One dream in Paris

20. Self-termination (Tobirama)

I had always considered myself slightly depressed.

I wasn't necessarily sad. It was more like a void; a nothingness. I could feel mildly pleased. I could be slightly annoyed.

This, however... This wasn't a depression. This was something else entirely. I was heartbroken.

Madara didn't show up at work that Monday. He phoned me the night before (he knew I wouldn't pick up because my phone was on mute until I woke up), leaving a voice message saying he was sick. I could hear he wasn't lying; he had a bad cough and was snivelling. If I was lucky, I would catch the same seeing I had almost fucked him yesterday so I could rest at home because I needed it so badly. The absence of him at work saddened me even more than his message did; my eyes were aching by the lack of him in my visual field.

When I was working on Monday, I wondered what it would have been like if he had, in fact, been there. What had happened yesterday hadn't been a small fight. What had happened had been serious. Madara had broken a vase worth thousands of euros and almost hit my head with it (if it was on purpose or not, I didn't know, and I wasn't sure I wanted to find out). He had destroyed photos of my child, the implications of which I was afraid to even consider. He'd caused my cheek to be cut open, so close to my eye I started sweating just thinking about it.

After Madara had left, I'd had a panic attack. I didn't remember any of it, just that I fell down on my knees in the broken glass. The hour after that was gone from my memory. When I came round, I was in foetal position on the ground, drooling, so thirsty I would've drunk sea water. There was a scalpel-sharp Japanese kitchen knife covered in blood next to me. I had cut my forearms so deeply, I could see the muscle beneath.

I had never had a panic attack before, never harmed myself. How do I explain this to Sunna? had been my first thought.

I went to the bathroom and vomited; I hated the sight of blood.

And now, I had to work as if nothing had happened, without Madara.

But, luckily, not without him.

He was like an angel, immediately noticing something was wrong. As soon as I came in, he'd noticed the scar beneath my eye, stepped in front of me, brushed his thumb against it. I had looked away, clearly showing I did not want to talk about it, which he had accepted. Of course he had. I felt he had his warm, brown eyes on me the entire workday. Several times, I had to go to my office where I left my phone just to check if Madara had called or texted or called, and every time, I had to take deep breaths so I wouldn't panic in disappointment because of course, he hadn't. But so, neither had I. And every time I came out, Hashirama looked at me, his beautifully shaped eyebrows furrowed in worry. I tried to smile at him, but my lips ended up wobbling and I had to look away.

On the end of Monday, he came to me, put his arms around my waist.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

No, I immediately wanted to say, but then stopped myself. The man in front of me was looking at me earnestly, not looking like someone who asked just to be polite but because he actually cared. Why not? I thought instead.

"Let's go for a walk. Sunday."

It was a long way away, but it was something.

I accepted.

Hashirama's face brightened a little. 

In the afternoon, I texted him from my office.

Me: I would love for us to talk this through. I have put myself in your position and I agree. I should have told you. Of course I should have. But I was incredibly hurt by the fact that you broke my belongings.