Have you ever had a figurine, and one day it gets cracked? But you don't mention it to anyone, and nobody notices, because really it's so small nobody can tell, especially if you turn it a certain way. But all you can do is worry one day somebody is going to see it and question, and you'll have to admit it's broken? So by trying not to let anybody see, that little crack just grows until the whole thing crumbles and breaks? Then everyone can see it, and they question why you couldn't tell them it was broken to begin with. They can't understand why you had to keep it hidden, and so therefore you broke it more. Then people come along and they try to put it back together. Sometimes it works, and others it doesn't. That was almost what this was like; his new obsession. It was dangerous, selfish, and a complete secret. One that could kill him; engulf him until there was nothing. He knew all of this, which made it worse when he found he couldn't stop. It was a drug, this new obsession. Though one that nobody but people who did it could understand. You had to be special like that, one of the 'club' in a way. You had to be a figurine, a cracked but not yet broken doll, to truly understand why his obsession could engulf him. It was a dangerous thing, these thoughts that circled his head, swooping down to the point they couldn't be ignored. But it was more dangerous what he did to control these thoughts.

He thinks I don't understand, because I panic whenever I see what the drug has done to him. But he doesn't know that I do, because he can never know. Like he thought I could never know. It's a never ending circle, this thing that we abuse. It's amazing how you don't see the signs of a user innless you are looking for them. Really they are just like us. They could go to your school; be your boss. But it only takes one look into their constantly-shifting eyes to see the dark nothing that resides there. That's what I see in him, and what he misses in me. Or maybe I've been like this for so long he can't tell the difference. Maybe he thinks the danger is over; that I'm 'fixed' just because I've already let the drug over power me once. Maybe he doesn't know just how good an actor one can learn to be.

Maybe it's my fault he's like this. I started it first anyway. He was the one who never quite believed my smiles and laughter; he was the one who finally found out I was using. He was the one who cried for me because I couldn't. He was the one with overflowing emotions when I couldn't feel any longer. He was the one, the one who found me when it took control; who managed to save me from the darkness that seemed to never leave. He was-is- the one I have to lie to harder than ever because he's the one who can see more than the others. Or he use to at least. Now it seems to take all he has just to pretend to those who don't have the kind of insight I do. He doesn't have the time to worry about others. So I say nothing, and I watch as he sinks closer to the point I have been at.

He doesn't cry anymore, and his laugh sounds more and more like mine now. It's frightening, watching oneself dissolve from the outside. Now I can understand what everyone went through when I was like this; when I wasn't as good at pretending. I almost feel, watching him struggle to remain in control of the drug. We both know it's hopeless; it will always overtake you. Maybe that's why when I walked in on him, eyes blank and razors I knew so well around him I didn't say anything. I didn't tell him how he's going to regret it if he fails. How it will haunt his dreams and he'll never be able to escape. How his entire life will be one big play no matter what he does. Maybe that's why I sat beside him and said nothing. Maybe that's why I pulled my shirt off to show him what he hadn't been seeing all this time. Maybe that's why I told him I'd keep everyone away if that was what he really wanted. Because I knew what it was like to not feel until your obsession takes over. Because I knew this was something that I couldn't help him with. Not unless he lets me.

So when he walked out of the room without a word I understood. He wanted help, even if it was only for that minute. He was in control long enough to tell me what he needed. The next day at school I swung by the office to drop off an anonymous tip to the counselor. As I walked in he walked out. We both paused simultaneously. Without a word we understood what we were doing, and we nodded. I continued in, and he walked out. I wasn't surprised when I was called up within a few moments of first block. I wasn't surprised when he was already there. But I was surprised to see him look up and give me a watery smile. I sat slowly down beside him, and he reached for me. I never said a word, just gathered him up like we had so long ago, before we had to pretend, and before we had to turn to our drug to be able to make it through the play called life. The counselor smile softly at us and cleared her throat before speaking lowly. "Riku, Sora? It seems both of you dropped each other's name in the box for the same thing. Do you know what that is?" Sora glanced up from my arms and spoke softly. "Yeah. Pretending, though I think we're actually here for what we do to be able to keep up the façade." The counselor seemed surprised at his bluntness. "And what is that?" This time I answered. "Cutting."