Categories > Celebrities > Dir en grey > Wrist-Cut Show
Wrist-Cut Show
2 reviewsKyo is a disturbed and unwanted teenager sent from home to home, till he finally comes to a peculiar home, meeting an OCD cross-dressing Shinya. Toshiya, Shinya's boyfriend, stirs up trouble, and a...
1Moving
Warning: This isn't going to be pleasant. Then again, if you like Dir en Grey, you're probably used to this kind of stuff. This does, or may in the future, contain rape, violence, homosexuality, and a lot of other things that you may not be comfortable with. The prologue is kind of depressing, but Kyo won't always be such a depressed person, I promise!
Notes: None of this is accurate. I don't even stick to the little amount of facts that I actually managed to figure out about the Dir en Grey members. These things never happened to Kyo, or any of the others. It's just my twisted mind creating them, ok? Don't get angry at how I characterize them and yell at me saying "So and so wouldn't do that!" or "That's not so and so's personality" As soon as you find something you don't like, stop reading because I'll ignore complaints. If you have constructive criticism, go ahead and make suggestions! Well, now that we've got that straightened out...
>...<
Wrist-Cut Show
Prologue
>...<
:-:-:
Darkness hid me from prying eyes
But not from myself
I could not escape from
What I had ultimately become
:-:-:
He knew that if he only managed to stay silent for long enough, his parents would not find him concealed in the closet of their bedroom. His heart pounded erratically, and he desperately tried to quell the harsh gasps of breath that escaped his swollen lips. His grimy fingers quavered as the gripped the tattered remains of his shirt that covered his thin, worn body, pulling it closer around his shivering frame.
His eyelids slid wearily closed, forcing the gathering overflow of tears on the edge of his eyes reluctantly back. He could not cry, they must not find him. The young Tooru had hoped to escape the memories and hide in the darkness, but he was assaulted with remembrance. It was as if his body could still feel the greedy fingers clenching down hard onto his wrists, tearing at his skin in licentious impatience. They were too strong for such a small boy as him, wrenching apart his legs, casually defiling the last shred that he had had to call himself.
A choked sob wracked its way from his body, but he quickly bit down on his lip, ignoring the bitter taste of blood seeping into his mouth. They must not hear him, the must not see him. It was useless as he tried to dam the flow of images through his feeble consciousness with no avail. The stench of sex and alcohol still permeated his senses, his stomach protesting, twisting inside of him and causing bile to rise to the back of his throat. He clutched himself tighter, trying to ignore the burning and swallowing it back down.
He wanted frantically to just bursts out in tears, but he couldn't allow himself to begin crying. If his mother found him, she would see how much uglier he had become. He didn't want her to know just what his father and his friends had done. Then he would never be able to be beautiful in her eyes, she would just see him for the disgrace he was. It was more than the twelve year old could handle.
:-:-:
No need to worry
/Painful days turn to painful lies/
I just keep pretending
/Life will fix itself one day/
:-:-:
"Tooru-kun, why do you think you react that way?" the irksome voice grated into his thoughts.
Kyo clenched his teeth tight together, hating the sound of that name on her lipstick-ed lips, despising her condescending tone, her prim and proper attitude, and those infuriating eyes that calculated his every movement, mannerism, and word he spoke. He loathed being assigned to this woman who called herself his psychiatrist.
His lip curled in distaste, and the teenager didn't bother to answer her question. It was all she did, ask question after question, picking apart his answers and making him feel as if he were saying the wrong things. The way she would purse her lips, tilt her pretty little head, scratch her fancy pen against her lavish writing pad's surface in irritancy, almost as if she were disappointed in his answers.
Instead he turned his head, taking in her extravagant office, scoffing at the various knickknacks that littered her desk and her shelves, the books sitting dustily on shelves looking as if they had never been touched, and the assortment of expensive chocolates that sat in a small crystal dish on the front of her oak desk. She in turn watched the fifteen year old delinquent, taking in his odd assortment of black, leather, chains, and miscellaneous gothic paraphernalia. With slight amusement her eyes lingered on his orange spiked hair and the tracings of makeup on his features that accentuated the darkness of his eyes.
"We aren't going to be able to fix you if you don't open up to me." She drawled lazily, setting her pen and pad back down on her neat and organized desk. Her fingers brushed lightly against the surface of the wood, hands drifting to reorganize a stack of stiff white papers to her left.
"I do not need to be fixed. I'm not broken," his deep voice stated suddenly, startling the woman at first. Soon, a small smile broke out on her lips, a triumphant glint in her eyes.
