A Life, Unforgotten

R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R

Light sighed as he leaned forward, pulling his knees into his chest to avoid feeling the lack of pressure on his chest. He could feel the way the taut skin pulled awkwardly on his back, making him curve slightly to the right, just glad that the shower was cold enough to draw some of the heat from the burns. It never lasted though, and he'd always end up blue-lipped and shivering before he'd think to turn the water temp up. by then, though, he'd have found a way for tears and blood to mix with this water just to watch it swirl down the drain.

He was trying to remember. How he was burned, and while the warm water felt like sheer hell on his back, he'd avoided making any sound save for a faint whine, only caused when his own teeth bit into his palm enough to draw blood. faint images came. A lick of fire. A pain of his hair being pulled harsh enough for a belt buckle to act like sandpaper on his skin. It faded as fast as it came.

He touched a mark on his collarbone where he knew a scar was. Was it from that? But he felt anger from the memory and how rapidly it had left.

He bit at his hand again, harder this time and ignoring the bitter metal taste of the blueish blood, having to stop to spit it out and trying again - again - AGAIN! Before his left arm was covered with bleeding bite marks, and he'd sunk down in the shower until the higher scars - the ones in an upside-down v, something he made a joke about being angel wings - pressed against the cold ceramic of the tub, raking his numb hand through soaked blue hair and not even blinking at the blood that dripped through, glided down his face down the bridge of his nose. It shuddered with a brief inhale before it fell on his chest with a sob. It's beyond painful to not know who he is. Where he came from. Why he's like this. How he died. Did nobody care? Was he so easily forgotten? Maybe it was that much that hurt so much. He couldn't help but hurt.

And he couldn't help but desperately grasp for more memories. But they only came back with pain. Pain he can handle. Pain he can deal with.

He didn't think anymore. He just acted. Stood up fast enough for his vision to hide beneath dancing black spots, but he knew where it was, and after standing on his toes to reach it, he'd fumbled the thin blade in his fingers. It was new, and hid well. He wasn't afraid as he sat back where the water wouldn't hit his target, and without a drop of hesitation, metal met skin and it left a devastating trail of blue. It was hot and cold as it welled up, but as it happened, more came along. More, more. Family. He has a sister. A brother. A dog and four cats. A home. A /real home./ He'd stopped at the second M to gasp and stare as the memories surged forth, heavier tears falling from those pale blue eyes. Oh, it hurt. It hurt to see them. To remember their faces. The family photo - the family photo. He was still with blue hair. So it wasn't just a ghost thing.

though the images faded and he'd gave a quiet wail, trembling hands frantically trying to get the memories back, the last curve of the final R being where his hand slips and it drags downward farther than what he intended, too busy choking on tears to even think of anything. Yet he did, briefly, and whirled around to shove his leg under the hot water.

Fire may as well have raced through his veins, actually screaming before it faded into a broken sob. A face, the only one of kindness in his memories, burned into his retinas before it faded. Gone. Gone like that, no name, no location, even his features were fading, leaving behind a void that wracked his shoulders with another violent sob.

All he wanted was to not feel broken. Not feel useless or missing or incomplete. It hurt. It hurt.

It hurt.