Tears of Blood (Pigeon x Zanabane)

[Zanabane]

He has hid the scars on his body for years, telling no one since his friends turned against him in middle school for it. He places them strategically, where none can see even when he wears short sleeves. Because his eyes refuse to cry, he forces his flesh to do the deed. Frequently. Constantly. His pleasant smile hides the razor in his pocket. He has recently enrolled in a small college near his home, and has been enjoying the curricula taking his mind off of his torture. This fake bliss is interrupted when, one day, the student sitting next to him in a math class notices a few of his scars. He reports it to the professor, who reports it to the counselor. The poor boy is now being forced by the college to start seeing the young, attractive, strange college counselor.

____________________________________________________________________

 

 

Name: Tekira Koto

Age: 28

Position: Seme

Orientation: Gay

Eyes: Grey

Hair: Dark brown, almost but not quite black

Background and Personality: Tekira is the type of counselor who prefers to listen and ask questions as opposed to giving advice. He is new to his job, graduating university only four years earlier. He is introspective, thoughtful, caring, understanding, and wistful. He is especially fond of coconut milk and croissants, always keeping the snacks in a miniature fridge in his office. Tekira came from an abusive family, and the scar that they have left on him was what at first motivated him to study psychology. Tekira had to know why. As he progressed through school, he became fascinated with psychology and people in general. His love and passion for helping people led him to earn a master's degree in psychology and become a college counselor. He is slowly learning that he doesn't need all the answers. Maybe what he truly needs is all the questions.

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

Tekira leaned back in his swivel chair. He stared into the little air bubbles within the bread of his croissant with an inhuman concentration. How do they make this? Why do these bubbles form? What chemical reaction causes these tiny air pockets?

 

He was lost in thought, overanalyzing his biscuit. A new student he hadn't met before was being sent in to see him today. Was it a new student? Or was Tekira a new counselor? He pondered the paradox. The people around here had been calling him "Koto-sensei". It felt strange to him, being recognized as a doctor. It was as though that one honorific, "-sensei" had suddenly changed him from a worthless, sniveling brat to a refined man, a respected doctor. It was like the degree. As soon as he had been awarded that degree, that slip of paper, people treated him differently, as though this beige sheet of paper signified his rank, his sudden readiness to be a doctor. That slip of paper meant so much to people. It was like a tangible representation of the blood, sweat, and tears they had shed to achieve it. The highs of caffeine necessary to fuel night after night of mid-term insomnia, the social pressures, the heartaches, the cruel teachers, the class that had driven you to insanity only to land you two points away from an "A".

 

But, of course, no one thinks about that; all they see is your slip of paper. "-sensei". He didn't deserve any more honor than anyone else. So many people have it harder than I, he thought, But they don't earn the respect of being called "sensei". Instead they get sent here, to be labelled a 'nutcase' or a 'trouble-maker'. Tekira shook his head. He despised the way language was used to rank people, to show that one person was in some way better than another. Why must people do that? What's so appealing about being 'better' than someone? Why do we need it?

 

He had pleaded with his coworkers to call him 'Tekira', but even the thought had apparently sent their skin crawling with discomfort, so he gave up. He was doomed to be 'Koto-sensei' forever, to be bowed to, to have it written on his tombstone as if he were somehow better, more worthy than anyone without the honorific, the honorific given to him by this sheet of paper.

 

He wondered which program of study the student who was sent to him would be studying, which sheet of paper he was striving to achieve.

 

A rap on his door disrupted his thoughts. "He's here," came the female voice of the Dean. Tekira rose calmly from his seat, and with one final, wistful sigh, he strode to the door and slid it open, a warm, gentle smile illuminating his tired features.

[Kotorichan]

Name: Takashi Rumi

Age: 23

Sexuality: gay (in deniel)

Position: uke

Eyes: Dark brown

Hair: black

Other Appearance: Has scars all over his chest, stomach, and thighs

Background: Takashi has a small group of friends, he always keeps up an act of a normal college student. He's had multiple girlfriends but only to convince himself that he's straight. He's been terrified of therapists for most of his life and so never talks about his own thoughts. He's studying business but only because his parents want him to. Takashi's parents raised him very strictly to be 'properly masculine'. When he was 11 his older sister commited suicide and a few months later he began cutting, but he never believed there was a connection. Takashi is very good at lying and his only tell is that when he lies he taps his thumb against each of his fingers one by one over and over, the fidgeting helps him keep his calm appearance.

 

---

 

Takashi still couldn't believe that it had happened. With one tiny movement so many of his nightmares had become reality. It didn't seem real, he had always been so careful. No one had noticed for twelve long years, and he thought no one would ever notice.

