Itachi

Itachi. Itachi was home.

Thank God.

Sasuke had been scared, he was scared that Itachi would notice the red marks across his upper arm, or the slight limp he'd been experiencing. However, since the elder son arrived home, he hadn't noticed. But Itachi's presence had stopped Sasuke from cutting, he didn't unwrap the razor a single time since Itachi had come. The boy usually carried the small razor around with him, in its small black bag, but Sasuke hadn't touched the bag, he hadn't pressed that razor into his skin, he hadn't put it deep into the skin and tugged until he's gotten a clean red line, which blood would flow from. The young man hadn't harmed himself in over a month now.

The innocent little bag was in the back of the boy's closet, where he'd thrown it a few weeks ago, in a secret fit of frustration and rage. Usually he didn't even think of the bag, the razor, cutting, but Sasuke was scared, he was scared he wouldn't be able to stop himself this time. He felt such a raw need to take the bag, unwrap it, and see red flow.

Sasuke was very proud of his progress, he didn't want it to stop, he didn't want to be sucked into the insomnia, anxiety, depression, and nausea that came with cutting. But the past few weeks had been tough. Since Itachi had come home, he had left the job; he couldn't stand working for their father. The man was just so twisted, so sick, so manipulative and so very disgusting.

Fugaku was just too much for the younger son to handle. He hadn't bothered to pay child support in months, he thought Mikoto would never force him, he thought she was weak because she was a woman, he thought she would never stand up to him. So he didn't bother to fund for his child. But that didn't stop him from demanding Sasuke and Itachi to visit every two weeks.

The visits were terrible, even worst when Itachi wasn't there with him. Whenever Fugaku called and told Sasuke he would be there at five to pick him up, the boy wanted to die. Sasuke had tried to get out of it, told Fugaku he had work to do, he had plans, or he didn't want to go. But Fugaku didn't care; he told his son that he didn't have a choice.

Just thinking of having to spend a weekend at his father's home, where everyday lasted an eternity, where he would have to see the screwed up human being that his father was all day long, made Sasuke nauseas. That was how the boy had begun this, he was feeling so disgusted, being in the same home as his father. The boy had went through his fathers knives, grabbing every single one, running it over the pale skin of his arm, hoping for blood, hoping the skin would break. But it didn't. All he got was a dark scar on his arm.

Thinking of his father, who was currently on another vacation, spending Sasuke's child support in Guatemala, on some cheap prostitutes, made Sasuke sick.

The boy wanted to go to his closet and unwrap the razor. Unsure what to do, the raven found himself breathing heavily, face soaked with thick tears. Looking down, he saw the scars on his leg, they had almost disappeared, but could be seen if he stared hard enough.

Did he really want more? Did he really want that depression? The constant need for more, but the fear that someone would find out, that he would hurt himself to a dangerous extreme, did Sasuke want that for the moment of relief?

Confusion wound around the teen, everything was piling up, too much to handle. What should he do? The boy wanted to scream.

He stood up, walked to the closet, picked up the small black bag.

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