Work Text:
Atsushi's body felt oddly light, his sight seeming focused yet oddly out of mind. Odd, he felt odd, but he also felt bad. Extremely bad, with no way to repair. He felt the ache of his back, worn down despite his regenerative abilities, yet brutalized in the past by the headmaster's harsh whip. It did not burn into his skin but rather his mind, and he felt it cloud up. He was dense, stupid, filthy, vile–for that, he deserved punishment.
But the headmaster was gone. Months gone. He was shot down in the street, holding flowers of his own pride and cruelty. Atsushi felt nauseous thinking about it. He deserved punishment. He had to punish himself, he had to show his regret. He had to feel pain, even if it would be brief.
He opened the cabinet within the bathroom, scouring through the bag of miscellaneous items he had carelessly thrown out. Face masks from Yosano, hand sanitizer, and more. But the small glistening piece of metal incaptured him the most.
He had stolen it from Dazai, one night when he was with the man, watching some sort of show that Atsushi didn't care to remember. Dazai likely didn't either, binge drinking beside him. Atsushi felt like he didn't know, but at the same time, he knew it would be stupid to think Dazai didn't know his every move, especially in his own dorm.
He unraveled the paper shielding it from tearing across anything within his path, and he shakily sighed. His mind kept going back to tonight. To Lucy. She was upset with him, he knows it. He intended well, helping her serve customers, but he tripped and sent a milkshake flying onto one of their regulars. Atsushi felt neither embarrassment nor fluster, he only felt shame and terror. Regret, guilt–Lucy hates him now, he knows it. He would never be good in her eyes again, and he knows it. He hates to know, he hates to think, and the thoughts all made him nauseous, sick. He was truly vile, a filthy sin, best to be cleansed from this earth, just as the headmaster said.
He rolled up his shorts slightly, to the point one would see them as briefs, and slowly he leaned close, careful gaze as he brought it to his skin.
He slitted.
He was new to this. He was not aware how hard he should press, how he could get it as deep as Dazai's, but he didn't quite care either. He would learn, he would show that he learned from his stupid mistakes, and said learning would be shown in blood. He would have it no other way, just as the headmaster would have it no other way. He deserved this, he was a terror–vile and burdensome.
It didn't fully cut the skin. The edge of the blade seemed less sharp than the sides, so perhaps that's why. But it did not fully go without blood. It was less than deep, a cat scratch. Atsushi was no cat, so he went again. This time, despite his brief discomfort, he used the sides–he went fast, and he went with pressure.
It snapped his skin apart, and it made him even more nauseous to witness. Barely a second in, and slowly, it splitted. It made him dizzy to watch. It had white spots, yet strangely no blood.
Yet.
Blood slowly came soonly after his thought, and it was sickening. Slowly, it rose up, flooding the wound and beginning to dribble down his thigh and leg. His leg was shaking, trembling, bouncing. It showed his anxiety and fear, and it made him feel more shamed.
With a disgusted curiosity, he slowly pulled at the skin around the wound. It bloodied more, dribbling more streaks of crimson down. He didn't quite like it, but he deserved that. He deserved the discomfort, he deserved to feel vile, to feel nauseous, to feel his stomach twist and turn with unsettlement.
He didn't know where to place the next one, eyes scanning his thigh. He was anxious. He did not intend to hit anything important, like an artery, as he didn't think he deserved the peace death might give. Death was a cost, one he could not pay, only desire for. And he felt unfairly pathetic for that.
He decided to go close by. He looked beneath the one he already made, and wincing slightly, he did the same action again. It was lighter, and it made his heart clench. He felt gross. He felt weak, and pathetic. He truly deserved this.
He watched the blood leak, not as much as the prior. A failure, just like him. The tiled floors below him was glowing with the poured out red, and he sighed. Shaking legs rose up, straightening out. His head dizzied and his eyes filled with pinpricks of black, before returning clear. More blood spilled out, slowly, calmly with an undescribable drip. He grabbed a navy blue towel, and went.
He made his way into his bedroom, before laying down on his futon. He moreso fell down, just bately being able to catch himself before blood dripped down. He felt ‘woosy’ if that made sense, and he didnt feel any better than before. But he did find it was similiar to the punishments he'd recieved in the orphanage. Just not as severe.
He closed his dry eyes, the lids heavy with exhaustion and shame. He felt a choked noise leave his throat, before he swallowed and shut his lips tight.
This was his punishment. He was filthy and vile, he deserved this pain. He deserved more pain than what was such.
The tiger within would rehabilitate his broken skin within the time it takes to become morning. He would be at peace, and only then could he face Lucy after the shame he brought her, in front of all the cafe's patrons. He merely felt sorry, and he knew he did not deserve to be forgiven.