 

Someone had walked into him earlier that day, their book bag had hit one of the fresh cuts and reopened. He hasn't noticed that it was bleeding until someone pointed out the blood forming a stain on his shirt.

 

From there his whole life spiraled out of control, he had been forced to see a nurse who had seen all the scars and cuts on his body. She had contacted the dean about the matter and now he had no choice but to see a counselor or face expulsion. All their explanations for their actions and the questions just melded into jibberish in his mind.

 

The walk to the counselor's office felt more like a walk to the electric chair. This person would no doubt want to dissect Takashi's whole life, examining every event in his past until his memories became no more emotional than a research paper.

 

The hallway seemed to go on forever, soon he could feel the pounding in his head begin, that was how his urges always started. It wasn't a headache, he had headaches when he was tired and it was never like this, it was like something was trying to escape. As if there were some creature banging against the inside of his skull, trying to break its way to freedom. Next would come the itching, the horrible itching on his stomach and legs on every inch of unscathed skin. The only way to relieve it was with a razor blade. Nothing else worked.

 

His mind wandered to the razor blade he kept in his back pocket. Nobody had found it yet, so if he could only get himself to the bathroom he would be able to cut. He kept that in mind as they reached the counselor's office, it felt like the only thing that could keep him from trying to bolt.

 

'They wouldn't refuse that... They have no reason to think I couldn't be trusted... I already told them that the scars are from a long time ago and I only recently started again...' His eyes darted back and forth as he racked his mind for some way to lie, he couldn't let this person search through his memories. 'Trouble with girls, I got rejected, that's what I'll say. People always get upset about those things... Don't they?'

 

The dean knocked on the door and called out to the counselor, but Takashi wants paying enough attention to notice.

 

'I'll say she called me ugly and worthless. That would make someone cut, right?' He didn't even remember why he had started, he couldn't remember the first trigger but after that it just became a need. It was like eating or sleeping, if he didn't do it then he wouldn't be able to go on.

 

Finally he noticed the counselor smiling at him. Takashi managed to force a convincing smile back at the man. "Hello, I'm Takashi. You must be Koto-sensei" he held out his hand to shake. "I'm really sorry to take up your time, everyone's making such a big deal out of this buts its not that bad. I hope we can sort this all out and I can be on my way" he lied smoothly, slipping his other hand into his pocket to hide his fidgeting. If he could just convince this man that nothing was wrong then he wouldn't have to deal with any of this ever again.

[Zanabane]

The look on the student's face betrayed nothing. His voice was smooth and calm, his smile almost believable. Maybe to any other person it would have been believable, but Tekira knew. Before the student noticed Tekira, he'd had this sort of look of pure terror in his eyes, as though he was about bolt like a wild animal.

 

Tekira knew that face. That was his own face, the face Tekira himself had made in high school when he turned in a poem that sparked the concern of his teacher. I'll tell them it's nothing. It's about a character for a story I'm writing, or I was just dabbling in dark poetry, that's what I'll say. If I ignore it, it'll go away. The last thing I need is for some random person who gets paid to make people feel like shit tell me I have some sort of 'disorder' or that there's something wrong with me. Tekira's counselor had been inattentive. His counselor fell for it; Tekira walked out of the office untouched, and nothing changed.

 

Tekira was determined not to be that counselor. He wanted to help this student. The dean had briefed him about what happened. Apparently this student had self-inflicted wounds all over his body, and he told the nurse that the majority of them were from a long time ago, and he'd only recently started again. Tekira knew this was bullshit. He understood it all too well. When a person resorted to hurting themselves as a coping mechanism, it became an addiction, exactly like a drug. The victim would do it more and more, and eventually, every time the victim felt any sort of emotion, they would feel the need to do it. Soon enough, the victim would start building their lifestyle around the addiction. It takes an incredible amount of work and effort to stop the addiction, oftentimes it takes multiple people to stop the destructive cycle. Tekira highly doubted the student's story.

 

"It's nice to meet you, and it's no trouble at all," he shook the student's hand. "Please, call me Tekira." He ignored the strange look the dean gave him, incredibly used to it by this point. He held the door open and gestured for Takashi to come into the sunlit office. "Take a seat, make yourself comfortable," he said.

 

His words reminded him of a professor he had when he was studying for his master's degree. He was a cold, cynical man, someone obviously not ever meant to be a therapist. He told his students to pretend like nothing was going on when a patient enters their office. Make it seem like any ordinary day. Pretend like you're old friends meeting up for a cup of coffee. Ask them, "how's your day?" and talk about the weather. Act like they're not in the counselor's office, act like everything's fine and dandy, like they're not panicking because they now have to explain their entire life story to some stranger, to try to verbalize the pain and suffering they have endured and hope that this random person sitting in a swivel chair can understand at least a small fraction of what they've been through. Tekira had hated that professor and made a point to follow very little of his instructions outside of his class.

