I just need to bleed (AKA Three-Day Doom)

[moonshadows]

            Sanzo's eyes open. His aura goes from roiling dark with vivid blue streaks to flaring white - panic - then fiery red - rage - and then with an almost-audible snap settles into its usual deep blue. The glare he's leveling at me is his 'keep everything at arms' length until I can get my mental feet under me' mask, and his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the sight of me in the room's only chair. My smile is gone, replaced with a blank expression. Behind my eyes, panic and anger seethe, but I will not let them out. Not until I've gotten an answer.

            "Where's my gun." The words are a clipped demand, Sanzo's own panic and rage barely held in check.

            Your gun is in the hands of a concerned Sha Gojyo, guarded by a worried Son Goku, both of whom are in the common room. Neither of them know where it was when I took it from you, but both of them saw the tiny bit that bled out from behind my masks and showed on my face, and it scared them. That's what I want to say. I want to lash out like I did in the days before I had a name; I want to hit all the vulnerable points I know are there behind the masks and pierce Sanzo with my words until he bleeds an explanation onto the floor. But I don't.

            "I'm not going to tell you where I hid your gun, and you're not getting it back until you tell me why it was where it was." My voice is quiet, very tightly controlled. I am being militantly neutral lest I jump to an incorrect conclusion - after all, just because I can't imagine a valid reason for Sanzo to have had his revolver cocked, ready to fire, and aimed at his own temple doesn't mean there isn't a valid reason.

            Sanzo meets my eyes with a pained, haunted look for the barest instant, and then his gaze slides away. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, propped as he is in the corner, robe and sutra slightly rumpled from having been slept in. Several minutes later, it's obvious he's not going to say anything.

            "We're both used to going without food for the better part of the day, and there's a chamber pot under the bed. Neither of us are leaving this room until you tell me what you were doing, and why." There is an intensity in my tone that Sanzo has only heard a handful of times, such as when Chin Yisou was playing his sick games with us. I can see him flinch away, further into the corner, but he doesn't say anything.

            That's fine. I can sit in one spot just as long as he can.

            Minutes of silence spin out into a half hour, then an hour. The silence grows thick between us, a cloud of tension and things unsaid. I am doing my best to keep from being either angry or panicking, channeling both emotions into the almost agressively calm aura I am projecting. The iron shield of neutrality encircling me holds time in check until I get an answer. One hour becomes two. The patch of sun coming in through the window creeps down the wall and starts moving across the floor. My gaze bores into Sanzo, a silent demand that beats against him as he hunches over in the corner in a ball of misery. The sun keeps moving; through the wall, I can hear stirrings from Gojyo and Goku. They were expecting an explosion when I locked myself in here, and the continued silence is wearing on their nerves as badly as it is mine. With nothing else to distract me, my thoughts run in the same tight circle, replaying the events of this morning.

            The other two had already started breakfast when I'd come out of Sanzo's room like a portent of doom; I'd gone to wake him, only to find him propped up in the corner. To all appearances, he had lost consciousness rather than fallen asleep; he was still fully dressed, and his gun was in his hand. What made my blood freeze was seeing the hammer cocked. His right arm was propped on one knee, the barrel resting against his temple. That's when the panic started. That's when the rage was born, and my habitual smile died.

            I had stalked out of the room, Sanzo's gun in my hand, and asked Gojyo to hold it for me. Goku was already eating, but he stopped and got up from the table at the look on my face, and asked quietly what was wrong. I don't know, I told him, but I'm going to find out. I want you and Gojyo to keep this safe for me until I come back for it. They'd nodded, and Gojyo accepted the gun. Oh, and please don't come near Sanzo's room until I say so. It wasn't a threatening statement, but from the look on my face and my tone of voice, they knew that it would be safer for them to jump into a pit of vipers than to eavesdrop at Sanzo's door.

            That was breakfast; lunch has come and gone, and still the silence thickens. It is like a glass wall between us now, stealing the words that Sanzo occasionally looks about ready to say. I have not moved except to breathe and blink. The sun keeps moving, climbing up my body, moving over my shoulder and clinging to the wall.

