So I got majorly inspired to write this story because I just started group therapy last night (yes I am one fucked up individual) and it was interesting, everyone seemed nice at least. Anyway, it gave me the idea for this story, and I want to write a Grelliam fic, so here ya go. This will be a yaoi story but in much later chapters, it shall just be rated T for now. There will be self harm/eating disorder content, and language. You have been warned. So, without further ado, I present my second kuroshitsuji fic, The Dark Side of Me. I own nothing.

The older man sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples, exasperated that the young shinigami had landed himself in his office again. It seemed all he knew how to do was cause trouble, and he cared for nothing else; not his grades or studies or ever his reputation. He simply didn't give a shit about anything, ever since he came to the shinigami academy he had been nothing but a nuisance. The headmaster of the school, Thomas Russell, was fed up; he'd given this boy so many chances, offered him help and support, shown far more lenience than was deserved, but none of it ever mattered. It seemed he had no choice. He turned to the young redhead who was standing next to the large window on the west side of the room, staring indifferently at the busy street below. His eyes were dull and blank as usual, and his mouth seemed permanently fixed in a scowl. He was different than the other students, for one his fiery red hair was always unkempt and stuck out like a sore thumb, as well as his razor-sharp teeth. The man sighed again and stood, making his way over to the redhead cautiously, noting the injuries he had sustained last time he blew that short fuse.

"Mr. Sutcliff." He began in a soft yet firm tone. As he expected, he was completely ignored.

The man cleared his throat and tried again. "Grell Sutcliff, I am trying to speak with you."

Grell crossed his arms over his chest, still not looking away from the apparently fascinating scene below him. "Well, isn't that nice. Tell someone who gives a rat's ass."

Thomas knew better than to reprimand him for his foul mouth; all that would accomplish would be anger from the redhead, and he didn't want that. "Grell, I want to know why you thought it appropriate to place a lit match into a classroom full of students; do you have any idea what could have happened?"

Grell rolled his eyes. "Nothing, given that you didn't let me finish what I was doing."

The man's voice rose in pitch a tad. "So you're disappointed we confiscated the full gas can you had on your person with the intent of blowing the building up?"

"Naturally, that was my point all along; all you did was ruin any chance I had at any excitement today." He spoke as if discussing the weather, nonchalant and uncaring. Thomas took a deep breath lest he not lose his temper.

"Grell, you could have killed someone, you could have killed everyone in that room. As a shinigami your job is to safely collect the souls of those who die their scheduled deaths; I know you have a fascination with the concept of death, but that gives you no right or excuse to endanger innocent people with your pranks and schemes. You have done nothing but cause problems since day one."

"Will you get to the point old man? Your voice is quite annoying, and I have elsewhere I would like to be." The young reaper had remained staring out the window this entire time, his voice reeking with boredom and apathy. The headmaster decided it was time to bite the bullet.

"Grell Sutcliff, your actions and behaviors have been found unacceptable many times since your enrollment at this academy. I am afraid with your uncooperative attitude you leave me no choice; you are being sent to the group home for troubled men that is on site. You are to live there, attend therapy and take medication as the doctors see fit, and stay there until you get yourself straightened out. You do not get a say in the matter, it has been decided." Thomas braced himself, for he knew a storm would be coming. Sure enough.

"Tch. You honestly think you have the power to force me to go anywhere?"

"Sutcliff, you are going, there are no ifs ands or butts about it."

Grell laughed; it wasn't a happy or pleasant sound, but a crazed and bitter laugh, one that made Mr. Russell's hair stand on end.

"Okay, well you let me know how that works out for you; I must be going, you've wasted far too much of my time."

Grell turned to leave the room with a triumphant smirk on his face that quickly faded when he was blocked by two men who were much larger and stronger than him. Although it only faded for a second, for of course he wouldn't let this deter him; in the blink of an eye he pulled a pocketknife out and rammed it onto one of the large men's arm, forcing the man to stumble backwards a bit and hiss in pain. Grell grinned devilishly, fang-like teeth glistening.

"See what happens if you get in my way? Now, if you'll excuse me sir." He made to push past the other man but not before turning to the headmaster. "You can go to hell old man."

