No one loves you

Cut.

No one cares about you

Cut.

No one loves you

Kyle's fingers tremble over the blade, foggy green eyes glaze over the reddened reflection mirroring his impurity and further reminding his tortured soul of the horrors and vile emotions that had led him to come to this.

No one loves you

Cut.

Not even Stan

Cut.

You deserve this

The redhead allows a cold, staggered breath to escape his chapped lips, a light puff of heat fogging over the fresh blood covering the razor and mixing with the condensed water. Kyle watches as the red drips fall from the blade, crashing as if in slow motion to the green, carpeted floor.

A shaking hand tightens its grip around the blade, causing another -well deserved- sting of pain to course through his body, leaving another scar on his palm as the memories flood back into his consciousness...

He only remembers the fear.

The fear, and the pain. Emotions are hard to come by when your in situations that call for them the most, Kyle decides. The harsh reality and truth is that, you never know the pain that someone goes through, nor will you ever understand, until you have been in their position. Kyle thought he understood the mind of this man, he always was the optimist, after all. Turns out he was wrong. Wrong in a way that should have been right, but in the mind of a perverted psychopath, didnt seem to matter in the slightest.

And that decision will haunt him forever...

He remembered the man's touch the most. He's rugged, dry, callused fingertips as they gently caressed his -in contrast- softer, younger skin. The way the man's lips tasted like whiskey and cigarette smoke. How awful he tasted and, possibly worse, how he smelled. The smell of sweat and confidence that overwhelmed his own 16 year old fear. The pang of jealousy and abandonment that took over him as he thought about why Stan wasn't with him right then.

Maybe Stan could have saved him, but because of his extremely close relations with his girlfriend, Kyle would never know.

And now, he will pay for it.

Slice it! His mind screams, eyes darting down at his arm. End the pain. End this misery!

Quickly inhaling and exhaling, Kyle sets down the blade carefully, reaching over with his 'good' arm and drags his pen in front of him, not lifting his hand from the carpeting as he repeats this action with a black spiral notebook. He begins to write.

"No One Loves Me." He spoke out loud, voice cracked, a whisper barely audible as he begins to writes out the words. "I Loved You, Stan." His hand shakes over the boy's name, another ping of pain shooting up his opposite arm. "I Was Saving Myself For You, And Though My Feelings Came Unnoticed, I Love You All The Same." He pauses. "The Impurity Now Cursing Through My Veins, It Causes Me This Pain. And So, I Say Goodbye. To The Only Person Who Mattered."

Kyle drops the pen, staring down at what he had just written with lidded, emotionless eyes. A tear finds its way down the boy's cheek as he reaches towards the blade a final time. Breathing in his last lung full of air, Kyle is prepared fully for whatever awaits him at the end of this life. The final slice would surely end it all, there would be no question about it. He was impure, now, there was no going back. And for that, he couldn't live any longer.

No person should have to endure pain like this.

The blade hovers over his arm, warm and tempting as it begins to sink deeper, daring to break the skin. Kyle closes his eyes, reveling in the last of what he will feel on Earth when-

"Kyle."

This voice...

Stan. His lips mouth the boy's name, false hope arising in his chest as he tries to speak, but no words come out.

The window in front of him is now covered and fogged with heat from the cold temperature in the room compared to the unusual heat outside and is dripping to form dusty, brown lines down the glass. In the reflection of these lines, Kyle notices the figure kneel down behind him, whispering some words that the boy didn't fully catch.

Kyle attempts to turn his head, to see who's form stood behind him, to see who was, now, touching his shoulder in attempts to stop him from continuing with his plans, but his head wont move.

"Kyle, don't do this." The voice comes again, and this time Kyle is sure its Stan. The raven-angel's voice could never be mistaken to Kyle. Not when the voice is this close.

The voice of the one you love, isn't something you just 'forget'.

Letting out a staggered breath Kyle relaxes the slightest bit -only the slightest- and leans back into the figure, dropping the blade and bringing his arms to his chest as it clangs atop the notebook.

What has he done?

The figure wraps his arms around Kyle protectively, not caring in the least when his pale skin crosses over the redhead's bloody one in the process and brought him close into a protective embrace. Something about the way Stan was holding him...the way Kyle sat there motionless in the boy's lap. As Stan slowly ran his fingers under Kyle's hat and strokes his red hair soothingly-

He felt like Stan might love him back.

It was a crazy thought, indeed, and even though Kyle didn't trust it, he wasn't going to push it away, either.

For the first time since the incident, Kyle feels-

Safe.