 

He was determined to help this student, whatever it took.

[Kotorichan]

Takashi couldn't tell if he had fooled the counselor, even if he had he wouldn't be able to relax yet.The smallest mistake in his act could ruin everything.

 

He stepped inside and glanced around the room, keeping a cheerful smile. "I feels like it would be kind of weird to call you by your first name Koto-sensei, everyone's been talking about you like you're some kinda god that can cure anyone in a week" he laughed and sat down on the couch. He had exaggerated slightly, but everyone really had acted like this man was amazing.

 

The young man seemed to be completely relaxed except that his hand was still in his pocket. "So what do we talk about? I can explain why I started again, but it's not really that interesting of a story..."

 

He watched the counselor with the same smile, hiding the fact that he was trying to judge how gullible the man was. The nurse had seemed fairly convinced by his story, but a counselor would probably be a little more difficult to fool.

 

'If I can just get this man to believe me then I won't have to deal with this shit anymore...' Takashi thought to himself. 'I have way too many things to get done to have this going on all the time...'

 

His mind wandered to all the homework he still had to complete, it was already starting to feel extremely overwhelming and adding in counseling appointments was way too much for him. He could feel the itching on his stomach beginning, he wanted to cut so badly but he knew he should probably wait for a couple minutes before asking to go to the bathroom. If he asked right away then the counselor might think he was going to make a run for it.

[Zanabane]

Tekira smiled with a warm sincerity. "They've been saying that, huh? That's news to me," he chuckled, scratching his head bashfully. "But please...at least drop the -sensei. I don't want it to feel like there are barriers of respectful language between us or some other pointless philosophical thing. I'd want us to be able to speak casually." He understood that none of what he had said would help Takashi feel more relaxed. He pondered on which was best for this particular student: a straightforward approach or a gentle coaxing.

 

The small twitch of Takashi's fingers made it clear. He was going the honest route.

 

"I've heard you had a rough day. You had to show your scars to complete strangers, and no one should ever have to endure that," he said in his soft, soothing, gentle voice. "I can only imagine what you went through today," he gazed into Takashi's clear eyes. It was like there was some sort of film over them, a barrier keeping him for looking deep into this student.

 

Tekira relaxed into his swivel chair. He remembered learning about the strange phenomenon from his first sociology class: multiple people in the same room will almost always subconsciously synchronize their breathing. Tekira began to take deeper and longer breaths. He relaxed his shoulders and turned his palms upward and rotated them slightly towards Takashi, the subtle body language signifying trust and openness. Tekira tilted his head slightly to the side in a gesture of genuine interest and empathy.

 

He tried to place himself in the mind of the student. He must be frightened right now. The fear would trigger him to want to cut. He's putting up an incredible facade; the stress would trigger him to want to cut. Takashi did not want to be here; he wanted this to go away. He wanted it to all be over so he could relieve his tension through that addiction. Tekira knew what Takashi would do the moment he left his office. Tekira wanted to help him, to ease his mind at least slightly.

 

Tekira recalled the trick so many of his professors had tried to drill into him: 'command, don't ask'. Make your command sound like a pseudo-question. Ask, "Why don't you tell me about it?" or "Wanna tell me about?" It was another one of those stupid things that he tried to ignore. He would be manipulating the situation with language. Those 'questions' implied that the client had absolutely no reason to not tell the counselor about the issue. Tekira found the method disrespectful. None of his professors and few of his classmates understood what he was talking about, but the language and assumptions behind it held a personal vendetta to him. He had more respect for his clients than that.

 

"Could you please tell me what happened today?"

[Kotorichan]

Takashi watched the man's every moment while still keeping his casual appearance. He had never studied psychology before, but he could only assume that this man was doing everything he could to make Takashi open up more. From what he had heard therapists were trained to use all kinds of tricks to make people tell the truth about their lives, and Takashi was determined not to let those things fool him.