A mistake on his part, for while he had his back turned the man in front of him pulled a syringe full of bright blue liquid from his pocket and jabbed the hypodermic needle into the redheads arm, injecting the liquid quickly. Grell yelped in surprise, but by the time he had turned around and slapped the mad across the face it was too late; he had already been given the drugs.

"And just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Grell snarled, anger rolling off of him like a heat wave. The man said nothing, watching silently, and within minutes Grell fell to the ground, out cold from the sedation, his breathing slow and even. Thomas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I had wanted to avoid that method, but I feared he would become violent. I don't see how he keeps getting those knives back after we take them away." He turned to the two men and nodded. "I thank you, if you will please transport him to the facility now, and you go and see to your arm. I apologize on behalf of this school."

"Nah, it's alright, don't worry 'bout me. Just a mere scratch this is." The man was quite chipper and upbeat, Thomas found it a bit strange, but shrugged it off.

"Well, I am relieved to hear it. Once again, I thank you for your services. I'd hurry if I were you; knowing him he won't be out long."

The uninjured man picked Grell up, hoisting him up on his shoulder, and exited the room silently, while his companion scurried off to the infirmary to get patched up. Thomas slumped in his desk chair, hoping fiercely that he was making the right decision here.

"Wha? Where am I?" Grell slowly came to in a strange room; it was dimly lit and fairly small. He was lying on a rather soft bed; he tried to move his arms and legs but found he couldn't. He was a baffled and a bit disoriented and was about to demand he be untied when he heard a door open to his right. He looked up the best he could and saw a young fair haired nurse carrying a clipboard and smiling warily at him.

"Good afternoon Mr. Sutcliff; I see you are awake."

He stared at her dully, still a bit drugged. "Where am I and why can't I move?"

She bowed a bit. "My apologies sir; I am Marie, I am your admitting nurse. And you are in the mental illness ward of our institution. I am afraid we must keep you here for observation for a bit."

Grell glared at her and his voice rose a bit, his tone angry. "Mental illness? Why the hell do I need to be here?"

Marie frowned slightly. "Well Mr. Sutcliff, we have seen many many patients come through this facility; we know all the signs of the illnesses we treat, we know someone who is suffering from one when we see it."

"Oh? And just what is it I'm suffering from?" He asked in a quiet yet dangerous tone.

She sighed and adjusted her violet rimmed glasses that matched her eyes. "Those marks and scars on your arms Mr. Sutcliff; we know what they are, and what you did. It's okay, you don't need to hide here. All we are going to do is figure out why you did it so we can help you stop doing it."

"Dammit, you bitch." Grell cursed loudly, causing Marie to blanch and drop her clipboard. She had been called many things, mostly by patients who were heavily drugged, but it was rare a man used such foul language against her.

"Excuse me sir, that is no way for you to speak to a lady!" She chastised. He growled at her and began struggling against his restraints.

"Do you honestly think I give a damn who or what you are? Why would I? You're just another person who is in my way, another who doesn't understand! You best untie me and then leave me the fuck alone miss." He spat the last word as if it was a foul taste in his mouth; the young lady merely sighed and picked her clipboard up.

"I am afraid I cannot do that yet Mr. Sutcliff; you must stay here for a few more hours. After that you will be moved to your permanent residence here, but we shall be keeping a close eye on you, have no doubt. And if you refuse to cooperate with us you will never get to leave this place; it's nothing personal, but we typically don't like our patients to stay for extended periods of time. We prefer that you would cooperate and let us help you. Does that sound agreeable to you?"

Grell laughed, exasperated and a bit frazzled. "No! It doesn't sound the least bit agreeable, I have no desire to work with or cooperate with any of you. Do you understand that? Does the word no register in your nonexistent brain?"

"Mr. Sutcliff-"

"Get out of here, filthy wench." He spat at her and pulled his hand up as much as he could, flashing his middle finger to her. "I'm done."

Finally giving up, the girl nodded once and exited the room silently, shutting the door behind her. Grell sighed in frustration and lay back down, drifting off in a light drug induced haze.

