WARNING: This chapter contains material that may be triggering towards self-harmers. Read at your own risk.

Author's Note: Oh, wow… Thank you to the people that reviewed the first chapter. I just watched THE best movies ever. First, Public Enemies, God Johnny Depp is HOT! And second, Painful Secrets/Secret Cutting. It was just… Wow. You'll hate the mother instantly. Sorry if my writing seems horrible this time around. I can't get anything out… Just think of it as seeing someone's mind when they're dysfunctional.

Disclaimer's Note: My name is not Maki Murakami. Therefore, I do not own Gravitation.

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Title: In Secret
Genre: Angst/General"
Rating: T
Summary: SEQUEL TO: SEWN SHUT... Why do I feel like this? I know everything isn't supposed to be as a planned, but the pain is unbearable… Yuki, why is it like this? (Contains SH and Suicide Attempts)Pairings: SLIGHT Yuki/Shuichi... It's mostly one-sided, though
Warnings: Rated for: SH (Self-Harm), suicide attempts, and language.

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Key: "Talking" 'Thoughts'

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In Secret-
Chapter 2: I Could Be the Candy Cane at the "Meet Santa" Ordeals If I Wanted

The bathroom door is locked, shower running; I can hardly breathe. Blood caked on my arm. Blood that's not supposed to be there. Why does he insist on taking four showers a day when he barely leaves his office to get dirty in the first place?

My body shakes as I walk to the kitchen; I'll have to deal with washing it with dish soap and a sink hose that barely works.

It hurts; fingers can hardly move, sponge etching away at my cuts, taking dried blood off with every sweep. I pray the shower doesn't go off. These still need to be rewrapped…

Just as my arm is only red from sensitivity, the shower, of course, stops. I freeze. I listen. Bandages pooled around at my feet, sponge dropped in blood-tainted water that refused to go down fast enough, arms pressed against my stomach.

The door opens.

I tense.

Walking is distant.

I get ready to bolt.

Once again, everything is caught in my throat. I'm scared. He can't know.

The door slams.

I sigh relief.

He didn't come in the kitchen. The Gods are on my side right now. I pick my bandages up and walk back to the living room, claiming my rightful spot in the corner of the couch. Curled up, I hum nonsense as I concentrate on wrapping my arms.

I relax, tired. My eyes close, thankful for central heating, otherwise I'd be searching for the space blanket. I tuck an arm under my head and the other is against my stomach. I should sleep in the bed, but I'm too afraid of what he'd do… Say if he saw me curled at the foot, almost falling off.

The lump comes, I swallow it down. I try to sleep, arms burning. Thoughts racing. They taunt me of what he'd do if he'd ever found out. They tell me he'd call me pathetic. That I deserve the pain. That he'd refuse me; refuse to touch anything as disgusting as me.

I feel like crying. Eyes dry. The knives call out to me; saying that they can make the pain go away. I tremble.

I just redid these.

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip.

Chew open the scars.

I make a hole.

Tiny.

Blood drips into my mouth.

Blood drips down my mouth.

I can't relax.

Mind continues to taunt me.

I'm too wimpy.

I can't try it again.

There are other places to do it other than my arms.

He'll never check my stomach. My legs. My chest.

I slide off the couch. Feet move towards the kitchen. Knife rack my destiny.

I take the sashimi slicer and head to the bathroom.

Door locks behind me.

I drop the knife of the counter and turn the shower on. I strip, folding my clothes nicely and setting them on the toilet tank. The knife comes with me as I slip into the shower, curtains drawn.

I take a deep breath and put the blade to my upper thigh.

I drag it.

Press harder.

I drag it.

And press harder.

Red runs down my thigh.

Water runs down my face.

I feel nothing.

No relief and no pain.

I do it again.

Down my thigh.

And then down the other.

I stare.

I can feel.

I lie down in the shower. The water is red. I smile the best I could. I wonder if I look sane. Lying in a tub of blood, smiling.

I clear my mind for a few moments before I stand back up, swaying slightly. I quickly wash my hair, wash the blood off.

The tub is empty and I redress.

I take my spot back on the couch, curling up and listening to his quiet cursing.

I tense as I fall asleep…

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Author's Note: Sorry this one sucked. I just wanted to focus on the actual cutting for relief part in here. It's hard to write when you can barely think. I'll try better next time.

Please review, flame, anything. I don't care. I just want more. More than Sewn Shut.