragged and his fingers coated in blood and pressing weakly against Axel's arms.

He only paused whenever Axel's grip tightened tenfold and the redhead released a shaking sob.

"Don't do this, Roxas, please, don't do this to me." Axel pleaded, pulling Roxas out from under the desk and lifting him up, carrying the half-conscious teen over to the door like one would a small child. He shifted Roxas in his arms to unlock the door, opening it to reveal a group of teachers, Demyx, and a few other friends Roxas had made over the year.

His vision blurred and Roxas allowed his head to thud gently onto Axel's neck again, his breathing becoming the slightest bit more shallow as he was handed off to someone else. He could still feel the pain in his arm that numbed everything around him- even the questions from his friends and Axel's bordering-hysterical pleads with the teachers to allow him to come along. An ambulance siren was wailing, though faint, it became louder and louder as Roxas was carried down the steps of the bleachers.

Everything blurred in and out of focus as the voices became more frantic and some sort of mask was put onto his face, his body placed onto an annoyingly hard and uncomfortable surface, the feeling of movement jostling him as familiar thin hands gripped to his own slack ones.

"Hang in there, Roxas."

Everything went black.