When he woke a few hours later he was in another room in another bed, only this time he was covered in a thick blanket and was able to move his arms and legs; he was not however able to leave the windowless room, as he discovered after trying to pry the heavy metal door open. He huffed and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking around for the first time. The room was actually quite nice; beside the bed was a night table with a few drawers and a matching dresser sat on the wall opposite the bed; there was a small closet next to it and another door on the left wall, which he could only assume led to the bathroom. The other side of the room mirrored his; he wondered if anyone else lived there, though he doubted it because it seemed completely empty. His bag and one other were piled neatly at the foot of his bed, no doubt containing all of his belongings; how nice of them to pack his things before drugging him and sending him off to some freak house against his will. He ran his fingers through his disheveled red locks, anxiety starting to set in. On the surface of course he was stone cold, never showing any emotion at all, and he would damn sure never admit to anyone that he felt any. But he did, because he was weak and worthless, and it only made him loathe himself more.

He got up and slowly made his way into the bathroom, noting the clock on his nightstand that read 3:24 A.M. Surely no one would be watching him at this time of night; he couldn't let anyone discover his secret.

He knew his beloved knife was gone; he was sure they'd searched his bags and disposed of any sharp objects he had. He flipped the light switch and was blinded for a few seconds until his eyes adjusted to the brightness, then he waltzed over to the sink and stood in front of it.

Yes, they took his precious blades; they did a thorough check of him and his belongings to be sure he had no more sharp objects left.

But it seemed they hadn't been thorough enough.

Gazing momentarily at his reflection, he took a deep breath and bent his head over the sink. He squeezed his eyes shut and quickly shoved two of his fingers to the back of his throat to induce vomiting, retching and coughing up the contents of his stomach. There wasn't much in there given that he hadn't eaten anything for several hours; he didn't know how many. However, the object he was after was in there, and it feel into the sink with a plop.

It was a strange object for one to keep in their gut; a small rectangle that was heavily wrapped in what appeared to be medical tape. He wiped his mouth and took a moment to catch his breath before picking the object up, smiling like a Cheshire cat as he began to unwrap it, revealing a sharp thin razorblade. He rolled the sleeve of his nightshirt, which he knew the hospital had dressed him in as it was plain and not at all flattering, then pressed the cold metal to the already marred skin of his right forearm, lightly at first, just extracting a few droplets of blood, then harder, deeper, moving up and down, over scars and scabs and the small amount of untouched skin he still had; he no longer cared to have any sort of rhyme or reason to it, just move to blade blindly, mechanically, bring forth the blood and sharp stinging pain that numbed his senses and calmed his nerves. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, stopping only when his arm was coated with blood, the pain and cleanup taking all of his focus; suddenly it didn't matter where he was or what tomorrow may bring.

"At least you understand; you're the only one who does." He cooed softly. He went back into the room and opened his bag, digging out his first aid kit, leaving a trail of blood droplets in his wake. Once he found it he cleaned and wrapped his arm carefully and rewrapped the razorblade, placing it inside his mattress through a small opening on the side of it. Once he accomplished that and cleaned the blood from the floor and the sink, he pulled something else out of his bag; something he never wanted anyone to see, yet he felt he couldn't live without.

It was a heart shaped locket, gold with small rubies encrusted on the front of it. On the back there was an inscription in French; Grell held it by the delicate chain then read it out loud to himself. "Toujours dans mon Coeur."

He then clicked the button on top of it and it popped open, revealing a small photo; a photo of a beautiful woman with bright red hair. In her arms she held a small child with matching hair, and both were smiling and laughing, happiness radiating from them.

Grell studied it for a moment, tears pooling in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks; seeing that happiness now was like pouring salt on the wounds. Those days were long gone, never to return; all he had to hold onto was despair. And it was all because of him.

A sob escaped his throat and it angered him; he hated his weakness, that he couldn't be stronger. He hated himself, because he knew he'd let her down.

He pressed his lips gently to the photo then clutched the locket tightly against his chest, lying down on his side and curling up, silent sobs racking his small frame. After a few minutes he began to calm down, feeling exhausted and weak. He uttered a four more words softly before he finally gave in and feel into a deep sleep.

"Mere, tu me manques."