A Pain Unspoken

By: Dark Hearted Shinobi

Disclaimer: Don't own Saiyuki

Chapter One

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"Gojyo?" The smooth feminine voice purrs smoothly through the half-light, startling me slightly.

"Yeah, babe?" I reply, pulling the cigarette from my lips, blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. I tap the ash out in the ashtray beside the bed, looking down at the girl curled beside me, the blankets covering both of our bodies, nude under the warm covers.

"What are these scars from?"

Her question confuses me for a moment, then I smirk. Most girls ask me about my scars. I have so many of them. The scars on my cheek from my mother. The faint scar above my heart where Sanzo shot the plant Chin Yeso hit me with. Several scars from fighting. I have many scars. I start to answer her when I realize which scars she is fingering, asking me about.

A series of small, white scars, located high on both my legs, running from my hip joint to nearly a fourth of the way down my thigh, straight, neatly lined up.

"Those? Oh. Those are. . . nothing. Just scars from my childhood." I lie.

She looks up at me, her dark eyes burning with questions. I stamp out my cigarette, then grab her face, pulling her into a kiss. She replies to the kiss passionately, her hands straying up my chest. My large hands stray down her bare back, plunging beneath the blankets, rubbing her tight ass. I got a good girl tonight. We're presently stopped for the night and this time, we were lucky enough to each get our own rooms. I had gone out early, looking for a chick and soon found the one I was currently bedding. I feel myself stiffening, then I flip our positions so she's on the bottom. Her black hair spreads out on the pillow as she smiles up at me, her eyes burning with the expectation. I smirk and start doing what I do best, enjoying the moans that escape from behind her full red lips.

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The next morning, she leaves early and I am left alone, satisfied for now. I lay on my back, smoking again. I remember the question from last night, sitting up, shoving the blankets back. I look down at the white scars, running a finger over one of the lines of scars. I remember when I first started sliding the knife through my own skin. I was eight and had realized that my mother wanted me dead. I wanted to commit suicide, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, not after watching my parents kill themselves. So I slit the skin high on my leg instead, knowing it was the one place no one looked. The girls I would bed saw them, but they didn't care. Hell, those girls didn't care about much as long as the pay and sex were good. For some, they didn't care what you looked like as long as the pay was good. I think. . . perhaps that my "chasing skirt," as Hakkai would say, is another form of cutting. I don't want a relationship. . . and yet I do. I don't really know why I do it. I talked to Hakkai about it once and he said that it was because of the torn relationship between my mother and me. I don't know though. A soft knock on my door provides a welcome interruption from my thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Gojyo, if you're ready, we're eating breakfast and leaving." Hakkai's voice comes through the wood of my door.

"Got it. I'll be out in a second."

"All right. We'll be downstairs. I'll order for you."

"Thanks. Keep the damn monkey away from it!" I reply. I hear Hakkai's laugh, then receding footsteps. I dress quickly, each item of clothing hiding more scars, becoming something like an armor against the rest of the world. I check my reflection in the mirror, smirk, then grab my pack and head downstairs to join the rest of my group.

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Um. . . I have no idea what this is supposted to be. It's just drabble. I'm having a really bad day and just needed to get some stuff out, so I sat down and this is what came out. Sorry if it makes no sense and if it sucks. But I hope someone likes it. Please review if you found this even slightly enjoyable. If you like it, I have three more chapters. Let me know what you think.