Deidara had been up for almost twenty four hours, but the sleep deprivation had yet to get to him. Underneath his eyes, the skin was purple, almost as if he had been bruised. Most likely, though, it was from malnourishment and sleep deprivation. He stayed as still as he could, and let his golden blond hair fall over his shoulders so that it covered the socket that once belonged to his missing eye. Now, only one azure eye was left, and it focused on its owner's feet. Deidara was dressed, made up, and ready to go out, but he didn't actually have anywhere to go.
Instead, the blond sat curled up on his bed, knowing it was the best way to stop the hunger pangs that refused to stop sweeping through his body. He hadn't eaten anything for almost two days, and after being unable to starve himself for almost a year, he had lost all of his progress; his weight had shot up, and his self control had plummeted. It wasn't fair. He hated how useless his body was, and how it refused to listen to what he wanted. He wanted to be thin, but any amount of food would make him balloon. If he so much dared to look in a mirror after eating, he would only feel utter contempt and self loathing. And while he starved himself, and hated himself, his friends ate without any problem. Itachi didn't eat much, but his self control was far beyond Deidara's. But Hidan ate all of his own food and most of Deidara's, but never gained an ounce.
Deidara looked down at his body, unable to see that he was all skin and bones. For him, it wasn't enough. He needed more. Slowly, he began to enjoy the sensation of starving. He tried to pretend that each growl of his stomach was a little bit more fat being burned off of his body. The longer he starved, the more he'd lose. Every time he saw himself, he was disgusted. There was still so much progress that he had to make, but it seemed like the lower his weight dropped, the fatter he'd become.
Unlike his friends, he was fantastic at hiding his disorders. He put cuts on his body at the right times, and he always made sure to act like an egotistical, obnoxious teenager whenever there were other people around. Since he always had a cocky smirk on his face, they never suspected anything was wrong. Hell, even the nurses thought he had improved considerably. Which, on the surface level, was true. He looked perfectly fine. But deep underneath his appearance and made up personality, he was nothing short of insane. Or, at least that's what the medical papers he received every once in a while suggested. Deidara supposed he could buy that story. After all, he had heard that the best thing to do with insanity is just embrace it.
What he couldn't buy was the idea that said insanity wasn't his fault. The doctors talked about depression, chemical imbalances, and genetic disorders. That was far too complicated, and he was surprised they couldn't see as clearly as he could. It was nobody's fault but his. No matter how much they told him that it wasn't his fault, and that his problems were caused by his body functioning improperly, he knew it was all wrong. It was his own fault. It had always been. That's why he deserved to starve, and bleed, and die. Deidara looked in the mirror, and saw nothing but a disgusting mess. A fat, disgusting, ungrateful mess. How could the doctors deny that? They saw him so many times a day that it should have been hard not to notice.
Deidara groaned loudly, and broke out of his curled up position so that he was laying flat on the bed. He wanted to cut, but they had taken his razors away the minute he stepped into the building. And thanks to Hidan, they kept any potentially harmful object under close watch. For the moment, he had to settle on digging his nails into his wrist. He liked them long, so they dug into his skin with little effort. Unfortunately, he had to make sure they didn't break his skin; if the doctors found out that he was using his nails for self harm, they would no doubt make him cut them. And if they cut the nails off, it would do nothing but lower the blond's self esteem. His nails made him beautiful, and if those were gone, he'd become even more disgusting.
At the moment, though, the couldn't imagine hating himself any more than he did already. But each and every day, he proved himself wrong. It was that initial look in the mirror that he had every morning that sent him in a downward spiral, and by the end of the day, he was usually ready to take his own life. Unfortunately, though, the doctors were always too good. Too prepared. He went to bed without a chance to kill himself, and it only made him loathe his existence even more.
Deidara was supposed to want help. After a year of being stuck in this hellhole, he was supposed to want to get better and get out. Sometimes, he truly did. But then he remembered how disgusting he was, and reminded himself that he deserved every single second of suffering that he had gone through. He didn't want to get better, he wanted to get out.
Hidan sat in his room, scratching at the scars on his wrist. His silver hair was slicked back so that it was almost flat against his head, and he wore a pair of loose jeans along with an unzippered black jacket. He was bored and hungry, and though he could have gotten up and gotten something from the vending machine, he was too lazy to move. Besides, the owners of this godforsaken place were going to be serving lunch soon, and he knew that Deidara would give him part of his meal; the blond always did.
He wanted to play a video game, or draw a picture, but he knew that was out of the question. The nurses had to supervise most of his activities, and he knew that they would immediately refuse to let him play any shooting games. As far as drawing went, his style was too gorey and brutal for these idiots. So for now, he supposed he was content with trying to mutilate his wrist while thinking of how great it would be if he could grow out his nails and finally break the skin. If he was at home, that wouldn't have been a problem. Hell, if he was at home, he'd be able to stab himself as much as he wanted without anyone giving a rip. It was the God damned school board that had gotten him stuck in this hellhole, and there wasn't a chance of him getting out any time soon.
