"It" Can't Be Helped (Revised) | ✔️ | Blue Exorcist

40

I slammed the dormitory door behind me and I was halfway up the first flight of stairs when Yukio entered behind me. "Rin, wait! Talk to me!" He started making his way up the staircase, as well. However, he froze in his tracks when I spun on my heels and glared at him.

"I don't wanna talk about it, okay?!" I ground my teeth, my fingers gripping the handrail so tightly that my knuckles flashed with pain. "That stupid bitch took it too far this time! I told her I wasn't ready, but she just kept pushing." I cussed and dropped my grip on the staircase, running my aching fingers through my hair. My next words were much quieter. "I didn't wanna talk about him."

Several seconds passed between us, and my ears twitched, hearing footsteps coming from the floor above. I moved my eyes to their owner, spotting Kuro at the top of the steps. Questions swirled in his eyes, but he remained silent as he padded down the stairs, moving passed me and walking up to Yukio. My eyes wandered up to meet teal orbs, and I saw his own distress deep inside.

"She made you talk about Dad?"

I drew in a deep breath, my shoulders deflating slightly as I exhaled. "Yeah." The person in question was my therapist, who I'd been seeing for a little over a month now. When I first started with her, I'd mentioned that my Dad's death was a touchy subject and that it would take a long time before I'd be ready to speak about it out loud. She'd been persistent, however, and had brought him up several times in that last few appointments. I knew she'd been fishing for details, but I'd ignored her. She'd finally worn me down, though. I'd figured if I gave her something, she'd back off, but I'd been dead wrong. It only fueled her fire, and she'd goaded for more information. I sneered at that thought and felt my chest rumble as I growled. "She pushed it too far and didn't stop when I said I was uncomfortable. I fucking hate her."

"Do you wanna try a new therapist? I can make a few calls and start a new search if you'd like."

My head fell back and I drew in a deep breath. That'd mean I'd have to start all over. And while it has only been a short time, I didn't want to start from scratch. I shrugged and returned my gaze to my twin. "I don't know, I need to think about it, okay?" His eyes trailed my features and he slowly nodded. It wasn't until he took a few steps down the stairs, Kuro in tow, that I released my breath.

Turning around, I made my way up the staircase, my head muddled with the recollections of my appointment. It was too soon to talk about Dad, and it felt like my heart was being pulled in several directions. Biting down on my lip, I quelled my emotions as I entered our bedroom. I plopped down on my bed, laying back and throwing my pillow over my face. I wished I could just fall asleep so I didn't have to deal with these feelings, but there was no way I'd be able to calm down enough to do that. I was stuck with these thoughts until I could somehow manage to process them.

A memory flickered through my mind and my breath hitched. The image of my father's lifeless eyes would be burned into my brain forever. It was one thing to have your dad die, but something else entirely to have your last memory of him be so morbid. A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the way his pendant stuck out from his chest. It had moved with his breathing, and the despair I'd felt when the movements stopped washed through me like I was experiencing it for the first time. My lip quivered and I pulled it between my teeth, using my fang to pull at some dry skin.

Don't ever let me hear you call yourself my father, again!

I shot upward, my pillow launching to the floor as my eyes darted over to my nightstand. A strangled grunt ripped out of my chest and I yanked open the drawer and pulled out my knife. Without another thought, I pushed up my left sleeve and flipped open the blade. I hissed as the razor edge pierced my skin. Crimson flooded forward, pooling up around the blade and dripping down my wrist. I pulled the blade over my arm, adrenaline pumping through my body and numbing the pain. I wanted that pain, however, it was the only way I could atone for my actions. I raked the knife over my flesh several times, my sheets becoming stained as my blood soaked the fabric. I knew I was ruining the bedding and mattress, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. Not when I realized that the pain wasn't erasing my emotions. I could still feel it, the gnawing self-accusation. It tainted every cell in my body, adding power to each laceration. I abhorred myself, mourning the very person I murdered. The only way to compensate for my crime was to hunt down the person I was several months ago, and brutalize him until there was nothing left.