 

"Yeah, it's been a pretty crazy day..." The young man sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor. He was trying to appear a bit sad but not too much, just like anyone would be after getting rejected. "I used to cut a lot when I was in middle school, hence all the scars... The other day I ended up cutting again after a girl I really liked rejected me. She was pretty brutal about it too such I just had a little relapse" he looked up again with a slight smile. "It was just a couple days ago, but I've been hanging out with friends and I'm already feeling a lot better. It was just that one night"

 

'I just have to keep this up... He has no reason to doubt me... My grades are good, I haven't gotten into any trouble with the school, there's nothing that would make me cut'

 

"The only reason I didn't tell anyone was because by the time I woke up the next morning I could tell that I wasn't gonna do it again, I thought everyone would make a huge deal out of it... But I guess that ended up happening anyway" He laughed and pushed his hair back out of his face. "I probably should have just mentioned it to someone right away, then we could have skipped this whole thing"

 

The itching was starting to become unbearable, he needed to get out of there. "Hey, I'm really sorry but could I use the bathroom? They wouldn't let me go 'cause they thought I'd try running away or something" he rolled his eyes. "It's not like I'm in prison, there's no reason for me to run right?"

[Zanabane]

Tekira knew that searching look. It was the look of someone who had trained himself to be immune to therapists. Takashi's eyes bore into him, watching his hands, his palms, his head. It was almost robotic, the way he did it. Calculated and precise, and he did it with such ease. How far removed does he have to be from his emotions to be able to do that? Tekira had to wonder how many counselors this guy has seen. How many professionals have looked at Takashi and believed him? How many times has he been able to slip away?

 

It pained Tekira to see the student's unforgivingly polite gaze. He must feel so alone. Like he has no one to trust. Tekira chewed his lip. Takashi must have had to lie so many times to have it down to a science like that. Tekira could only imagine how much hurt had built up inside this dark-eyed student to cause him to be so numb, so numb that only a razor's sting could relieve his emotional torment, the torment that he refused to acknowledge to the point of needing physical pain to obtain his release.

 

From the description that the nurse had given him, Tekira did not at all believe Takashi's story. It seemed like a very simple lie to tell, and one that could be easily applied to anything. The dull politeness on his face made his story less believable with every word.

 

This student was not taking well to the 'counselor' act. Tekira took close note of his face as he spoke. His eyes had dropped and his voice carried just the right amount of sadness to fool any overworked, underpaid college counselor into thinking he was fine. Propping up his chin with his hand, Tekira watched Takashi with an incredible understanding in his eyes, desperately hoping that a small fraction of his empathy could reach through the student's icy shell. At this moment, Tekira could not recall anything from his decade of psychology training. He was not wracking his brain for mind tricks and illusions. Now he just needed to know. He needed to know because it mattered, because the safety of this sullen-eyed, ash-haired student for some reason mattered to him. Was it his own reflection? Was it deeper?

 

Takashi's question took him by surprise. Tekira hesitated for a moment, "Of course you may use the restroom," he answered, doing his best to keep his voice from revealing his suspicion. He had no reason not to trust him. But yet...he felt his skin crawl as he spoke the words.

[Kotorichan]

Takshi let out a relieved sigh when the man agreed. "Thanks, it's good to know that you're not as paranoid as those other people" He laughed as he stood up. "I'd feel really weird if I was seeing a counselor that needed therapy"

 

He casually walked out of the room, hiding his excitement. The young man hadn't actually been sure if he would be allowed to leave or not. He stepped into the bathroom stall and locked the door behind himself, finally allowing himself to relax. 'I just need to keep this up for a couple more hours... I'll be fine'

 

'At least I can relax for a moment...' He pulled the razor blade of our his back pocket and pulled his pants down. If he cut his stomach then the blood might seep through the fabric again, but if he cut his thighs then it wouldn't show through his dark jeans.

 

The cold metal against his flesh stung a little, but once he broke the skin it was nothing but pleasure. The sensation was even better than masturbation, the sudden relief and relaxation was like nothing else. He leaned back against wall, letting the blood run down his skin. He had tried not to go too deep, some of his cuts had been so bad that he had to give himself stitches. He knew it was stupid to do it himself instead of going to a hospital, he could have bled to death, but if he told anyone then the truth would come out.

 

Usually he would only do a couple deep cuts, but this time he ended up doing much more. Each time he thought it was enough the image of the counselor would come back into his mind, searching him for any sign that he was lying.

 

Soon he had filled almost all of the clear skin on his thighs with blood and wounds, the only part that he left alone were the areas that still had scabs. Finally he wiped off his blade with a wad of toilet paper and then wiped off all the blood with more of it. He flushed it down the toilet and pulled his pants back up, making a mental note to himself to make sure that the blood doesn't become noticeable. He never carried gauze in his backpack since that would be far too suspicious, and band aids could never cover the cuts.

 

Finally he left the stall and washed the blood off his hands, trying not to look at himself in the mirror. 'He wouldn't keep me here for more than a couple hours... I can hang on until then...'