"Then tell me, when did this first begin?"
:-:-:
It's not for you to decide my fate
/I'll break my heart if I need to/
And I'll waste my life away
/In this sham of happiness/
:-:-:
"Tooru!" her shrill voice screeched. He flinched instinctively, his small fingers wrapping around the edges of his deteriorating teddy bear. He felt disgraceful tears gather rapidly in his frightened eyes. He hadn't meant to break it. It had been so beautiful. He would never destroy something like that.
He had seen his mother gazing in her small ornate pocket mirror often. It was a treasured heirloom of her family, one of the only things she had left from her shamble of a childhood. She had looked mesmeric, a sparkle in her brown eyes that he had never glimpsed before, and a serene, pleasant expression covering her typically harsh features. She had radiated a presence of contentment and adolescence, something that had completely transformed her from a young starving mother into a young woman with her own goals.
Being only eight years old, his thoughts were simplistic. He wished to glimpse into that mirror's surface, just once, to let its magic aura surround his body too. He wanted it to turn him into something beautiful, something that his mother could come to love and care for.
"What did you do to my mirror!" her voice shook the thin walls of the house, bringing the boy back to the terrifying reality. He watched as frustrated tears worked their way down his mother's worn face, her cracked lips trembling in misery, the shards of her mirror clenched tight in her hands.
"Why did you have to break it?" her voice was soft now, her eyes glazed over in faraway thoughts. Guilt screamed through his body. He had caused her pain again. He had taken away her beauty.
"I'm sorry, mommy, I'm sorry." His small voice chanted out, clutching his teddy bear tighter in his arms.
"Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!" her voice bellowed out louder and louder, and she threw the shards of glass from her hands in disgust, turning her face from the blubbering mess that she was forced to call her child.
His lips trembled and he cried out in pain when one of the small shards grazed by his cheek. He had broken it, he had broken her. His teddy bear dropped from his arms, his fingers fumbling frantically for the broken pieces, not caring that they dug harshly into his skin.
"Don't worry, mommy. I'll fix it...I'll fix you..."
His cheek stung in sudden agony as she backhanded him. Before he had time to register what had occurred, he felt himself be shoved roughly against something hard, the corner of the wall jabbing painfully into his side.
"Don't you ever say that again! I'm not broken!"
His head spun dangerously as he gasped, unable to stop his tears from streaming down his face. His eyes slid silently closed, refusing to gaze at his mother any longer, refusing to acknowledge her rage, her ugliness. No, his mother was always beautiful.
"You ungrateful fuck, you're the one who needs fixing," she murmured, choking on her words. She turned her head away from the sight before reaching forward and bringing the trembling mess into her arms.
Her hateful voice had soften a degree, her rough hands running through the young boy's hair in almost a comforting manner. "You're such an ugly child. I don't know what to do with you."
Her hand stopped its stroking and reached down to roughly grab his chin and force him to look up into her red-rimmed eyes.
"Stop your crying. You know I hate those tears," she scolded, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.
He gazed fearfully at her for a second before hysterically clinging to her shirt, his entire body aching from the sobs that he longed to release. One day maybe he would be able to earn her love.
:-:-:
It wasn't as simple as just letting go
/You tore out my lungs and expected me to breath/
It's not like I'm some hero
/I'm just trying to be me/
:-:-:
"I have nothing to say to you." Kyo finally spoke, determined not to give into her inquisition. He doubted that this lady would care anyway, she was way to absorbed in herself, in her appearance, in her things, and in pretending to be some sort of miracle worker that could automatically fix other people's lives when in reality she was just here to drain away their money. Kyo could care less how much cash his foster parents wasted on this shit.
He watched her sigh before her eyes glanced over at the clock. "Well, Mr. Nishimura, our time is up. I expect you to be ready to talk come our next session," her stern voice had little effect.
Kyo stood, letting his bands fall and cover his dismal face. Vexation was engrained in his stature, his fist balled tightly at his sides and his teeth gritted tightly together. He shouldn't be here right now, wasting his time. He couldn't believe that they actually thought this would 'fix' him. She just didn't understand anything about him. She didn't understand anything besides her ideal, controlled fantasy world. He couldn't figure out why these people always insisted on trying to change him when it was already too late. They would just have to stand the ugly person he had become.
His boots made heavy thumps as he crossed the swanky carpet, his fingers closing gratefully around the smooth metal of the doorknob. He was prepared to turn to the key to freedom when her slick voice cut through him like a knife.
