I start writing these sort of things when I feel depressed... This is not something that happened to me or what I heard of happening, but it are thoughts sometimes running through my head. So this is my way of expressing thoughts that I haven't been able to shake off the last few days... I don't like sharing those things, but I think it's written nicely and it still needs some sort of explanation. Why else would someone write something like this?
Rated M not for smut this time, but for mentioning suicide attempts.
A place to talk, that was all that this was. Sharing whatever shitty feeling you might have and then getting a response from either yourself or from the guy. Deidara was here to talk. But that didn't mean he wanted to look at the guy he was talking to. He preferred looking away, pretending he was just talking to himself.
So there he was, lying on the burgundy coloured couch. Blond hair fanned around his face, appearing like a veil. And blue eyes staring up at the ceiling, counting the little spots while he tried to talk. He messed up a few times, forgetting how many spots he had counted.
It had happened again. He had last count as some new words had entered his mouth and he abruptly had stopped talking. His face was scrunched up on confusion, but the guy never told him to continue talking, he would just wait. And eventually Deidara remembered again and words started spilling off his lips again, random subjects coming to mind.
'But what if it was all my fault? I mean if I am willing to forgive, but that person still doesn't talk to me and also doesn't explain to me what happened, then I must be the one screwing up. There is no other reason for it,' he mused, eyes gliding over the white ceiling, adorned with many black dots. Deidara didn't know if it was just dirty or some sort of design pattern. To him at least it wasn't art, but a good way to pass the time.
The guy stayed silent, just shifting a little in his chair while his eyes stayed on Deidara's figure. The blonde quite liked this guy. He didn't talk as much as the previous on and didn't seem to judge or anything. This one was just better. But he still didn't make the effort into remembering the guy's name.
'So if we follow that thought,' Deidara continued. 'Then there must be something wrong with me. I mean I don't see what I did wrong, but they clearly do if they would leave me like that. So it really must be me who isn't seeing things.'
He kept on counting again and forgot to talk for a while. The guy still didn't care or at least pretended he didn't. Or maybe he was just studying Deidara's behaviour. Not that the blonde thought he was doing anything interesting, but who knows what the other guy would see. He didn't have his degree in knowing people.
'How do you know if you're weird? Or is everyone just weird in a way? I never really got that, because some people get judged for being different, but does that make the others normal then and what is it that makes them normal? I think everyone is weird in some way, some are just really good at hiding it.'
Another change of subject and the guy still didn't comment, but seemed to be noting something down now. He did that sometimes. Deidara saw it happening out of the corner of his eyes. It always distracted him from counting and he had again forgotten how many dots there were.
'Art is something personal, right? Sometimes only you are the one who truly sees that it's art. Then why do some people think it's up to them to say if something is pretty or not? Isn't it the artist choice to say if it's pretty?'
Deidara fell silent for a moment. He wasn't counting, but his thoughts were lingering on someone else.
'What if he didn't like me, because my art was different?' he asked no one in particular, knowing the guy wouldn't answer anyway. 'Maybe he wanted me to make the same art, so that we had something in common. But that would not explain why the other didn't want to be with me,' he mused.
He brought his hand up to brush a strand of hair out of his face and winced when he made a wrong move, pain shooting through his hand. He ignored it after that, just laying his hand back down.
'That can't be the problem then. He loved my art or at least he said he did. So it must be something else in my personality that has to be wrong. Maybe it is just the complete package that they all hate, but don't dare to tell me. Maybe I am just awful, but they pitied me long enough to stay. Maybe I don't deserve to be loved.'
Unconsciously Deidara had brought his hand up again and had started scratching at it out of frustration. He hadn't been counting the dots anymore, completely lost in this train of thought. He couldn't let that last part go. Maybe he didn't deserve to be loved. Maybe he should be alone forever. Maybe he should never bother anyone anymore. Maybe he should just…
And that was when the guy suddenly spoke up. 'Deidara, do you know why you are here?'
Blue eyes shot to the side, for the first time since the beginning of the session actually looking at him. 'I am here to talk about my feelings,' he stated plainly and moved his eyes back to the ceiling, counting once again. The guy had pulled him right out of his thoughts and had stopped a scary train of thoughts to finish.
'Maybe we should talk about what happened a few days ago?' the guy offered.
Deidara's eyes narrowed at this. 'I don't want to talk about that,' he spat and decided he wouldn't talk at all anymore of the guy kept pushing.
A soft sigh left the guy's lips and if Deidara had looked up, he would've seen the pity. Fortunately he didn't. 'Deidara you've been brought in here, because you were stated to be unstable. Why do they think you are unstable?'
'Because I had called them up and threatened them for not loving me back and for not giving me a reason to not love me.' He had answered the question anyway. There was just something about that man's voice that made Deidara like him instantly. He really was a nice guy. Maybe he could love Deidara?
The guy cocked his head to the side, not finding the answer quite enough. 'And what did you threaten with?'
'Killing myself,' he said as if it meant nothing. As if it was something you were supposed to do anyway.
'And what happened after the threatening?'
Deidara shifted a bit on the couch, trying to get more comfortable in his seat. His eyes were still on the ceiling and he had been staring at a strange pattern he had discovered. 'I tried killing myself,' he responded softly. 'The first time I took pills, but it didn't work. So the second time I tried again, taking a few more, but they were there in time. And the third time I took pills and then cut my wrists to make sure it would work this time.'
'And yet you are still here,' the guy said with a bit of a cheerful tone lingering in his voice. 'There must be a reason for that, right?'
Deidara turned his head towards the guy, a dead look in his blue eyes. 'Yeah, there is a reason for that. I just didn't try hard enough.'
Characters © Masashi Kishimoto
I hope you liked it in some sort of way and if you feel the need to talk after this, PM me or leave a review. I am always willing to talk...