            "I've kept my promise to you." Sanzo jumps at my words; accusation and bitterness seep into them despite my best efforts. "I'd hoped that you held me in enough respect to keep yours." That betrayal is what ate at me, what made me crack before Sanzo did. I tried not to, but I gave in and jumped to the obvious conclusion. I don't want to accuse Sanzo like that. Surely now he'll speak, surely he'll protest and correct me.

            There is a crack in the silence; Sanzo looks at me guiltily, hopelessly.

            "I know I'm not allowed to die."

            Not allowed to die. His tone is resigned, weary. Is that what his promise to me is? A restriction, an imposition? The rage cools, and out of its ashes the guilt rises and claws my stomach open.

            "Then why were you trying?" The intensity is no longer there; my words are tinged with pain and concern, nothing more. It was wrong of me to make him promise to live. I had no right to demand that of him. Still, I'd hoped . . . but I have no right to hope. I have no right to happiness. Sanzo's desires come before my own. My need to know that he'll continue to live in order to be able to comfortably continue to live myself . . . if Sanzo desires death, my wants are forfeit and I will release him from his promise.

            There is a long pause, then -

            "I'm tired of making things worse."

            Intellectually, I know that Sanzo had a string of disasters follow him when he was younger. A lot of situations that he entered to try to help wound up blowing up in his face, as though everything he tried to do was doomed to failure, and everyone he tried to help was doomed to death. In recent years, however, that luck had changed. I lived, despite everything. Goku lived. Gojyo lived. And we were able to fix a number of problems, help a lot of people. Intellectually, there should be no reason for him to still feel that his efforts only make things worse. However, I am all too aware that what logic and intellect claim to be truth, the heart can gleefully reject as a lie.

“And is killing yourself going to make it better?” I try to make my tone as gentle and supportive as it can be, a reminder of all the things he’s done that have helped.

“I won’t actually go through with it while I still have things to take care of.” Sullen resentment, long-suffering weariness.

Things to take care of. I guess his promise to me meant nothing to him after all, and I am no longer one of those ‘things’ he has to take care of. I’ve used my life and my health as bargaining chips in the past, using the threat of self-abuse to get him to stop abusing himself, but it seems that my fate is no longer something he concerns himself with. That hurts more than the idea that Sanzo would break his promise to me, and some of that pain slips out as I use my other ace-in-the-hole to try to reach some part of Sanzo still capable of feeling shame.

“What about Goku?” Sanzo starts as though he’s just been stung. “Will he become just another relic to be handed to your successor?” My words are more bitter than I’d meant them to be.

            Sanzo presses himself further into the corner, and I can see white-and-black streaks flickering through his chi - guilt, self-loathing. I hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but I don’t know what else to do to drag him out of this. At least he still cares what happens to Goku.

            “. . . I won’t abandon him,” Sanzo whispers, and that hopeless resignation is back in his voice.

            The cold, calculating part of me rises, and I am in too much pain to beat it down into the dark corner it crawled out of. I can feel my face twisting into a sarcastic parody of surprise. “Then you won’t be breaking your promise to me until Goku’s dead? Well, I’ll sleep better at night, knowing that.”

I can almost see my mocking words slice into Sanzo; misery and guilt bleed through his chi as he tries to bury his face in his shoulder.

“I’ll keep my word.”

It’s a concession, a statement of absolute defeat, and suddenly I don’t want to be here. I’ve broken a vow older than my name and deliberately hurt Sanzo, and what’s worse, I don’t know how to fix it. I feel broken, as though only my oaths are holding me together, and on top of it all, the anger is starting to claw its way back up out of the guilt. I stand up abruptly; I got my answer, even if it’s one that hurts worse than if Sanzo had just shot me. I have to keep my word, and if I stay here, the anger will get away from me and I’ll say more things that will only hurt both of us. Sanzo doesn’t move as I unlock the door and leave the room.

I have no idea what’s on my face as I enter the common room. Goku looks up as I enter, hope written across his face as though I were a miracle incarnate – but only for an instant, and then it is swallowed up by deep, gnawing worry. Gojyo stands up wearily, as though he’s been pacing.

“What’s going on?” His eyes rake over my face, and even as he asks the question, he knows I’m not going to tell him anything.

“May I have the gun back now, please?” There’s no way my tone is as polite as the words are, and Gojyo looks at me warily.

