First-Person: Yamimash

Well, this was it. This was what I have been waiting for. I got about six hours of sleep today, but that's alright. It took about a whole can of Red Bull, but I'm walking. I'm still up and breathing, with freezing adrenaline pumping through my veins. It's funny how right now, my fight-or-flight response is kicking in. My scars frustratingly itch under my sleeves. The cheap bandages don't help, since I suck at taking care of myself and I managed to mess it all up (it should be a no-brainer right now that I'm just not able to take care of myself). Mark did such a better job than me; when I redid the bandages before I left, I didn't even care what I used as long as the scars and recent wounds were covered. I didn't need any wounds bleeding if I could avoid it. But the only unfortunate consequence of that was the fact that out of all the layering I had to do, it would be painfully obvious to anyone that something was wrong with my arm if I even moved it. It was stiff and only made short, limited movements. Again, I was trying to prevent opening any cuts.

It doesn't matter anymore though to Mark. He knows exactly why my arm is like this.

My hands...They're shaking. Am I cold? I don't feel cold, I feel fine, but I'm just shaking. Mark said he would meet me here. Was this the right place? I know I'm so forgetful sometimes, but the only other buildings around here were markets, a gas station, and other restaurants. This was the only one that looked like an old-fashioned diner.

Mark called it his 'hangout' spot, and gave me the location of it. And I'm glad to say it looks just like he described it. It was sort of decent enough; it had sort of an retro feel to it that gave it a some unique charm. The booths and chairs had red leather seat cushions, and the tables were small and circular. I chose a booth by the window, that was secluded from the traffic of people at the shiny wooden counter. It was even a little roomy. With a name like 'Don's Diner,' I almost wanted to turn around and walk right back to my house. But once I walked inside and gave it a shot, it wasn't half-bad. The waitress was really cheery when she gave me my menu.

"Waiting for someone, honey?" She said, tucking a couple of straws into her dirty apron and examining her brilliant red colored nails. Her blonde hair was tied back in a loose bun and the light wrinkles and smile lines on her face gave her a southern look. I looked up to answer her question, offering a small smile of my own.

"Yeah, he's a friend of mine. I'll wait until he's here to order."

With that, she bustled away to her next customer, a middle-aged man and his girlfriend. They sure looked happy together...

I know it's not healthy to think about Jess. I know it's not beneficial to my mental health to run through possible scenarios that could of happened, had I stayed with Jess. But I just can't help it. What if she hadn't found me that night? What if I was good enough for her not to want to make whoever that douchebag was jealous? What if-

"Hey Yami! What's up? Did you order already?" A booming voice spoke, aimed directly at me. The source of the voice belonged to none other than Mark, who abruptly pushed past hungry people with food and coffee to get to the booth I was sitting in. I'm sure I practically broadcast my tiredness. He sat down with a sort of half-smile, like a greeting. I must look a little off- no, scratch that, I probably look horrible, and I know it too. I can still feel the light bags under my eyes, that still haven't gone away. I haven't even had a nice hair cut in a while, so I guess I was also beginning to look a little shaggy. Mark, however, looked like regular, normal Mark. While I seemed to show exactly how tired I felt, it seemed that Mark didn't even feel tired at all.

"No. But I'm going to get a...Hot dog, with the works. You?"

Mark, who seemed to be studying the menu, looked up quickly back at me. I felt a bit uncomfortable under the direct eye-contact. Like I was being scrutinized. I'm making sure I'm on my toes, because he could ask anything he wants to at any time, and I would have to answer.

"Strange, that's what I always get. Okay then, we got this. Hey Lettie, we're ready."

The red haired lady from before walked right back to their table and smiled once again, this time at the both of us. After she scribbled our orders down on her little black notepad, she scurried off through a pair of double doors that presumably led into the kitchen. Finally, we're able to talk to each other here calmly and peacefully. Or rather, no chance of anything escalating into violence, anyways.

I aimed a straight look into Mark's brown eyes, trying to seem strong, or at least determined. Not weak and pathetic like I usually am. But...that backfired. His eyes shifted into a more daring gaze, like a challenge to me. Mark raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask questions or say anything else.

"So, you called me to meet up. I say this is the place. Now this is the part where we get everything figured out. So talk. Let's start from the beginning."

"The beginning? Everything started in September. I didn't start...cutting, until February." I honestly answered. He was straight and to the point, so I owe him to do the same.

"What set you off?" Mark asked, sipping nonchalantly on his water that the waitress dropped off. Oh no, it's going to be a game of 20 Questions of Insanity.

