Title: This is My Body, This is My Blood
Author: cahaya/ikkunaprinsessa
Summary: All that's left is here. I exist, and that suffices. I have no higher wish for more.
Pairing: Davey/Jade
Rating: NC-17 for graphic descriptions of self-harm and sexual situations in later chapters.
Warning: Excessively angsty.


Chapter 1

Looking back into life before this, I don't think there is a single thing wrong about what I'm doing. My body is mine. My blood is mine. Meshed with my head, heart, and soul, this is all I have, and this is all that can never be taken away from me. I am part of the one of the many. Insignificance could only increase as time goes, replaced by banality, replaced by mere existence of what once was life, replaced by stagnancy, only to finally be replaced by nothingness in the end. After everything, there would only be void.

Darkness is now absolute. The weight of my limbs seems to pull me into the spongy mattress as warm trails of red seep into the sheets underneath. The pain from these gaping wounds has long since dulled, but still I can feel a steady stream of blood pushing through the coagulating layer continuously, the warmth a sharp contrast to my cold flesh. My eyes grow heavy with every muted heartbeat, and all I could hear is the perfect silence that wraps itself within the stillness. It almost feels as if time has stopped altogether, and I'm the only one left to live through the inertia.

Boredom, ennui, repetition, languor, sickness; if this is what I have to live for, then why should I at all? What else is there outside these walls? If I could answer these questions, would I be lighter, happier... better? If I could see past this moment and have the will to continue, would there be a diverse reason to endure? If I had known, if I could have done differently, then maybe I would not be here, on this bed, bloodstained sheets beneath me and deep gashes carved across my chest and along my arms.

If it's bad or good, I would not know. I've gone past trying to analyse and define it all. There are too many grey areas in-between and not enough to motivate me to get up and find out. There is no priority, no passion, no life, no profound emotion to feel love for myself, let alone someone else. All that's left is here. I exist, and that suffices. I have no higher wish for more.

I hear music; the soft sound swells over the shadows as I let my eyes slip to a close. Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart sung in a voice I know too well. Sighing, I sink into the mattress and try to ignore it before mild panic suddenly filters in. Jade. I've just remembered he has the keys to my apartment. Shuddering, I shrink in my bed and try my hardest to stop breathing in some vain hopes he would forget to come in if he couldn't hear me.

And we're changing our ways, taking different roads. Then love, love will tear us apart again. Love, love will tear us apart again.

One, two, three steps - then a muffled bump, followed by a quiet "Oops," momentarily breaking the rhythm of the song, and telling me he has once again bumped into the coffee table, as he has always done.

Love, love will tear us apart again.

Biting my lip, I hold my breath with the taste of metal from my lip ring present in my mouth, and continue to listen to the sounds outside the door, desperately wishing he wouldn't come looking for me in the bedroom. This wouldn't be the first time. If he found out, he would only blame himself again. If he found out...

Love, love will tear us apart again.

The sound of his voice pours all around my senses as the knob turns and the door is pushed open, followed by mild rays of yellow light from the lounge. I can see his silhouette by the doorway, and even without being able to look at his face, I know he's smiling. I feel a groan oncoming in the back of my throat, but I remind myself that if he thinks I'm asleep, maybe he'd leave and not have to see anything.

"Come on, Davey. I know you're awake. I bumped into your precious coffee table again. You can yell at me if you want."

Shit.

"Davey?"

I remain quiet in some hope that he would get the hint I want to be left alone. Digging my nails into the flesh of my palm, I pray that he would just leave. He doesn't need to see this - I don't need him to see this. But in the faint light I can see him reaching for the switch just by the door, and fear starts to creep in. Shit, fuck, crap, and cunting bollocks. He's doing this to himself.

A click resounds in the otherwise silent space, and I think a whimper must've escaped me as yellow light floods through to fill the darkness. Through my narrowed eyes I see Jade's familiar face, eyes filled with shock, but still oddly stoic considering the situation. A stray lock of his bleached fringe has found its way into his eyes, but he has made no attempt to shake it off. His fingernails, painted pink and black as always, are now dug firmly into the doorframe, the whitened knuckles standing out against the mild caramel tone of his skin. I look at the worn and chipped tips and wonder if he knows to use the clear base and top coat with the varnish to get the colours on his nails to last longer.

Blinking, I get rid of that daft thought and try to focus back to his face. He has lowered his eyes to the ground, sighing while he shakes his head as if dismayed. The well-expected sting from guilt has started from the back of my head, but I say nothing in return.

Silence has now swallowed the space between us. Uncomfortably I shift one still weeping arm to let it form a new pool of blood on a different part of the sheets. He winces at the sight and starts to take one step forward; carefully as if he's unsure whether I would let him approach. The truth is I no longer care. I'm feeling too weak to even come up with any form of protestation.

The bed sinks under his weight as he sits next to me, eyes never leaving mine the whole while. I clear my throat and force a whisper, "Hey Jade."

Anguish overtakes his features at the sound of my voice momentarily before he appears to have managed to collect himself with one deep take of breath. Placing one hand on my leg, he looks at me and starts slowly, "Hi Davey."