“What’re you gonna do with it?” He’s not quite edging away from me, but he’s damn close.

“I’m going to give it back.” This time, my words are empty of anything but finality. Gojyo nods once and hands the revolver back to me. “Thank you, Gojyo.” I bow slightly and walk out of the room, two sets of pensive eyes on my back as I do.

Sanzo doesn’t look up as I enter the room or walk towards him. It is only when the handle of the gun enters his field of vision that he glances up at me, then away.

The anger flares at his unresponsiveness, and my fingers tighten slightly around the barrel. “If you ever use this on yourself, make sure there are two rounds.” I bite the words off, trying with the last shreds of my self-control to not snap and scream at him. No response from Sanzo. “And don’t name me your successor, because I won’t be sticking around. I have someone waiting for me the same as you do, and she died avenged.”

He moves then, and at first I think he’s going to attack me for slighting Koumyou like that, but he just grabs the gun and tosses it to the side without looking. My hands clench, and I force myself to walk out of the room and close the door behind me. The shreds of my self-control are fraying as I enter the common room again. This time, two morose stares greet me.

“I’m going out for a little bit. No more than an hour or two.” Two nods; I slip into the kitchen and grab a sharp knife before leaving through the back door of the inn.

There are woods not seventy feet from the back of the inn; I walk for a quarter of an hour, until I find a little clearing with a boulder off to one side. Carefully, I set the knife on the rock and disrobe. Each article of clothing is folded neatly and set on top of the boulder, with my sash and eyepiece on top of the pile. Naked, I take the knife and step away, moving to the center of the clearing.

It wasn’t quite a promise; Sanzo never specified and I never agreed, but it was understood that I would never hurt myself in penance again. I break that agreement as the knife slices into me and my sinner’s blood, my tainted youkai blood, runs down to coat my skin in a red film. Kanan . . . Sanzo . . . I’m sorry. I just need to bleed for a while so that I don’t snap, so that I don’t say words I know will hurt beyond any healing, so that I don’t do anything to inflict the pain of this abandonment and betrayal on anyone else. Again the knife opens a stream of blood, and again, and again until my entire body from the neck down is covered in blood that flows from dozens of shallow cuts. Some curve in elegant arcs; others are short, harsh slashes. I let the knife drop from blood-slick fingers and just stand there, bleeding out my anguish to the silent forest.

Perhaps half to three-fourths of an hour pass like that, and then I come back to myself. The cuts have mostly stopped bleeding; I run glowing hands over my body to heal the cuts closed and cleanse the blood from my skin. Slowly, I dress myself and make my way back to the inn. The anger has drained out with my blood; now I am empty. My chi is dull inside of me. I’ve drained it pretty badly by bleeding so much, but it’s not wholly responsible for my desire to find a dark hole and just cease to exist.

Goku and Gojyo are whispering together when I come back into the inn; I ask them if they’ll be okay without me for a while, and they say yes. Good. I walk down the corridor, in the direction of the room I'm sharing with Gojyo, but stop at the door.

I don’t want to face Sanzo, or try to explain this to Gojyo. I don’t want to put on the masks, don’t want to be the smiling automaton that looks after everyone else. Not if Sanzo doesn’t care what happens to me. If his promise to me is as empty as I feel, then by all rights my promise to him would be null and void.

And then, Kanan . . .

The inn has two stories and an attic. It is there that I find myself, at the top of a narrow, dusty wooden staircase. The attic door opens easily enough, and light from the setting sun floods the room, making the thick dust in the air look like flecks of gold. I shut the door behind me and cross the floor to the little round window. The chimney is right next to it; I sit with my back against the rough brick and rest my right temple against the dusty glass, knees up and arms wrapped around them. I can see the woods from here, through the dust. The window faces west; I’ll be able to see the others when they leave.

And when they’ve gone ahead without me, I’ll just sit here until I crumble into the dust. If they leave, I’ll know I wasn’t needed. I’ll know I’m not hurting Sanzo anymore; that he really doesn’t care what happens to me. And then I’ll rejoin Kanan.

