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Hidden Scars

Chapter 2: Will You Still Be My Friend When You Know?

As soon as I'm out of sight, I practically run up the stairs, headed for my bedroom and the comfort I know resides within. As I reach for the doorknob, I realize, with some surprise, that I'm shaking. I bring my shaking hand up to eye level and stare at it in amazement. This has never happened before. I never shake. The only emotion I ever show is happiness. That is the mask that I chose and it has never once wavered, until now apparently.

I go into my room, lock the door, and stand before my full length mirror, looking at myself as the others must see me. Trademark grin…check. All black clothing…check. Long, braided hair…check. Wonderful acting abilities…check.

If only they knew that everything they see is all an incredibly well fabricated lie. During the war I was the one who kept everyone's spirits up by doing stupid things or telling funny stories or jokes. Once the war was over, I kept that mask on. I was afraid that if I took it off, my friends wouldn't care about me anymore. That they would find me repulsive and reject the "me" that is underneath it all. I look back at my reflection. My lips are set into a frown, no smile to be found and hollow, dead eyes are staring back at me.

"I'm pathetic. I'm weak. I'm worthless." I whisper the words to myself, just as I have done a thousand times before, as I head for my nightstand and the blade that resides within the small drawer. Making sure that the door is still locked, I slump down where I am, not caring one bit that, if Trowa wanted to, he could easily pick the lock on my door and walk right in to witness what I am about to do. Rolling up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I carefully, almost reverently, put the blade to the soft skin of my forearm and drag it across slowly, savoring the feeling of my flesh separating.

I stay like this for what, to me, seems like a very long time. I just sit on the floor in front of my door and watch my own blood slowly drip down my arms and pool at my elbows before dripping down to soak into my black sweatpants. I am mesmerized by the beauty of it. These are mine, made by me to repent for all of the sins that I have committed.

I'm not sure how long I stay on the floor, but I eventually stand up and make my way to my bathroom to clean myself up. As I rinse the drying blood off my arms, I realize that one of the wounds is still bleeding profusely. In fact, it shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.

"SHIT!" I curse loudly as I frantically hold a towel to my wound and search under the sink for a first aid kit. I rummage around for a minute before pulling out with a relieved sigh and a first aid kit in hand. "Thank God," I mutter as I open it and pull out some butterfly bandaids and some gauze. Pulling back the towel, I survey the damage. It's about a five inch gash; deep enough to need stitches, but not deep enough to knick the vein. I carefully apply the band aids that will help hold my skin in place and then wrap my whole forearm in gauze to prevent it from reopening.

How could I be so stupid? How could I lose myself like that? I'm always so careful. I must be more rattled than I thought. I go back into my room and fall face first into the soft mattress and pillows. "I'm such an idiot."

I lay here for awhile thinking about everything that has happened today and over the past few months. The more time I spend here with the others, the worse I feel for hiding these things from them. I want so badly to tell them, to have them care and help me be okay again; but I don't even know where to begin. How do you tell your friends that on most days you don't want to get out of bed because it takes too much energy? Or that you want to die because it would be better than living with the constant pain that you feel inside of you. How do I put my friends through the hurt and disgust of what I've hidden from them for so long?

Unbidden, tears start to fall down my face. I swipe furiously at them, but they refuse to stop and soon my whole body is shaking with the force of my sobs. I curl into a fetal position and cry and cry and cry some more. I'm vaguely aware of the soft knocking at my door and Trowa asking me if he can come in.

"Go away. Please, just go away," I say quietly, desperately. The last thing I need is for him to see me like this.

"Duo, please let me in," he says, genuine worry present in his voice. I sigh, swipe angrily at my face and decide to screw it all and go to open the door. I pause, roll down my sleeves, take a deep breath, and unlock the door before quickly retreating back to the comfort and safety of my pillows. I bury my face in hopes of muffling my sobs, but the shaking of my shoulders is enough to betray me. I hear the door open and a moment later the bed dips down as Trowa sits and gently places a hand on my shoulder.

"Duo?" he asks in a whisper. "Duo, look at me." I bury my face deeper in the pillows and will Trowa to just give up and walk away. It doesn't work. He hooks his fingers under my chin and gently forces me to unbury my face and look him in the eyes. I see one visible green eye and then quickly look down, ashamed that he has seen me like this, in my moment of weakness. Duo Maxwell does not cry…ever.

"Leave me alone…please," I whisper in a last desperate attempt to get him to leave so that I can go back to pretending that everything is fine. He looks at me and slowly shakes his head.