The warmth from his hand seeps in through the black denim I'm wearing, and it gives me a mild feeling of comfort if nothing else. I close my eyes and press my head into the pillow because I have nothing to say to him. Sorry you walked in on me? Sorry I wasn't any good at feigning sleep? Sorry I didn't leave the light bulb alone when it burned out? It's not what he wants to hear, and it's not what I'm motivated enough to say, so fuck that.

"Why?" He asks finally after the long pause.

I let a smile stretch itself over my face before a bitter laugh tears through. "I don't know why. Were you expecting a relevant answer?"

Sighing, he looks down. The soft shade of honey of his eyes has now darkened from sadness. I know he doesn't understand. He never will.

"Come on, we'll get those cleaned and bandaged," he says softly, slipping one arm beneath me to wrap it around my shoulders and pull me up off the bed.

Reluctantly I let him help me sit up. I feel a little light-headed; but it's not a surprise. What else can I expect? I lean my head against the crook between Jade's neck and shoulder, burying my face in his warmth and the clean scent of his skin. I've always loved this closeness.

"Can you walk?" His soft voice permeates through the light hazy feeling that has clouded over me.

"Mm," I breathe into his skin, now dragging my legs against the bloodied sheets to get my feet back on the floor.

I feel my legs swaying under my weight as I stand on my feet, but Jade's arm is now around my waist to help me steady myself. I rest part of my weight onto him as he starts to lead me out of the room slowly, one step at a time. I feel like a useless gimp, but I'm too weak to move on my own otherwise.

"Hospital is out of question, hey?"

I nod against the soft material of his Bauhaus t-shirt as I listen to the slow, soothing beat of his heart. At least he knows enough to ask this time. Nothing can make me go to the hospital; not blood loss, common sense, or searing pain. People go to the hospital to die, not to get better. And even if I were to die, damned if it's going to be in such a sterile, heartless environment.

The glaring white lights in the bathroom make me squint, having grown used to the dimness of my bedroom. Frowning, I put one hand in front of my eyes to shield them as Jade leads me to sit down on the toilet.

"I'll get the first-aid kit," Jade murmurs softly, smoothing down some of my rebel strands with his fingers.

I nod mutely, feeling a little too tired to come up with any verbal answer. My hands are now placed on my lap, and I get to see the sickly colour of rust from the dried blood that covers them. But despite how ugly and disgusting they look, a strange sense of calm sweeps over me as I shift my fingers, feeling the sticky coat stretch over my skin with every move. Somehow it looks right because I know it's me; it's all mine, not anybody else's.

I hear the sound of shuffling just beside me as Jade rummages through the cupboards just below the sink, pulling out a few fresh towels and the white box containing emergency medical kits. I watch him as I pull at my lip ring idly with my teeth, and he turns to look at me, sadness now apparent in his eyes. I stare back at him, hollowly and unblinking, unsure of what else I'm supposed to do. My head hasn't stopped spinning, and if I have to be completely honest, I must say I'm not entirely in the present with him. I feel oddly detached, with little to no ability to relate to however he's feeling right now. There's a comfortable numbness all around me, and I don't truly care if it would never go away.

"What now?" I ask absently.

He shakes his head in response, sighing as he stands back up to his full height. I let my eyes follow his tall, slender form as he walks to the bath with a towel in one hand.

"Have you eaten anything since I saw you last?" His voice is now flat and quiet, as if he's trying to keep himself from feeling.

"No," I reply inattentively, a little more preoccupied with the way his hand moves as it turns the tap, releasing hot water into the tub. The way his bones and muscles flex underneath his skin seems to be far more interesting tonight than I thought it ever was for reasons I can't articulate properly.

"Davey," he groans in exasperation, soaking the towel with both hands quickly before shutting the tap.

My eyes wander back to the cupboards below the sink. The white doors made of pressed wood are chipped and splintered from having been kicked and slammed shut numerous times during my unfounded bursts of anger. Adam has offered to replace them for me before, but I declined, knowing I'll just repeat the same action until either the doors are completely destroyed, or me. And so far, I'm still winning.

I turn just in time to see Jade crouching low in front of me, the hot, damp towel in his hands. With gentleness that comes only from experience, he wipes down one bloodied arm, careful to watch my reaction in case it would hurt me. Little needles of pain prickle at my skin from the contact, but they're nothing compared to what I've done to myself, so I ignore them and let him do his job.

His job, I snort internally. This has happened so many times before, it has become a routine. I'm still wondering why he hasn't grown sick of this already. I know I have.

The muted colours of my tattoos seem to come back to life as the solid film of dried blood is washed away. I know they will have thick, raised lines carved into the skin, along with all the others, as an ugly mask on top of the designs once the cuts are healed, but it's too late to regret them now. Rational thought before harming one's self requires restraint and a working set of logic - both of which would be the exact ingredients missing in a moment of intemperance.

"Davey..."

"Hm?"

I look into his eyes and wait for him to continue. His eyes are now brimming with emotions, and I have no way of reading them. He opens his mouth and draws in a breath, seemingly ready to say something profound, but instead there is empty air. He averts his eyes from mine and chews the inside of his cheek, clutching the now bloodstained towel as if for dear life.

"Nothing, nothing at all."

Extremely profound.