The sun sets; darkness and silence wrap me in a cocoon. Kanan’s corpse appears, propped against the wall right across from me, but the sight doesn’t bother me. We look at each other, dead eyes staring into dead eyes, until the dawn banishes her. With one corner of my brain I watch the forest; the rest of me is already dead. The dust I disturbed has settled evenly over everything, me included. I haven’t moved since I sat down. The sun sets, but the others haven’t left. I guess they’re having problems prying Sanzo out of his room.

When night falls, I’m not even aware of Kanan’s specter if it appears. Dawn gets a brief flicker of awareness, but nothing else. Night again. It doesn’t matter; I’m already dead. Day. Movement.

A spark of awareness flares to life; Goku running through the woods, Gojyo following close behind. And there, further behind them –

Sanzo.

An echo of the pain and rage I’d felt surfaces, and Sanzo looks sharply up and behind him. He scans the side of the inn, then turns around and walks away, going back the way the other two had come.

Time passes, but I do not pass through it and so cannot measure it.

The attic door opens with a bang, and I know that it is Sanzo. His fury washes over me, then dies. Sanzo stumbles a few steps into the attic and then stops, shock and bewilderment prodding at me from ten paces. He’d expected to find my murderer, if I’m reading his chi right. The rage that had washed over me was tinged with a desire for vengeance. I take a deep breath; it seems Sanzo does care about me after all. That means I have responsibilities to attend to. I stand up, the first movement in three days, dust glinting gold as it dances around us.

“I suppose you should go tell them you found me.” There is no Right Speech there; just emptiness.

Sanzo nods once, stiffly.

“I’ll be in the bath.” He doesn’t move as I walk past him, feeling like a wooden manikin.

It takes several buckets poured over my body before the dust is washed off; several more, both hot and cold, before I feel like a living thing again. Three days of starvation on the heels of massive blood loss has taken its toll on me. My body was healed and sustained, but I will need to eat a lot, and soon, or I will start to damage myself as my body feeds on my life-force. I don’t bother to chi-clean my clothes, just give them a thorough shaking to dislodge the dust before dressing and searching out the others.

It's not hard to find them; they are waiting for me in the dining room. Half-eaten dinners sit before Goku and Gojyo, cooled and thoroughly picked at. Sanzo huddles miserably at the far end, glare blurring into an exhausted stare that does not leave the cup in his hands when I pause in the doorway. The other two leap to their feet and drag me just inside the room, babbling questions and bits of explanation as they alternately hug and pat me. I don't think they even realize that while they attempt to drown each other out with inquiries, their hands are nervously touching my arms and back as though to reassure themselves that I exist. My standard smile slips into place and I automatically make reassuring motions, voice cool and soothing as meaningless apologies and vague assurances come forth in a steady stream. Once the initial outburst subsides, they return to their places at the table and the energy seems to drain out of them. It is as though now that the crisis is over, they have the luxury of reaction and the aftermath of what must have been three days of panic suddenly sets in. Goku's exuberance fades, leaving him angry and worried at the same time; he jabs at his plate, every line in his body tense and irritated. Gojyo lights a cigarette and now that I have a chance to look at him, he looks like hell. I discover that I'm not as empty inside as I thought I was. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his hand trembles as he lights yet another cigarette off the smouldering butt of the old one - these open a bleeding wound deep inside me and guilt oozes out, filling me slowly until I am merely a vessel for shame and worthlessness more intense than what I'd felt for snapping at Sanzo. I can feel my own hands start to tremble, but most of that is lack of food. Gojyo glances up at me where I stand frozen in the doorway, then sighs and stares blankly at his overflowing ashtray. He is too burned out to do much else.

The serving girl hovers uncertainly by me; I smile my usual mask at her and order lots of food. She leaves, and I quietly seat myself at the table. Ash drops from Gojyo's abandoned cigarette and starts a miniature landslide in the ashtray. He must have been chain-smoking these last few days. He isn't actually smoking now, he's just holding the cigarette in a nervous habit, clinging to the familiar motions in the same way a child clutches a well-loved blanket. There is silence for a long minute, and I fight down the desire to harm myself more for having caused Gojyo to worry like this - for forgetting that the corpse that stares back at me at night is occasionally his. My oath holds me to him as well as Sanzo, and even though Sanzo is usually the one who demands my attention, it is unforgivable that I forgot about Gojyo. That in my childish temper-tantrum over Sanzo pulling away, I forgot that Gojyo needs me to live, as well.