"Your mother, she was a bad woman, right?" she asked, hesitating with the tip of her pen poised at the edge of one red lip.
His answer was so soft she barely caught it.
"No, she was very beautiful."
:-:-:
You didn't take my trembling hand
/But I put on my bravest face//Your rejection, I refused/
To show my angry tears
:-:-:
Notes: None of this is accurate. I don't even stick to the little amount of facts that I actually managed to figure out about the Dir en Grey members. These things never happened to Kyo, or any of the others. It's just my twisted mind creating them, ok? Don't get angry at how I characterize them and yell at me saying "So and so wouldn't do that!" or "That's not so and so's personality" As soon as you find something you don't like, stop reading because I'll ignore complaints. If you have constructive criticism, go ahead and make suggestions! Well, now that we've got that straightened out...
>...<
Wrist-Cut Show
Prologue
>...<
:-:-:
Darkness hid me from prying eyes
But not from myself
I could not escape from
What I had ultimately become
:-:-:
He knew that if he only managed to stay silent for long enough, his parents would not find him concealed in the closet of their bedroom. His heart pounded erratically, and he desperately tried to quell the harsh gasps of breath that escaped his swollen lips. His grimy fingers quavered as the gripped the tattered remains of his shirt that covered his thin, worn body, pulling it closer around his shivering frame.
His eyelids slid wearily closed, forcing the gathering overflow of tears on the edge of his eyes reluctantly back. He could not cry, they must not find him. The young Tooru had hoped to escape the memories and hide in the darkness, but he was assaulted with remembrance. It was as if his body could still feel the greedy fingers clenching down hard onto his wrists, tearing at his skin in licentious impatience. They were too strong for such a small boy as him, wrenching apart his legs, casually defiling the last shred that he had had to call himself.
A choked sob wracked its way from his body, but he quickly bit down on his lip, ignoring the bitter taste of blood seeping into his mouth. They must not hear him, the must not see him. It was useless as he tried to dam the flow of images through his feeble consciousness with no avail. The stench of sex and alcohol still permeated his senses, his stomach protesting, twisting inside of him and causing bile to rise to the back of his throat. He clutched himself tighter, trying to ignore the burning and swallowing it back down.
He wanted frantically to just bursts out in tears, but he couldn't allow himself to begin crying. If his mother found him, she would see how much uglier he had become. He didn't want her to know just what his father and his friends had done. Then he would never be able to be beautiful in her eyes, she would just see him for the disgrace he was. It was more than the twelve year old could handle.
:-:-:
No need to worry
/Painful days turn to painful lies/
I just keep pretending
/Life will fix itself one day/
:-:-:
"Tooru-kun, why do you think you react that way?" the irksome voice grated into his thoughts.
Kyo clenched his teeth tight together, hating the sound of that name on her lipstick-ed lips, despising her condescending tone, her prim and proper attitude, and those infuriating eyes that calculated his every movement, mannerism, and word he spoke. He loathed being assigned to this woman who called herself his psychiatrist.
His lip curled in distaste, and the teenager didn't bother to answer her question. It was all she did, ask question after question, picking apart his answers and making him feel as if he were saying the wrong things. The way she would purse her lips, tilt her pretty little head, scratch her fancy pen against her lavish writing pad's surface in irritancy, almost as if she were disappointed in his answers.
Instead he turned his head, taking in her extravagant office, scoffing at the various knickknacks that littered her desk and her shelves, the books sitting dustily on shelves looking as if they had never been touched, and the assortment of expensive chocolates that sat in a small crystal dish on the front of her oak desk. She in turn watched the fifteen year old delinquent, taking in his odd assortment of black, leather, chains, and miscellaneous gothic paraphernalia. With slight amusement her eyes lingered on his orange spiked hair and the tracings of makeup on his features that accentuated the darkness of his eyes.
"We aren't going to be able to fix you if you don't open up to me." She drawled lazily, setting her pen and pad back down on her neat and organized desk. Her fingers brushed lightly against the surface of the wood, hands drifting to reorganize a stack of stiff white papers to her left.
"I do not need to be fixed. I'm not broken," his deep voice stated suddenly, startling the woman at first. Soon, a small smile broke out on her lips, a triumphant glint in her eyes.
"Then tell me, when did this first begin?"
:-:-:
It's not for you to decide my fate
/I'll break my heart if I need to/
And I'll waste my life away
/In this sham of happiness/
:-:-:
"Tooru!" her shrill voice screeched. He flinched instinctively, his small fingers wrapping around the edges of his deteriorating teddy bear. He felt disgraceful tears gather rapidly in his frightened eyes. He hadn't meant to break it. It had been so beautiful. He would never destroy something like that.
