Durarara: Please, Izaya

Chapter Two

  "Well they're saying you're of those cutters...But that can't be true, can it?"
Izaya froze for a moment before saying, "Like I said, people talk."
  "Whatever you say."
  And with that, Shizuo stood up and walked toward the door. Just before leaving he turned toward Izaya who was still looking at the board in front of him and said--more like requested--"Stay out of that type of thing, yeah?"
  Izaya watched the blonde walk out, and he stared at the closed door letting out a shaky breath. He was always the one to have personal information about the people of Ikebukuro, it was not the other way around. He rubbed his left forearm absentmindedly, the cuts beneath his sleeve burning at the friction.
  Izaya stood up and headed toward the bathroom. He knew it was idiotic; moments ago he had almost been caught for the thing he was about to do. Thankfully, Namie had gone home for the weekend so she wouldn't possibly be a bother.
  He reached into his pocket for his switchblade and flipped it open. As he did this he noticed he was shaking--likely from the earlier encounter. He wasted no time in rolling up his sleeve and slicing violently at the skin. A few of the wounds he had created that morning hadn't even scabbed over entirely yet. He slashed his skin quite a few times before his head was clear and he could assess the damage. A few of the slices had gone a bit deeper than he would have liked, but there was nothing to do about it now; the damage was already done. Blood flowed rapidly out of the wounds, and Izaya began to feel faint. He lowered himself onto his bathroom floor whilst keeping his arm elevated and away from his clothing--bloodstains were not something he'd like to explain to Namie on Tuesday when she did his laundry. He leaned back against his wall and laid his bleeding arm beside him as he breathed, and his breaths became slower and lighter. He felt himself slipping from reality before completely falling asleep.

  Izaya woke up stiffly. His neck had been bent awkwardly to the side, and his spine didn't take well to the odd curve it had rested in for the past hours. Izaya moved to stand up but, temporarily forgetting about the fresh wounds, felt a throbbing pain in his arm. He looked down to see the new wounds and dried blood covering his skin and the floor where it had rested. He examined the new wounds to find a few weakly bubbling with blood from the disturbance while most of the others had begun to heal themselves. He decided one particularly deep gash would probably need stitches--in reality he could probably go without them, but he reveled in the added pain stitches provided. He scooted over to the cabinet below his sink and retrieved the first-aid kit which he kept at the front of the cupboard so it was easy to get to. He bandaged and cleaned up all of the cuts except the deep one that needed stitches. Grabbing the surgical needle and thread he began at one tapered end of the wound and began sewing it up. The sensation of the needle puncturing his skin and then dragging the thread through the hole was heavenly. He gave himself fifteen total stitches even though nine or ten would have sufficed. Izaya bandaged the freshly stitched wound and threw away the used supplies and set to cleaning the bathroom floor. Luckily, the deep red stain could hardly be seen on the black tiles.
  After checking that everything was spotless for a third time, Izaya went to his room and decided it would be best if he slept on an actual bed for a few hours.