Ok so this is chapter one of an ongoing fan fiction. Not really sure where I wanna go with this but give me reviews and tell me what you think and I look forward to hearing what you guys think. Hopefully your guys reviews and advice on what I should do with this.

Warning: This fan fiction includes self-harm, thoughts of suicide, angst, depression, suicide, sexual harassment, and PruCan possible fluffiness and yaoi in later chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. All rights belong to Hidakez Himaruya

Well here I go. Enjoy ^-^

I need release. I know that I shouldn't be doing this but it's the only way I know to get my release which right now I need so desperately.

I've been doing it for several years now and I don't I could take it if my parents or brother found out. Not that they will. They haven't paid me much attention in the past few years.

I've never been noticed much by anyone and when people do notice me it's usually they mistake me for my brother or for something bad, like beat me up. I don't know how, but bullies seem to have some kind of sixth sense or something that allows then to sniff out someone weak.

Anyway I digress. I should probably tell you what my way to get release is. Before I tell you that so you can judge me, I want to explain to you why it is that I need it.

When I was a little kid, I had a good life and a good family. I had a mom, a dad, and an older cousin who my parents had taken in after his parents, my father's twin brother and his wife had died in a car accident before I was born. He was about eight years my elder and we got along well. I was happy, that was…until I was five years old.

When I was five years old, my father died when the twin towers were hit by airplanes on 9/11. After my dad's death, my mom became very depressed. She didn't pay attention to me or my cousin anymore. My cousin took full advantage of this. He began to become meaner and started to treat me meanly. At the time around five or six months before my sixth birthday he began to touch me in strange ways. He would touch me between my legs and would kiss me on my neck and chest, never on the lips. They were harsh and were often more like bites that would leave marks and bruises on my skin. He would do this often my mother never noticed a thing. He never went all the way though. He only touched me or rubbed me, sometimes making me touch him back. I never told anybody about it because he told me that if I did then he would push me off the roof. I wouldn't learn until several years later that what he was doing to me was sexual harassment. I didn't know at the time because I was too young to know what sex was.

This was when I began to become invisible. My mother never noticed anything that was going on and my cousin only paid attention to me when he was harassing me. To me the only thing I could go to for support and to feel needed was an old, worn out stuffed bear. I had been given the bear as a baby by my parents and its name was Kumijirou. It was the only thing I knew to turn to when I was sad.

On the night of my sixth birthday I went to my mother's bedroom to say goodnight and found her corpse hanging from the ceiling fan. She'd left a paper on which was written:

I can't take it any longer I cannot stand being apart from my beloved for one moment longer. Matthew, I love you so much and I hope you will be able to be happy.

When the police were investigating they say my bruises and bite marks that my cousin had given to me. They made me tell them where they'd come from. I'd told them everything he'd been doing to me wondering why they wanted they wanted to know about it. I must have looked strange to the police officer, a small, frail six year old, who'd found his mother's corpse only an hour or two before clutching a stuffed polar bear in his nightgown talking about how my cousin sexually harassed him like it was as normal as playing a game of hide and seek. I was still too young to know that the things my cousin had done to me were sexual other than knowing that it was weird and that I didn't like it.

I was taken from my cousin then with the promise that he would never be able to hurt me again and placed into a foster home until a couple who had known my parents adopted me. They were a nice couple who had a son my age. Their names were Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnafoy, yeah they're both guys, and their son's name was Alfred F. Jones.

Even after they took me in I was still ignored. It's like I'm invisible to everyone except the bullies at school. Even Arthur and Alfred forget me from time to time. When I was eleven it was too much for me. I had come home after a really awful day at school. Ivan, the school bully, had cornered me and had beaten me until I had bruises on my ribs and on my cheek. I'd run past Arthur who was reading the newspaper in the kitchen and went to their room in search of Francis who was always kind to me but was halfway there when I had remembered that he was gone on a business trip for three more days. I didn't want Arthur to see my bruises until I'd come up with a legitimate excuse for where I'd gotten the bruise on my eye. I'd just hide the bruises on my ribs until they healed.

After realizing that Francis wasn't there I ran striate to my room and locked the door. I fell on my bed grabbing Kumijirou and started sobbing. However no matter how much I cried the pain in my heart over the emptiness caused by the sorrow of being so invisible and ignored never stopped or eased like it normally did. Normally if I would just cry to myself for a while then the pain would go away but not that time. I had searched around my room for something that would make my pain go away.

I had seen my school project on my art desk that Francis had bought me recently. Hoping that it would help distract me from my pain I began to work on it. I started cutting colored paper into different shapes to glue down on the poster. However the work did nothing to help me as I continued to sob. My eyes blurred with tears and my vision became fuzzy from the moisture when I suddenly felt a sharp pain in the palm of my hand. I wiped my eyes, cringing with pain; I looked at my hand to inspect the damage. I saw a thin red trail of blood dripping from my palm where I'd accidently cut my hand with the scissors.

As I had looked at my palm I had realized that the pain in my heart had eased somewhat. Curious, I'd pulled the sleeve of my hoodie up to my elbow. I had placed the blade of the scissors on my forearm taking care to avoid the big veins and applied pressure as I had slid the blade horizontally across the skin on my arm. Another line of blood had formed on my arm as I felt the pain in my chest ease even more.

About an hour later, I emerged from the bathroom. My sleeves pulled down, covering bandages on my forearms, under which had lay six or seven cuts on each arm. That's how it had all begun.

Now five years later I'm in the same bedroom, ready to repeat the action that I have done countless times since that day because I never release.

My name is Matthew Williams, I'm sixteen years old. I'm the adopted some of Francis Bonnafoy and Arthur Kirkland, adopted brother of Alfred F. Jones. I enjoy hockey, making pancakes, and maple syrup. I'm Canadian, a junior in high school, no one ever notices me, I'm practically invisible, and I have been cutting myself almost daily for five years.