Unfortunately, his habits were far from normal, giving him the honor of being the most watched patient the facility had ever seen. Nurses were almost constantly on his ass, making sure he hadn't stabbed himself to death, or found a new weapon to mutilate himself with. They thought he was suicidal, and that he would use anything to take his life.
In reality, Hidan simply enjoyed letting the blood flow out of his body and drip onto the ground. There was nothing more fascinating than breaking his own skin and watching his insides come out. He by no means wanted to die, in fact, he wasn't even depressed. If anything, he should have been in a mental facility for being absolutely psychotic. Other than that, he was perfectly fine, according to the doctors. But Hidan knew he wasn't psychotic. He was normal, just like the doctors, and the nurses, and anyone who didn't have to spend their lives wasting away in this God damned mother fucking mental hospital.
Hidan cursed loudly, and scratched even harder at his wrists. Any frustration he had, he always turned into self harm; he had no intention of hurting anyone else, and he loved the pain. Without even thinking, he took his hand and slapped himself hard across the face. A stinging sensation bloomed across his skin, and he smiled. They could take all the weapons in the world away from him, but he still had his fists. He'd punch, claw, pull, and twist the life out of himself, and there wasn't anything they could do to stop him.
Looking up at the clock, the silver haired boy realized that it was practically time for lunch. Giving himself a firm punch in the gut, he smirked to himself, hopped out of bed, and made his way to the cafeteria. Though he loved food, he hated meal times. Everyone was always so...depressed. It just wasn't his style. Sometimes, he thought he would prefer to be in a nut house; that way, he could be all by himself, and the other inmates, as he called them, wouldn't be able to ruin his mood.
Itachi sat at his usual lunch table, listening to Deidara blabber on and on, while Hidan stabbed at his lunch. As Deidara talked, Itachi tied his long, black hair into a loose ponytail. Then, he looked down at himself to make sure he looked decent. A black dress shirt and black skinny jeans were professional, compared to most of the people in here. He looked back up at the blond, and pretended to focus on what he was saying, but ended up watching Hidan try to pry his skin open with a plastic knife. These were the only two people he could tolerate, out of the dozens of other patients that were currently in the hospital. The fact that they were the two least stable teens there didn't matter one bit to him; as long as they didn't force him to speak, they were fine.
Deidara could spend hours talking about nothing, and the Uchiha didn't mind pretending to listen. It gave him something to do, and sometimes the boy turned out to be mildly amusing. Hidan, on the other hand, was too busy trying to stab himself to force any words out of his friend. He liked Itachi because he could complain to him, and the boy never told him to stop.
The other patients asked him all sort of questions, tried to pry answers out of him, and would never leave him alone. They looked at him with pity, despite their own desperate situations. Unlike them, he was perfectly fine...he just hated talking. It was to the point where it had completely destroyed his ability to go out in public, or get near any sort of remotely social situation. It had crippled his ability to communicate, as well as his ability to function as a normal human being.
Itachi couldn't pinpoint exactly when or why it had started, but it was a disease that had followed him for years. Perhaps he had managed to block it out, and now only focused on the disease itself. At thirteen years old, he stopped using full sentences. Even with his family and closest friends, he'd speak in with as few words as possible, and absolutely refused to have a full conversation. Now, at eighteen—almost nineteen—he couldn't remember the last time he had spoken more than three words at a time. He knew, for a fact, that he hadn't spoken in two weeks, despite all of the pushing and prodding from the nurses.
Along with his inability to communicate, severe depression destroyed Itachi's will to do anything at all. Before he had been pulled from high school and thrown into the hospital, he was on track to be the class valedictorian. But after a severe wave of depression hit him, he nearly failed most of his classes, and would be lucky to graduate at the rate he was going.
Though his parents were disappointed beyond belief, the Uchiha didn't give a rip. Unlike his friends, he didn't let his illness destroy his body. He didn't slice himself open like Hidan, and he didn't starve himself like Deidara. His method of punishment was a more subtle, harder to trace one. Rather than physically, he destroyed himself mentally. He let his thoughts consume him, and kept his emotions bottled up. It hurt, which only encouraged him to continue. He punished himself by not speaking; that way, he couldn't release the pain or get help from others.
Itachi had rules that the nurses didn't know about, and that's what kept him going so far without any "progress", as they called it. There were three of them, and they were very simple, very effective. No speaking, no self forgiveness, and no pride. With those rules, he could effectively build up his walls against the nurses, and the doctors, and the therapists. They didn't understand, and they didn't need to. As long as they left him alone and let him live in his own version of reality, he was perfectly content. His self punishment had destroyed his ability to sleep properly, but that was fine. That meant more time thinking, and more time scolding himself. They tried to give him pills to stop these thoughts, but Deidara had shown him how to hide them, or vomit them back up when necessary. He didn't want to get better. He wanted to stay bottled up, safe, alone, and hurt.
The Uchiha almost sighed, but he hated any noise that came from his throat. Instead, he settled on staring at Hidan eat the rest of Deidara's lunch, while the blond looked at it, wishing he could allow himself to eat it.