Crimson Tears

A/N: My fifth fic, I think? Been thinking about this one for a while…

Summary: Syaoran lives a double life. One normal...the other a dangerous secret. When his family finds out the truth about his dark side, is it enough to drive him over the edge?

WARNING: EXTREME ANGST

I stole the title for this chapter from Brette. Well, I vaguely remember her telling me I could use it….I hope. She's Mrs. Poetry Girl so I'll probably be stealing a bunch of cool titles from her, lol.

Disclaimer: Don't own Cardcaptors. And I should give some credit to Candyland since I got a bunch of inspiration and ideas from her fic.

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Chapter 1: A shattered mirror shows a shattered truth…

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror and winced visibly at what he saw.

Staring back at him was a handsome teenager: messy brown hair, amber eyes, a nice build, and a tall frame for his 15 years—the picture of everything he hated.

To him, all he saw was the perfect replica of his father: the man he despised more then anything in his entire life. And every day he resembled him more and more. Inside and out.

His hands clenched into fist at his sides as forgotten memories of his childhood flooded into his mind. And with the memories came the feelings. Feelings of anger…resentment…sadness…hate. All the emotions he had tried his hardest to lock away since he was five years old.

His fist flew out of nowhere, smashing through the handsome face in the mirror. The reflection shattered, like a deadly shower, raining bits of glass onto the gray rug. Shattered…like all the pieces of the life he once thought was normal.

He looked down in shock at the clenched fist by his side as if it wasn't part of his body: a mind of its own. Absentmindedly, he noted that there was a small trickle of blood running from his knuckles, through in between his fingers. His gaze then flickered to the small, shinning pieces of glass that littered the once immaculate floor.

For one fleeting moment he entertained the idea of picking up a shard from the rug and running it over the flesh of his neck. Or maybe over his face, to mar any resemblance to his father he once had.

He smiled sadistically at the thought and picked up a broken piece of the mirror, running the jagged edge over his fingers, as if daring himself to cut.

"Xiao-lang!"

The shrill sound of his mother's voice broke him out of his trance and he quickly stood up, dropping the sharp glass back to the floor. Sweeping the broken shards to the wall with the side of his foot, he vaulted over his chair and grabbed his backpack that was hanging on the doorknob to his door.

Walking through the hallway and down the stairs to join his family he cringed at the sight of the large room around him. White walls surrounded him from every angle and not a piece of furniture was out of place. And heaven forbid if a spec of dust could be detected. Everything had to be immaculate, perfect. And that included the inhabitants.

As he walked through the adjoining room to his final destination, his demeanor suddenly changed from the disturbingly troubled boy in the room to that of a perfectly normal teenager. His posture straightened mid-stride and his face brightened, erasing the perpetual frown.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly, pulling a chair back and taking his seat at the large table.

"Good morning, little brother," his youngest sister said just as pleasantly, giving him an identical smile that all four of his older sisters shared. Though, being only 19, she was the last one still living at home.

"Good morning, Xiao-lang," said his mother lastly, sitting across the table from him, "I trust you slept well?" She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow as if she was genuinely interested in his answer.

From the place across the table, he was perfectly aware that his mother didn't give a damn how he slept, having gone through this same ritual every morning. So mimicking her curt politeness he replied, "Yes, very well, thank you."

As if the task of talking to the family was over, the three of them (being the only people in the room besides several servants milling about, making sure their meal was perfectly enjoyable) lapsed into silence and ate the rest of their breakfast without another word.

****

A sleek black limousine slowly pulled into the parking lot of a stately looking school building. Seijou high, the aforementioned school, was a well-built two story brick building. It was also the highschool that Touya, Sakura's older brother, and Yukito, his best friend had previously attend before they graduated.

From the side of the limousine a door opened, reflecting the morning sun on its shinny black surface. Out stepped two good looking teenagers with an easy grace that was obviously more then inherited, hinting that they came from a wealthy family, if the limousine wasn't already the first clue.

Xiao-lang Li looked around as their limousine pulled away and squinted his eyes at the midmorning sun. Though it was a drab overcast day, tinting the sky a dull gray, the sun still shone brightly blinding any unsuspecting victim that decided to glance up with their eyes open.

From beside him, Meilin Li, his distant cousin and ex-fiancé, slyly slipped an arm into his and proceeded to drag him into the school.

Unnngh, he groaned mentally, knowing if he complained out loud Meilin would go into hysterics trying to figure out what was wrong with her "precious Xiao-lang", totally oblivious to the fact that it was her driving him slowly insane.

She walked beside him, hanging off his arm like a monkey and chattering away in the same manner. And as she talked he let his mind drift. His eyes scanned the schoolyard lazily, noting all the tress and bushes which hadn't changed since he was small. His gaze faltered as he looked at one tree in particular. The large tree had tiny pink and white blossoms and when the wind blew, they would flutter slowly in wide circles to the ground. A Cherry Blossom Tree……that name. It reminded him so much of—

"Xiao-lang!" Meilin cried after several minutes, giving his arm a none to gentle tug, finally aware that he wasn't listening to her every word.

