HHHHHELLLLOOOO WORLD! Just your friendly NutNutty here! Yeah I know that I said I wasn't planing on writing on here, but here I am! Yeah, so this is my first story on here! BE NICE!

Warning: This story is planned to be a DARK FIC! But I promise that there will be light at the end of the tunnel!

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES! Nuff said!

Prologue

The blade danced and pranced across his skin in quick succession, like a ballerina glides gracefully on the very tip of her toes across a brightly lit stage. He sighed shakily, leaning against the bathroom door, waiting for the final lights to die and the voices to disappear. Pressing the blade to his wrist, he bit his lip to keep himself from crying out. Part of him prayed for the pain to stop, yet he carried on, not even hesitating once. He drew lines freely on his wrist freely, staining the skin a dark red.

His wrist a canvas, his paintbrush a bloodied razor. The blood poured freely down his arms, pooling down on the tiles below him and staining them a crimson red. He sighed and dipped a finger delicately into the pool of blood, swirling it around and creating all kinds of patterns. Laughing sarcastically, he flicked his fingers and watching the blood cover the shower curtain. He glanced down at his fingers, now stained a slight red.

He couldn't stop; the pain was like a drug to him, addicting and bittersweet. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, taking over the hurt he felt. The pain he suffered was nothing compared to the struggle he felt inside on a daily basis and it felt good to be able to block out the pain.

This was his coping mechanism, the way he dealt with life hardships and pain. He still did it, even after many years of hoping to be able to stop, for the scars to disappear. They were becoming harder to hide. When the blade scared his skin, it caused everything to be forgotten. He focused on the physical pain, despite it not lasting not nearly long enough for his liking. He sliced again, his skin splitting as easily as paper. The blood trickled down his palm and into his finger, gently dropping into the ever growing pool.

A single tear fell from a blood shot eye, sliding down a flushed check. A hand flew up and hastily whipped it away, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear away the tears. A smear of blood covered his left eye and left him squinting, seeing red. He dropped the razor and stumbled over to the sink, turning the tap on and splashing water in his face.

His eyes caught the mirror and for the first time in a while he got a full look at his face. No wonder his brothers and father were so worried, he looked like shit. Huge dark bags covered the skin under his eyes and his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and constant crying. His mask barely came off, he used it to hide his pain from his family. His face was pale and lacking the normal spark that usually coated his face.

Like an animal, he growled loudly and struck his fist out, colliding with the mirror. The glass shattered and fell to the ground, glistening in the low light of the bathroom. The tiny pieces hit the ground quietly, bouncing around his feet and occasionally nicking at bare skin. Sighing, he pulled his fist from the backing of the mirror and glanced down, plucking shards from his bare hands. Hissing in pain, he stuck his hand under the icy cold water, clearing away the blood that coated his knuckles.

He reached down and plucked a piece of the mirror, watching the way the edge of it caught the dim light in the bathroom. Trying desperately to resist, he lowered his hand towards his wrist. With a simple flick of a wrist, it was done. Blood once again poured down his hand, dripping silently into the ever growing pool. He pulled the bloodied shard to his face and threw it away in disgust, watching it hit the opposite wall and land innocently in the shower.

He put his head into his hands and pulled his knees up, sliding down the door. He felt a tear trickle down his check but didn't wipe it. Instead he let it roll down his face and watched as it sunk into the blood. He felt another follow closely behind and before he knew it, he was sobbing. His shoulders shook and small whimpers escaped his rough lips. He clamped a hand to his mouth and began to cry harder, his whole body shaking with the exhortation of keeping quiet.

The hurtful remarks, the looks, it all got to him. It didn't help that he was never good enough for anyone either, someone ALWAYS was better. He was on the outside a tough as guts guy, ready to protect his family with his life. The inside was a whole different story, he was a broken man. Pleading for someone, anyone to pull him into the arms and tell them it would be okay. He wanted to die, to end his suffering. The world would be better off without him anyway. No one cared anymore, no one listened. When he did do something good, it was always bettered by someone else. His father paid no attention to him, too busy praising his other brothers or teaching them something new.

It was always them, never we. They learnt something new, they went out together, they eat together, and they trained together. It was never with him though, always those 3. They didn't even bother asking anymore, just getting up and leaving without another word. It hurt, it really did. Though he never let it show, just disappearing into his room without a second glance.

He thought back to the day that this all started and fresh tears coated his face. His brother never could have realised those little words would cause so much pain. So much hurt.

"Just leave, you have caused this family enough pain!" His brother shouted, pointing harsh towards the door. He just stood there, before picking up his discarded weapon and walking out of the dojo, slamming the door loudly behind him. As soon as he heard the door close, he sprinted to his room and collapsed. He slid down the wall and crumbled, crying silently.

"His right though, all I ever do is cause pain. I hurt everyone around me," he whispered to himself, fingering his weapon. Before he knew what he was doing, the weapon was slicing across his wrist. It was only a gentle scrap, barely touching his skin but it still had the desired effect. The adrenaline coursed through his body and took over, forcing him to do it again and again.

Sighing, he wiped the tears from his face and stood, leaning under the running tap and removing any existence of blood. He picked a towel from the back of the cupboard and cleaned up the blood on the floor before throwing it into the washing machine. He turned it on as he picked up the stray pieces of mirror, throwing them in the bin under the sink. He reached over and picked up the forgotten razor, smiling as he watched the light dance around it.

Pain was his friend, the razor his perfect weapon

Yeah, so that's that! And yes, I am aware that I didn't mention a name, it's meant to be that way! Just to leave you hanging, haha! I know who its going to be, and you don't! Ha suck!

Please review, I know you probably read this all the time but for we authors, its like our giant pot of motivation! Please!

Oh and expect slow updates, I have a lot of stuff going on in my life right now!

NutNutty