"I...tried to make myself, Jess, Youtube, and everyone else happy. I couldn't do it all at the same time though. Every now and then, I started making...bruises, on my arms and sometimes my leg if I was in public. Long sleeves hid it perfectly since it was a little chilly back then. In February, it was a bit of an accident," I admitted sheepishly. Mark said nothing as he continued staring at me and not moving. I cleared my throat a little to gain the guts to continue. Ha, what guts?

"And then, after an incident with a knife, I decided to make a little cut here and there, nothing major. But afterwards, everything went downhill. Jess thought I was leaving her for Youtube, my fans thought I was leaving them for Jess, and the rest of my friends that I used to hang out with don't even talk to me anymore. I guess they thought I was leaving them for myself."

"I regret it now. Honest. My arms look like they had grazed one of the old wood chippers my father used to have, and I have the mentality of a mentally unstable hospital patient. I really don't know why I had to take it all to such an extreme, but I couldn't stop. I ended up with a sort of messy addiction, I guess. Then, just a while ago I went out on a date with Jess at a fancy restaurant. And I...couldn't seem to focus. Now, I remember why. That day, I played a co-op game with you, and it was truly the best I felt in a long time. Games were still fun to play, but with you, it was a whole lot better,"

"Then I... went kind of borderline insane after she made me walk home in the rain, without my car or even an umbrella," I finished, giving a little chuckle afterwards at the absurdity of it. Mark didn't seem amused. In fact, nothing changed about his stoic expression, like he was still taking it all in. Did he believe me? Or does he think I'm lying... I've been nothing but honest so far though. Promise.

"What did that bit- I mean, Jess do?" He inquired, clearing his throat. I skipped over thinking about what he would have said and just tried to remember back to that night.

"She took my keys while I wasn't looking. I should have noticed, but I didn't think she would ever have done that to me. I guess I know better now. What do you think about all of this, Ma'k?" I asked. I won't lie, I'm nervous. I'm nervous that he'll come to his senses and decide I'm more trouble than I'm worth. I'm nervous that he won't ever talk to me ever again, and that maybe I might go too far one day and I'll have no one to call. I'm scared of what he'll say next, because whatever it is could make me or break me.

"Here you go, I got two orders of our world-famous hotdogs, sorry they took so long. Here you go, sweetie," She chirped, setting the orders down. My interrupting stomach suddenly grumbled, due to my sense of smell being assaulted by mouth-watering delicious food. I can't remember what was the last thing I had eaten, but then again I can't remember half of the things I did yesterday. How smart. My hands quickly picked up the hot dog filled with mustard, ketchup, relish, and sauerkraut. Really weird combination, but the taste is amazing. I'm pretty sure I'm drooling right now. Mark did the same, tearing into his as if he was as hungry as I am. He still hasn't said anything.

We ate in comfortable silence. Mark looked at me between every other bite. I just kept my eyes down, focusing on eating my breakfast-lunch. Was it brunch? Oh well. By the time I was done, he was just finishing his last bite. I waited patiently for an answer to my previous question earlier, if I would get one. He didn't have to answer. When I asked him to meet up with me, I wasn't expecting a warm and inviting conversation. I was just expecting uneasy questions and for me to give the sober answers. But if he won't talk to me, then I can't do much else.

"Look, I know that I can't fix you. But I can help you. I can help you try to get over that bitch, but I can't make you forget about her. Just give me a chance to. Give me a chance to help you through this, Yami. I'm not a miracle-worker, but I'm not giving up on you, if that's what you're thinking," He finished. A hand was lifted to wipe at his mouth with a napkin. My face burned, and I fought the urge to hide. But haven't I done enough hiding already? This whole issue is getting to the point where it's emotionally draining. Why on earth do I need Mark to help me with something I should have quit a long time ago? This is just all bloody embarrassing...

"Okay." I whispered. This is good for me, whatever he does I can trust him. I need to. So many times I forgot that sometimes I need someone to be to be there for me, because I clearly can't climb out of this by myself. Maybe if I relied on him before, all of this wouldn't have had to happen? I don't know, and I don't care. What matters is that he's here now, and I need to quit this deadly habit.

I will not try to do this by myself.

Why am I crying?

A.N:

Hello Moustachians, long time no see! My apologies for such the long wait, but I guess I got plagued with life. Luckily, I managed to get the motivation to continue this story (I'm just lazy, don't worry!). Thank you all so much for the reviews, I read every single one! They are very appreciated! And to Guest Elegy, thank you for the link, I have come across that fanart before (that fanart actually halfway inspired this story). Please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes :).