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

54

As it turns out, cutting over my wounds with a normal knife did, in fact, make my regenerative abilities kick in. I took a lot of convincing on my end, and both of them nearly called emergency services on me for simply suggesting it. But it was settled after we came to an awkward agreement: They had to watch to make sure it worked, and also to make sure I wasn't doing it to harm myself further. I've never been interested in the occult, but that had been the closest I'd ever felt to being a part of one. Like I was performing some bloodletting ritual. It had been messy and humiliating. The wound didn't close all the way and the way I cut over it made the wound shut at odd angles. I did my best to just barely scratch the paring knife against the exposed artery and flesh, a feat considering my faltering and staticky vision. Bon and Izumo had kept their faces perfectly neutral while I did it, like the whole situation wasn't as fucked up as it clearly was; like it was just another Tuesday night.

Once I was no longer in danger of bleeding out, the paring knife was ripped from my hands. Just as quickly, I was ushered out of the kitchen and past the two discarded umbrellas at the entrance of the dorm. Then, I was escorted upstairs, almost carried when my legs almost gave out and stumbling to catch myself. Warm hands — almost too warm — gripped me tightly to keep me upright, and it was the only indication thus far of their concern. We passed by what I could only describe as a crime scene before I was being pushed toward the bathroom. Bon switched on the light and stood in shock at the smattering of glass and droplets of blood. I swallowed dryly, my throat still raw from my earlier meltdown. "I got a little mad."

He probably would've snorted at any other time — saying something akin to 'no shit' — but he just simply nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. Gesturing to the shower, he told me to wash off, but I halted when he mentioned that he wouldn't be leaving.

"You want me to shower while you're in here?" I asked incredulously and he gave me a biting look. "Okay, yeah, I get it. I'm clearly a danger to myself and can't be trusted alone." I'd said the phrase thick with sarcasm; something I was starting to realize was a sort of defense mechanism. It was easier to escape the reality of the situation if I was cynical — beating around the bush just enough to satisfy someone's worries or piss them off enough to leave me alone. There was a brief pause in the air as I digested that thought, my tone becoming far less combative in my request. "Can't you just wait outside the door?"

If Bon noticed the pleading shift in my voice, he ignored it — not having the same qualms with his use of sarcasm. "And leave you with a pile of broken glass? Fat chance. And I'll be busy cleaning it up, so don't worry about your dick being out."

I sighed and looked down at myself with resignation. I was covered in both fresh and dried blood. My pants were still damp from before, plastering against my thighs in a way that was both unsettling and moderately irritating. I both looked and felt like I'd gone through the wringer. Forsaking the last of my withered dignity, I began unbuttoning my pants, peeling them down with my boxers and casting a glance at my glass-littered surroundings. The toilet seat was the safest bet and I placed my clothes there, pulling off my socks before stepping into the shower. I stared at the handle for a moment before twisting it, setting a much more appropriate temperature than I had earlier in the night. The water quickly heated and I watched numbly as the blood began slipping off my body — instantly dying the water crimson before washing out into a slightly coppery hue.

I scrubbed myself clean, careful of the still open wounds on my wrists and upper arm. They stung and I hissed through my teeth as soap slipped inside. I would've preferred to use the kitchen knife to close all my wounds, but beggars can't be choosers. A few minutes passed before I caught something out of the corner of my eye, my wet clothes taken off the toilet lid. What little blood I had left burned with embarrassment and I tried not to think too hard about being watched. The sound of glass being shifted around was loud enough to be heard over the shower and I tried to distract myself, mulling over how Bon planned on disposing of it. I would also have to figure out how to explain that to Yukio. Maybe I could take a mirror from one of the adjacent rooms...