"Hey. You really ok?" Gojyo shoves the half-burned cigarette into the pile in the ashtray, causing half the contents to spill onto the table. His voice is empty now of everything but exhaustion.

I smile, but it is a mask. "I'll be fine once I've eaten." The cheerful tone of my words is a lie, another layer to the mask, and no one here is fooled by it. I lock my gaze on my clenched hands because if I don't, my mask is going to slip and I don't know what will bleed out from behind it. Goku snorts; Sanzo drains his cup in a nervous motion and stands up.

"Sanzo?" Goku looks up, concerned, chi flashing like lightning behind a bank of clouds.

"I'm going to bed." The finality kills any possibility of arguing. He stalks out and I sense him leave; a roiling black cloud moving through my peripheral vision.

I should do something; I know it's because of me that his chi is so restless, but I just don't have the strength yet. I watch him go, guilt gnawing at me, but I know I need to eat. I won't do anyone any good if I pass out.

Goku rakes a glare over me and, presumably, Gojyo. "I'm going to bed, too." You're all a bunch of idiots, his tone says.

He gets up and slouches off as the serving girl comes back, and there is silence as Gojyo lights another cigarette that doesn't get smoked and I feed my starving body more than it has any right to hold. Gojyo doesn't say anything, just watches me with tired eyes as I eat. Three more cigarettes are lit and die without touching his lips before I finally push back the last plate.

"You comin' to bed?" Gojyo stubs the last cigarette out and runs his hands through his hair. It is another nervous habit, touching the reminders of his past, the scars that still bleed in places I can't reach with chi-healing.

I nod, still not trusting my masks to stay in place, and Gojyo heaves himself up from the table. Silently I follow suit, feeling guilty that he's stumbling tiredly while my movements are smooth and sure. When he throws one hand out to save his balance, I catch it and slide under his arm. His chi is usually a bright, smooth magenta. The fact that there is now muddy gray bubbling up through it just serves to emphasize how horribly I've treated him these last three days. He leans against me, hand gripping my shoulder as I walk him back to our double room. My bed is still made; I never so much as sat on it. His bed is a tangle of sheets and blanket, and when he throws himself down onto it, he does not let go of my shoulder.

Just like three years ago, I find myself sharing a single bed with Gojyo. One arm wraps around me, hand flat against my chest as though Gojyo were trying to feel my heartbeat, to reassure himself that yes, I am alive and he is not alone. The other hand is draped almost tenderly over my hips, hand cupped protectively over the scar that almost killed me twice. He used to hold me like this, back when I was Gonou and he wasn't asking. He wasn't selfless enough to sleep on the floor, he said. He worked to keep me in one piece, he said, and he wanted to make sure I didn't re-open the wound in my sleep. I believed him, then, and was grateful that someone cared. However, once I came back from the temple with a new name and a pool of chi, I learned the reasons he would never say aloud. I lived his nightmares, felt the pain of his stepmother's rejection, felt that it would be better if I just died because I could never make her happy. I would never gain her love, never feel her arms around me. She would never hug me the way she hugged Jien, as though he were the most precious thing in the world. Even the more pleasant dreams made my heart cry for him as he sought that love and acceptance in the arms of a countless stream of nameless, faceless women. But none of them ever held him as though he were their treasure; none of them loved him for who he was rather than how he made them feel, so he smiled at them and gave them meaningless words and moved on. And then, in the nightmares that left me shaking as he whimpered and pressed his face against the back of my neck, he was alone. Alone, in the darkness, with nothing and nobody, a child once again with blood for hair and eyes crying out for someone, anyone. Someone to touch, someone to reassure him that he even existed there in the black void. It was those nightmares that drove me to convert the storage closet into a second room and sleep alone, smiling and apologizing for occupying Gojyo's bed and reassuring him that I wouldn't mind if he came in late at night with company. I didn't know how to answer the cries that Gojyo didn't even know he was making. I still don't.

