Kiss death

Chapter five

{note at end}
-timeline, takes place an hour after the rat leaves
                                                                               TW:Self harm

Dazai successfully exterminated his apartment of rats! Let's all cry out in joy!
He felt way too tired to be joyful however, he laid down on the couch and curled into himself.

Dazai fell asleep, and instead of sleeping a dreamless night he found himself opening his eyes to a dark room. He looked in front of him, there was a chair...and tied to the ceiling was a noose. Dazai looked at the two with wide eyes, despite thinking of suicide and hoping for it all the time, he had never actually dreamed of committing. It made him feel ill, that if he took the bait and did it, he would still wake up the same.

He walked around the chair and sat down in it, gazing with dead eyes at the noose, he suddenly couldn't see out of his right eye. He reached up to touch it, there was a bandage over it.

He let out a breath, this was unwanted. He felt smaller and more vulnerable, his head hurt. It's strange how the brain plays tricks, and today's trick was a saddening desire.

He looked down at his clothing, now changed into a white button up with a black suit and tie and black slacks. He realized that his jacket wasn't here, the one that always clung to his shoulders. He looked around and saw it laying limply, illuminated by a single candle.

He held his hands up, feeling the wet of blood on them.

Was his brain really tormenting him like this? He deserved it of course, but why?

He heard the loud sounds of voices, one female, the other male. Dazai could hardly recognize the voices, but they sounded sickeningly familiar.

He tried to stand up, before realizing that his hands were tied to the chair, he clenched his jaw and breathed through his nose.

He was hating this nightmare. He saw a blurry faced, smiling man walk over to him, hatred flashed across his face. He recognized that white coat.

The stinging pain of needles pricked his arms, sending familiar pain to his nerves.

Why did this nightmare contain that stupid doctor? He hated Mori and his time in the mafia, why did his brain have such a disdain for him?

The loud disturbing sounds of children screaming and crying, the growling of dogs, it rang in his ears.

"Just let me leave! I know I deserve being tormented, anyone like me deserves such!" Dazai cried out, his tone full of anger and despair.

The man found himself on his hands and knees, weak. He looked up at a smiling face, disturbing.

He rose to his feet, free from the binds of the chair. He saw scattered pills and blades, blood pooling around his feet.

He lifted his arm, seeing deep wounds and cuts. In front of him stood a bathroom mirror, he hesitantly walked towards it. He saw his body, no bandages to be found.

He was tormented by his past self inflicted injuries, he wanted to vomit.

Reminding him that Odasaku had asked him to stop, that Chuuya got on his case when he walked in accidentally on him. When Atsushi and Doctor Yosano started worrying heavily about him after a checkup.

Dazai gripped his hair with his hand, he felt the scarlet trickle down his paling arms. This was awful, he hated all of this. He hated being reminded of his mistakes, he couldn't learn from them.

He never wanted any of this to happen, it would've been better if he was born dead, or was never conceived. Perhaps his parents shouldn't have ever gotten in the same bed together.

It was all his fault.

Dazai's fault for not being human enough.

His fault.

Akutagawa's abuse was all Dazai, his own abuse was only him.

Maybe if he had gotten killed by those stray dogs, if he had overdosed and lost breath. If he had successfully taken his own life with that rope.

Nothing would be painful, nothing would be happening to him. Everything ever done to him was his fault.

He never saw the good in anything bad. He was a pessimistic, suicidal, manipulative abuser. He didn't deserve anything good.

The blood continued dripping down his clothing, staining his skin and suit. He felt the burning feeling of alcohol in his throat, he was losing the last shred of hope and humanity he ever felt in himself.

He tightened his hands into shaking fists. He breathed heavily, staring at his pathetic image in the mirror.

Without thinking he plunged his fist into the glass, feeling numb cuts on his knuckles.

.....

He was sweating profusely, breathing heavily. He sat up on the couch, looking around. The bandages were still tightly wrapped around his arms and neck.

"Just a dream, just a dream.." He muttered it like a mantra.

More than a dream, it was a collage of tormenting memories. Memories that he couldn't beat out of him, as much as he tried.

He put his knees up to his chest, as if begging for some sort of comfort. As a child he always got terrifying nightmares, his father used to comfort him. At least most times, the times his father could care more about dirt was the time Dazai only had himself.

He touched his arms, he craved a sensation. He craved the blade tearing through his pale skin. He knew it wasn't right, he's heard the words of worries, but he was still drawn back. He was debating it, debating it deeply.

Yosano might find out, Kunikida might find out, Atsushi might find out. He didn't want anyone to find out more than they already have. He heard a beckoning song in his head, it was bleeding through his ears.

He didn't want to go back to bed, but it was cold and dark. He looked out the balcony window, seeing the black ink that covered the sky.

He felt sickeningly empty, like he had just thrown up his internal organs. His head hurt.

He swung his legs over the couch, he stood up with shaking legs. He made his way to his bathroom, feeling ill.

He opened the door of the bathroom, walking in and shutting it close behind him. He stared at his reflection, he saw a walking skin suit. His face was ghostly and his eyes were slightly red, he looked like a moving corpse. It was like he was strung up by strings.

He opened the top drawer of the bathroom counter. Seeing the plentiful amount of bandages, all in rolls. He moved a roll of bandages off of a small white box. He took the box out. Feeling a strange sensation of anticipation and despair.

His body was aching at him, like a creaking rocking chair that was slowly moving faster. He opened the box and stared at its contents, silver colored blades scattering the inside.

The metal, cold blades were perfectly cleaned off, as though he covered up a murder scene. No trace of anything suspicious was in the box, except for the blades themselves.

He numbly picked up a blade, looking at it with trembling eyes. He unfastened some of the bandages on his arms, 'Was he really doing this? It didn't feel right.'

He didn't have a moment to think about it a second longer before muscle memory kicked in and he found himself feeling the icy cold pain of a blade cutting through his skin. He felt the warm scarlet pour out.

He snapped back to reality and started huffing air out quickly. He dropped the blade in the sink and felt tears welling up in his eyes. Dazai's arm hurt so bad, he was not in the right state of mind to do any of this.

He needed an escape, but not this one.

He clutched his arm, smothering the wound.

Blood trickled down his skin, soaking into the bandages around his elbow. The pain was disturbing, he's never been a fan of pain. Yet somehow he's always been addicted to that disgusting blade.

He started wrapped another bandage around his new cut, the blood getting smothered and eventually stopped.

He felt his knees grow weak and he slumped against the cabinet door. He stared at the ceiling, wondering if he could tie a rope to it, maybe he could tape it.

His arm hurt worse than a stray dogs bite, he wish he could stop his self injury spree, but he couldn't. The muscle memory was always going to be there, the scars were always going to be stitched into his tenuous skin.

He felt very tired. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, batting against the pain that was trying to keep his mind awake.

After a few minutes he slipped into a dreamless sleep, staying up right against the cabinet.

He knew that his bones and body would hurt and be sore when he woke up.

Part of him wished he died in his sleep, the other half-however-would find that a cold and lonely death in a bathroom isn't the way he was going to go out.

{I love Dazai angst, can you tell? He's a silly little guy >< this chapter is pretty short compared to the previous ones. Next chapter won't be out in a bit}
 
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