He had seen his mother gazing in her small ornate pocket mirror often. It was a treasured heirloom of her family, one of the only things she had left from her shamble of a childhood. She had looked mesmeric, a sparkle in her brown eyes that he had never glimpsed before, and a serene, pleasant expression covering her typically harsh features. She had radiated a presence of contentment and adolescence, something that had completely transformed her from a young starving mother into a young woman with her own goals.
Being only eight years old, his thoughts were simplistic. He wished to glimpse into that mirror's surface, just once, to let its magic aura surround his body too. He wanted it to turn him into something beautiful, something that his mother could come to love and care for.
"What did you do to my mirror!" her voice shook the thin walls of the house, bringing the boy back to the terrifying reality. He watched as frustrated tears worked their way down his mother's worn face, her cracked lips trembling in misery, the shards of her mirror clenched tight in her hands.
"Why did you have to break it?" her voice was soft now, her eyes glazed over in faraway thoughts. Guilt screamed through his body. He had caused her pain again. He had taken away her beauty.
"I'm sorry, mommy, I'm sorry." His small voice chanted out, clutching his teddy bear tighter in his arms.
"Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!" her voice bellowed out louder and louder, and she threw the shards of glass from her hands in disgust, turning her face from the blubbering mess that she was forced to call her child.
His lips trembled and he cried out in pain when one of the small shards grazed by his cheek. He had broken it, he had broken her. His teddy bear dropped from his arms, his fingers fumbling frantically for the broken pieces, not caring that they dug harshly into his skin.
"Don't worry, mommy. I'll fix it...I'll fix you..."
His cheek stung in sudden agony as she backhanded him. Before he had time to register what had occurred, he felt himself be shoved roughly against something hard, the corner of the wall jabbing painfully into his side.
"Don't you ever say that again! I'm not broken!"
His head spun dangerously as he gasped, unable to stop his tears from streaming down his face. His eyes slid silently closed, refusing to gaze at his mother any longer, refusing to acknowledge her rage, her ugliness. No, his mother was always beautiful.
"You ungrateful fuck, you're the one who needs fixing," she murmured, choking on her words. She turned her head away from the sight before reaching forward and bringing the trembling mess into her arms.
Her hateful voice had soften a degree, her rough hands running through the young boy's hair in almost a comforting manner. "You're such an ugly child. I don't know what to do with you."
Her hand stopped its stroking and reached down to roughly grab his chin and force him to look up into her red-rimmed eyes.
"Stop your crying. You know I hate those tears," she scolded, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.
He gazed fearfully at her for a second before hysterically clinging to her shirt, his entire body aching from the sobs that he longed to release. One day maybe he would be able to earn her love.
:-:-:
It wasn't as simple as just letting go
/You tore out my lungs and expected me to breath/
It's not like I'm some hero
/I'm just trying to be me/
:-:-:
"I have nothing to say to you." Kyo finally spoke, determined not to give into her inquisition. He doubted that this lady would care anyway, she was way to absorbed in herself, in her appearance, in her things, and in pretending to be some sort of miracle worker that could automatically fix other people's lives when in reality she was just here to drain away their money. Kyo could care less how much cash his foster parents wasted on this shit.
He watched her sigh before her eyes glanced over at the clock. "Well, Mr. Nishimura, our time is up. I expect you to be ready to talk come our next session," her stern voice had little effect.
Kyo stood, letting his bands fall and cover his dismal face. Vexation was engrained in his stature, his fist balled tightly at his sides and his teeth gritted tightly together. He shouldn't be here right now, wasting his time. He couldn't believe that they actually thought this would 'fix' him. She just didn't understand anything about him. She didn't understand anything besides her ideal, controlled fantasy world. He couldn't figure out why these people always insisted on trying to change him when it was already too late. They would just have to stand the ugly person he had become.
His boots made heavy thumps as he crossed the swanky carpet, his fingers closing gratefully around the smooth metal of the doorknob. He was prepared to turn to the key to freedom when her slick voice cut through him like a knife.
"Your mother, she was a bad woman, right?" she asked, hesitating with the tip of her pen poised at the edge of one red lip.
His answer was so soft she barely caught it.
"No, she was very beautiful."
:-:-:
You didn't take my trembling hand
/But I put on my bravest face//Your rejection, I refused/
To show my angry tears
:-:-:
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