"I can't and I won't. Let me help you Duo. Please?" He looks upset, and he looks so hurt by my attempts to push him away and that just makes me cry harder. I hesitate for about three seconds and then I launch myself into Trowa's arms. I bury my face in his chest and he wraps his arms tightly around me, just holding me while I continue to breakdown right before his eyes.

"It's okay Duo. Just let it all out," he tells me. He continues to hold me and rub soothing circles across my back while I continue to cry as I've never cried before. I guess all those years of pretending to be fine are catching up to me; but I'm kind of glad that I'm not alone right now. I think that would be infinitely worse than one of my friends seeing past my mask. That could potentially lead to much worse things than just tears. Slowly, very slowly, my tears begin to decrease and eventually my sobs die down to soft whimpers. And still Trowa holds me. He starts to move away from me but I desperately clutch his waist tighter in desperation.

"Don't go," I say hoarsely. He nods and shifts so that both of us are leaning against the headboard and I am still resting comfortably on his chest. I stare at the bedspread for awhile trying to decide what to say, how to explain my breakdown. I can't believe I had a breakdown like that. I have never allowed myself to cry, whether alone or with someone else, but something in Trowa's eyes told me that he understood, at least a little bit, and it made me feel more at ease.

"I'm sorry," I say in a barely recognizable voice.

"It's okay. You have nothing to apologize for," he replies as he continues to rub my back. "Are…are you okay?"

"Ye…" I trail off. Why lie? I'm too tired to keep pretending. I'm not strong enough and I just don't have the energy anymore. What harm could it do anyway? It's not like he didn't just watch me break down and cry like a little boy. "No. I'm not okay. I'm never okay," I say so quietly that I'm not sure he can hear me.

"Why? What's wrong?" he asks just as quietly. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

"What's right?" I ask bitterly. "I'm just so fucked up and I don't know how to fix anything. I'm not even sure that I want to," I say as I bury my face in his shirt again. He tightens his grip on me but doesn't say anything. He knows that I will talk when I'm good and ready, so he doesn't push me and for that I am grateful.

We sit in silence while I debate on whether or not to attempt to explain myself to him. I want to, but I don't. It would be nice to have somebody to go to when I need to talk, but at the same time, I've always dealt with everything on my own and changing that now scares me shitless.

I raise my hand to push my bangs out of my face and notice that my shaking has returned. I know that Trowa has noticed, so I quickly sit up and look at him. He's looking at me with concern and again I see that unidentifiable emotion in his eye. I sigh and look down at my hands, which I am nervously wringing in my lap.

"I don't know what to tell you," I whisper. "I don't want you to be disgusted and run away from me. And I don't want to hurt you in anyway." He quirks his eyebrow at me but otherwise he remains silent.

"I don't know how to explain it. It's hard to describe." I fall silent for a few minutes thinking about what to say next.

"Duo, just say what comes to mind and I'll try my best to understand. I promise you that I won't run away or be disgusted. I could never do that to you," he reassures in his soft baritone.

"Don't be so sure," I say under my breath as I return to staring at my hand as if they hold the secret to happiness. I can't bear to see the disgust or hurt that I know will be in his eyes when I explain what I have become; when I tell him what I have resorted to doing to myself and why I do it.

"I…I'm not who you think I am. None of you know who I am, not really. You only know the mask of Duo Maxwell that I chose to wear during the war." I spare a brief glance at his face before continuing at his encouraging nod. "Every one was always so somber and I just wanted to make them forget about the war for a little bit. So I put on my joker's mask and acted ridiculous all of the time. Once the war was over, I just found it easier to keep the mask in place, but…." I trail off and chew on my fingernail in nervousness. This is going to be the hard part.

"But?" Trowa asks softly. I glance up and his eyes meet mine and I find a little bit of strength in the emotion shining through.

"But every day that I kept that mask on, a part of me died. It became harder and harder to keep up the cheerful act…and I never had anyone to teach me how to deal with my feelings, so I found my own way…" again I trail off and glance nervously out the window. "I…I…." I let out a defeated sigh as I stand up and walk a few paces from the bed. Slowly, I pull my sweatshirt over my head, followed by my tee shirt.

"Duo, what are you doing?" Trowa asks quietly as I begin to slide my sweatpants down my legs. I slowly step out of the black fabric that is now pooled on the floor and take a very deep breath. I turn around to face Trowa and focus my gaze against the far wall so that I don't have to see his face when he realizes what exactly it is that I am showing him. I step forward to the edge of the bed and the only sound that is heard in the room is the surprised gasp that Trowa lets out when I step into the light streaming in through the window.