Everything just got a lot less funny as you got older. Time passed—you knew that— you saw the way they changed with time but to you, it was hopeless. You couldn't change alongside with them.

You thought back because you always did. Always thinking, clinging to the past and the happy memories that comforted you like a blanket or a mother's gentle tone.

A mother you no longer had due to your foolishness and naivety. If only you had moved a little faster or you were a little stronger—

Everyone tells you it was not your fault and every time you close your eyes and count to ten.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine...

And finally— You look in the mirror— Ten. That's you, you tell yourself. You tried to hide and run but here you are, standing in the building you swore you would never step foot on, long time ago.

The person in front of you is foreign and a bitter laugh escapes your mouth. What was up with that? Cheekbones more prominent, jaw sharper and eyes not as wide as they were. Lips chapped from how often it was bitten and chewed on, despite Ryohei's scoldings.

Too foreign. Moving your arm and the image following it obediently left you disoriented. Who are you, who are you, who are you—

You wish to ask but there was only one answer, was there not? Dysphoria. You left as if your body was not your own. An out of body experience, feeling detached but oh-so-painfully restrained.

But this was the present and this was your reality so surely— surely— this was your body.

You breathe in and close your eyes and for a split second, everything is alright again. Nothing but darkness around you so you won't have to worry about breathing too loudly or feeling another person's warmth near you. 

You exhale and you inhale. 

For a while, you don't think and what a relief it is to be away from your own thoughts for once. That's right, you don't think. You don't have to think for your lungs to work or for the blood in your veins to run around. And you certainly didn't think when you told your mother to hide in that building over there I promise you'll be okay see you soon–

Your breath gets caught and you can feel bile make its way up your throat. Swallowing your disgusting self-worth and half-digested lunch, you run your hand through your hair– just like she did when you were young. 

Tears start falling because of course, they do. You were always so weak. Everyone's praises and compliments were all just misunderstandings– they didn't understand. You remember Yamamoto's reassurances and how he always said that feeling sad was never a bad thing. And then you will be strong, he had said.

But it has been years and you still felt as pathetic as you did on day one. 

You look down at your legs. Those limbs that were supposed to assist you in getting places. And you laugh, through the tears blurring your vision and through the ache in your chest. You laugh because it was these things that failed you when you sprinted towards her.

You should just get rid of them, you tell yourself and something stirs in your heart– something that you haven't felt in a long, long time. Something you wanted to feel amongst the ugly emotions swirling in your chest. 

You open the bathroom's drawer and right there was the thing you needed. Yes. You needed this. You needed this to feel better. That was what your "hyper intuition"–the thought made you laugh. What good was "hyper intuition"? What a joke– told you. Yes, that's right. You'll blame this on your intuition. That way, they'll never blame you. 

You grab the scissors in your hands and it's blade glistens in the artificial light. You're enamored. The metal has your full attention and you can't keep your eyes off it. You realize now that you kept the scissors in that drawer for a reason. It was for today.

What was this emotion in your heart? You can't explain it, but it causes a smile to bloom on your face nonetheless. You watch yourself smile in the mirror and how it causes your eyes to crinkle and the bags under your eyes to look more prominent. You bring the hand that wasn't holding onto the scissors up to your face and trace the curve of your mouth. 

You're happy. Glee fills your being once you find the word you're looking for. You're happy. You can't believe it and the joy of the realization erupts a giggle out of you. 

You're so happy and excited that you get right to it. You pull up your pant leg and it reveals your pale limb. You stare at your (useless) thigh and slowly move down your gaze to (pathetic) calves. The scissors in your hand whisper a song and you hum along with it. Your chest is beating wildly and the adrenaline makes you smile even wider.  

Punishment, the word echoes in your head. This is punishment for not being able to run faster. This is punishment for sending her to that location and this is punishment for not being able to move on. 

You were too slow. You're always slow. If you can't keep up then what's the point? Why do you still have these legs? Obviously, you won't be able to just chop it off all in one. So you'll make a cut today and then another one tomorrow and another one the next day and then another one the day after–

You drop the scissors. The harsh sound of metal against the bathroom tiles make you flinch, arms wrapped around yourself. You stand up on the legs you still have and kick the scissors away from sight. Strangely enough, your head feels light and numb, as if it was stuffed with cotton. 

Without another thought, you leave the bathroom. 

You know that someone could easily find the scissors and ask you why it was there, but you couldn't think through the haze in your head. The glee, the excitement is all gone and all you're feeling is dread dread dread–

What were you trying to do? Why were you going to do that? 

You bite your lip. Hard. And the pain stables you for a little bit. Exiting your bathroom, you see your bed and without any prompting, you collapse on it. The day has barely started and yet, there you were, ready to fall asleep. All you had on you had your white, button-up shirt and suit pants. You haven't even combed your hair. 

Boss? You? Pathetic. What a worthless excuse for a boss. 

Would they blame you once they find you on your bed, asleep? Would they look at you with disappointment and sigh? You can already imagine their piercing gazes but your body still refuses to move. The thought of unconsciousness is too alluring. Wouldn't it be wonderful, your bed whispers to you, if you didn't have to think? Didn't have to move?

Wouldn't it be great to just waste away?

So you close your eyes and do just that.

And you're gone.