Midnight black hair. Snowy skin. Bluish white eyes. Fragile look. Cold atmosphere. Numb.

Those were the characteristics that composed me. Physically. Emotionally.

Mentally, I was a wreck. An ungrateful wretch towards life.

I was sitting on the floor, feeling the chilly temperature it has absorbed.

My room was perfectly white. If I were to have a chance of redecorating it, I would paint the walls black, dark blue or dark purple. Though the walls' color wasn't pleasing to me, the room was spacious enough. A black and expensive grand piano was placed by the corner. Bookshelves with a touch of modern style were around. Tons of books were kept. Despite the number, I had only read a few. I wasn't really much of a reader, but I did love reading books with a very catchy plot. I read them at school since I only had a few friends over there. My bed was big enough. Blankets on it were pure black. Odd enough, I kept my old stuff toys. I treasured the ones that were dark in color because they suited my tastes.

I was an uncouth human being, boor enough to some. I was labelled as one of the unnoticeable yet developing imbeciles of society. That's what I think.

Unlike others, I hadn't been in the state of (or being) vivito y coleando after I started to feel getting haunted by a very odd feeling.

I was holding onto a razor, the tiny blade was as tempting as ever.

I've been collecting razors. For the record, I already had forty-seven.

The very contact of its metallic blade was like a drug, making me want for more. As red liquid surfaced itself from the wound I created, I felt like I had fulfilled something great.

The guilt of being alive was temporarily getting lessened. Everything was to blame on me.

Back when I was a mere child, I was known for being a Doubting Thomas, a person who wouldn't believe in things unless that person's actually the one who experienced or witnessed it.

As I grew up, I changed. My persona of being a Doubting Thomas turned into that of someone who loved to imagine and think of thousands of possibilities.

"Curious. Shouldn't I be hurt?" I asked myself, enjoying the stinging pain that served as forgiveness for my sin.

The world was better off without me. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring myself to kill my own being, too afraid to do so.

My parents, my siblings, my so-called 'friends', my classmates, everyone and him.

All of them wouldn't care when I'm gone.

My right hand, that was handling the blade, was slightly shaking.

"More..." I whispered to myself.

Just as I was about to create the sixth cut of the day, I threw the razor away, trying to stop myself.

I slowly stood up. I went towards my table and searched for something. Upon seeing what I was searching for, I quickly took it and poured some of its contents to my fresh wounds.

Alcohol.

I sighed. I returned the alcohol and used my perfume, trying to give less hints about my odd addiction to self-harm. The scent would overcome the faint stench of blood.

It was a good thing that our uniform had long sleeves. Still, just to make sure, I wore bracelets just to hide them in case those sleeves would shorten up.

The only person who knew of my unusual activity was my younger sister.

I was the middle child. Our elder sister was not around. She was working abroad.

Well, with all honesty, the three of us were abandoned by our real mother, choosing her lover over us. Dad, on the other hand, kept us and remarried. Our stepmother kept on trying her best to make us feel like she was our real mother. Contrasting to her efforts, she couldn't really fill in the motherly figure for us.

Still, our family fact was just an extra for the pain I felt.

I was worthless. Useless. Weird. Not fitted for the society.

I always lacked something. Unbeknownst to that, I continued to live with my useless self.

Someone knocked on the door of my room. I pulled my uniform's sleeves down, making sure of hiding my wrist.

"Are you done yet?" a voice questioned. I took my bag and turned the door knob, opening the door.

"Let's go," I told the thirteen year old girl who stood in front of my doorstep.

She had short black hair and light blue eyes just like me.

The three of us siblings had a very dark shade of black hair, white skin and very light blue eyes. The things that made great differences on our appearances were: the freckles of our elder sister named Aoi; the small dot-ish mole near my eye; the flawless face of Hikari, the youngest.

Hikari followed me outside. We got greeted by our stepmother who was watering the plants in the garden.

"Be safe," she told us.

"We will!" Hikari said as she cheerfully waved her hand at our stepmother, Ino.

I didn't give that much care.

After that, Hikari became quiet as she walked beside me.

"Ah, Sis, is it true that Fuuto is your classmate?" she asked, trying to form a small conversation with me.

"Yes. What about it?" I questioned.

"Can you ask for his signature? Please," she blocked my path and looked at me with those adorable big eyes of hers.

"I'd rather die," I replied as I slowly pushed her aside in a gentle manner.

"But why?" she questioned me.

"He's just an obnoxious narcissist. Sadly, his fans can't see that side of his. One of them is you," I answered calmly as I struck her a bored look, a sign that I wasn't interested in the topic.

"How could you say so?" she quickly asked.

I decided to stop answering her and keep the real answer to myself.

How could I say so? It's simple. I was his seatmate.

The rest of our short journey was silent. I wasn't much of a talker. I was boring, dull and plain.

Finally, arriving at school, we separated ways.

Hikari had her friends waiting for her by the school gates. Just by seeing that, it seemed like I was slapped by a brick. I was envious of her.

I, too, had friends. Despite the problems and secrets I told them, there were still times when I found it hard on trusting them.

I went to our classroom at the second floor. I went to my seat at the middle then settled my bag.

As if on cue, my seatmate popped up out of nowhere.

"The turtle has just arrived," he commented, referring to me.

I rolled my eyes off.

He had that messy yet attractive styling of his hair. His eyes were like hunters hunting for their prey. Gorgeously beautiful. His lips were quite unique. His height was tall enough for our age.

Although he was attractive and charming, I was the girl least interested in him. He was the modern Narcissus. However, his narcissism wasn't always on.

"The flirt showed up," was my calm reply.

I sat on my seat and took out one book. I began to read silently.

"You remind me of my sister."

I didn't care. I didn't mind him at all.

"You remind me of her because you're the complete opposite of her," he added as I sensed him smirk.

Despite being annoying, I got to hand it to Fuuto that he was one of the rare people who would talk to me without being forced.

Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and raised it, making the book I was holding be raised as well. It was a good thing that the wrist he grasped unto was the right one.

"What are you reading?" he asked, shaking my hand, making the pages dance.

"A book, moron," I told him.

Suddenly, something fell from one of the book's pages. Fuuto quickly released me, knelt down and looked for the unknown object. Later, he stood up with a mischievous smirk.

"Why do you have a picture of me?" he questioned.

"What picture?" I asked, wanting him to repeat what he had said just to be sure that I heard him correctly.

"Ah, Sis, is it true that Fuuto is your classmate?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"Can you ask for his signature? Please."

I remembered Hikari's request a while ago. It was possibly hers. Positively.

Fuuto raised his picture that was just a wallet sized one. I sighed.

"That's not even mine. If you want, you can sign that for my sister and I'll just give that to her," I told him.

"You really are the opposite of her," he remarked.

"Who? Your sister?" I asked.

I placed the book on my desk and stood up as I tried to retrieve the picture.

He gently pushed me away by my shoulder as he took his pen out from his pocket. He began to sign on it then scribble something.

When he was about to return the picture, he raised his hand.

"What?" I asked.

"Poor turtle. So, so slow," he teased as he frowned and made faces.

"Whatever," I shrugged off as I tiptoed and tried to steal the photo, but to no avail, he was a lot taller.

I couldn't reach it. I tried to jump but he would only raise it higher.

"Your sister's the girl with brown hair, right? The one who ties her hair to the side," I asked as I kept on trying to reach it.

"How did you know?" he asked with a change of expression.

"I sometimes see you talking to her. I heard you call her 'sister' once."

I kept on jumping as I talked to him. "Honestly, I get the feeling that you like her as something more than a sister," I admitted.

I sensed surprising anger.

He caught my left wrist. I tried my best to act like nothing was hurting. He stared at me. His grip was getting tighter and stronger. The pain was getting worse.

"Forget about what I said. I'm sorry," I quickly threw my pride away just to calm him down.

His grasp loosened and he released me. He became quiet. He gave me the photo.

"You know nothing, Hotaru," he uttered.

Of course. That's what people always said to me. I felt like I caused great disturbance. There, at that moment, depression was bracing me in its arms once more, completely welcoming me. It loved to haunt me. It was so loyal, for depression was my best friend.