He is shuddering, clinging to me like he did back then, his chi writhing in muddy grays streaked with red and crying soundlessly with the need for human contact. Selfishly, I am grateful as always that there is nothing sexual in that need. I owe Gojyo my life and if he ever made that demand I would comply, but it would break things I've worked hard to rebuild, shatter my stability and leave me broken, and then Sanzo would likely try to kill Gojyo or at least wound him severely, and I would be put in the position of trying to keep my two reasons for living from killing each other. But Gojyo would never make that demand, never force himself on a partner that was not completely willing. He just needs physical contact, needs to know that I am safe and whole.

            I can do that. I owe him that, and more – and I owe him an apology.

            “Gojyo?” I touch his arm awkwardly, and feel him shift slightly. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

            He sniffles, trying to get his usual smooth tone back. “Just…tell us, next time you need to leave, okay? Where’ve you been, anyway?”

            “…the attic.” Shame colors the word.

            “Sorry.” Gojyo’s voice flinches away as though he’d hit a sore spot.

            “Why are you apologizing, Gojyo? You did nothing wrong. This was entirely my fault.”

            He sighs, breath ruffling my hair.

            “Gojyo, there’s no excuse for what I did. Is there anything I can do that would make up for the trouble I put you through these past three days?” Silence is my only answer. “Gojyo, I’m sorry.”

            “No problem.” The words are muffled against my neck.

            With one hand, I manage to reach over my shoulder. I was going for Gojyo’s shoulder, but he shifts suddenly and starts shaking again, and it is his cheek my fingertips brush. “If it were no problem,” I say softly, “you wouldn’t be shaking like that.” Gojyo’s arms tighten around me. “I’ve wronged you horribly. What can I do to make it right?”

My voice is raw with repressed guilt; I am almost begging, but Gojyo doesn’t answer. He just holds me and shudders, breathing brokenly into my neck. I put one hand on his wrist and carefully, subtlety, soothe him with my chi. It takes several minutes before Gojyo’s breathing evens out, and his chi shifts into the deep maroon of sleep. I push him deeper – he really needs to rest after what must have been three days of hell – and silently slip out of the room.

Surprisingly, Sanzo hasn’t locked the door. Then again, it’s entirely possible that he wasn’t sober enough to work the lock. He’s sleeping heavily, back to the room, his chi all muddied greenish-grey and dark maroon. Alcohol is easy to purge from a body, and I owe him this. I metabolize the worst of it before propping myself up against the dresser on the far wall. If I cleansed his body of all the alcohol, he’d know I did and be all the grumpier for it the next morning. Sanzo is surlier when he has no excuse to be surly, and I’ve never quite figured out why. As an afterthought, I get up and lock the door, then sit hugging my knees, leaning slightly against the dresser. My sleep, as always, is light and I slip easily between half-nightmares fashioned from memories, and a state just below waking where I am aware of what’s around me, but not conscious. A skewed memory of a youkai with a bow suddenly turns into a pillow coming at me, and I open my eyes as I catch it. Sanzo is glaring from beneath the blanket. I wait a moment, but he does not turn away. I could just take the pillow and not say anything, but my own emotional wound is still raw and there is something I have to tell him. Better to get it over with now; come morning I won’t have a chance.

“Sanzo?”

The glare intensifies slightly.

“I know I’m not allowed to die, and I’ll keep my word, but…” I shouldn’t be throwing his words back at him, but he deserves to know my reasons for what I did. “…sometimes, the letter of the promise isn’t enough, is it?”

“What do you want from me?” The words are full of frustration and anguish.

“The same thing you want from me,” I reply calmly, “but I know I won’t get that.” No accusation, just acceptance.

Sanzo doesn’t answer. If it weren’t for the glare, I’d think he was asleep.

“Sanzo? I’m sorry I woke you.”

I put the pillow on the floor and curl up, slipping back into the dream-maze that passes for my sleep. Across the room, I can hear Sanzo pulling the covers over his head again. I get up at dawn and leave silently, closing the door behind me. I can’t say that my stunt helped anything, but hopefully I didn’t cause too much damage, either. Goku will likely pretend this incident never happened, and Gojyo is sure to bounce back into his usual self by midday, but…I can’t shake the feeling that behind his walls and masks, Sanzo is more broken than usual. This journey has forced him to face bits of himself that he’d prefer to pretend don’t exist, and if things keep going the way they are, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep his mind in one piece. I chew on that worry for a minute, then push it aside and do the only thing I really can do.

            I hide behind my smile.