"Meilin! I told you not to call me that outside of the house," he hissed back, angry to have been interrupted mid reverie, "my name is Syaoran in public."

Her bottom lip jotted out. "Everyone calls you that at school, I want to call you something special." Obviously her adore for him hadn't lessened one bit since he broke off their engagement—which wasn't really a engagement, more of a childhood promise—several years before.

"Not everybody at school calls me Syaoran, Meilin. Actually, everybody calls me Li."

Meilin's lip jutted out even more in a pout if that was humanly possible. "Yes…. well, Sakura calls you Syaoran! I should be able to call you something special too!"

Syaoran growled in annoyance. Why did this girl have to be so bloody annoying!? Couldn't she just leave him alone for one minute! And what did Sakura have to do with anything? Sakura was just….special.

"Meilin, if you don't start calling me Syaoran, I'm going to make you to call me Li," he threatened.

Meilin huffed as they entered the doors to the school but didn't object.

****

Sakura chatted away animatedly to her best friend Tomoyo about the goings on during her weekend. Though she chatted freely with her friend, she couldn't help but let one part of her mind wander. Wander on to the topic of where in the world was Syaoran Li?!

She knew he could take care of himself. Him being the most powerful sorcerer (not to mention fighter) in the world and all. But she couldn't help but let one part of herself (most likely her heart she deducted) worry about him when he was missing.

It had been several years since they captured all of the cards—and her becoming the card mistress. And it had also been several years since anything close to being called dangerous—or magical—had threatened the small town of Tomoeda. So that definitely ruled out him being attacked by a deadly foe. But still…she couldn't help but want him to be there.

When Syaoran was around her, she just felt…. safe? Was that the right word? Or was there really a word to describe how she felt? But if anything, she knew that Syaoran was just…. special.

Her head—and the heads of most of her classmates—swiveled to the right when the distinct sound of the classroom door being opened was heard. Syaoran, followed closely by Meilin, both entered the room, just as the bell rung, signaling the beginning of the first class of the day.

As the two cousins took their normal seats a row infront of Tomoyo and Sakura, Sakura turned around to shoot Syaoran a quick, cheerful smile. Syaoran smiled cheerfully in return (or so it looked to everyone else in the class) but Sakura—not being half as dense as she led everyone to believe—could notice a difference in his flawlessly placed mask.

And as the teacher began the lesson of the day, Sakura, pretending to be listening, kept a close watch on Syaoran from the corner of her eye. The moment her chance came when he turned in his seat, she did a quick scan of his face with her eyes, trying to decipher the reason for his subtle changes.

But there seemed to be nothing wrong that she could notice, except maybe one thing. His amber eyes that were always so intense, seemed….clouded now.

****

He was consciously aware of someone watching him and as the feeling came unbearable he turned around in his seat. Amber locked onto emerald and for a brief moment the world a round them seemed to stop. Sakura's eyes narrowed in concentration as if trying to read his thoughts through his fathomless pools.

Out of nowhere the feeling of fear started to prick at the back of his neck. What if she could really read his thoughts? Could she see all the things he'd done? He always remembered his father telling him he could read everything he was feeling through his eyes. Willing himself to stop staring, he dragged his eyes away from Sakura's.

It was several minutes later, when he finally thought it would be safe to look, that he turned back around. Only to see Sakura was now diligently working on her math problems. Her eyes were focused intently on her notebook, completely unable to repeat their odd transaction of several minutes before. Syaoran sighed deeply, letting out a breath he never knew he was holding. But in one part of his mind he couldn't help but notice how adorable Sakura looked while working, with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, gently biting on her lower lip.

****

Their teacher, a stately young woman with red hair held tightly up in a bun, calmly walked back to her large desk after making the rounds through the desks, and picked up a stack of papers from her desk.

"These are the tests from last week," she announced getting the attention of all the students still working on their problems or the ones who were whispering quietly to classmates beside them. "I'll be handing them back to you today (this statement was followed by either groaning of cheers) and I'd like to say that most of you did well." She looked pointedly to several students who gulped and sunk lower in their seats.

One by one, she began to call out all the last names of the students, handing them back their tests so they could return to their seats. But after several minutes, when the name "Li" was called Meilin was the sole person to be handed her test back. And finally when all the names had been called, Syaoran and most of the students became painfully aware that he hadn't received his test at all.

The bell ran, signaling the end of class, followed by the sound of plastic chairs being dragged across the floor, and the cheerful chatter of students, finally able to talk after an hour of excruciating silence.

"Li?" the teacher called suddenly as the students were collecting their book bags. Two heads bobbed up in unison to the call.

"Syaoran Li, please" the teacher said in amusement, "I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

Excited whispers followed the students as they shuffled out the door. "Syaoran Li? But he never got in trouble!"

As the last student left the class, closing the door behind them, Syaoran reached the front of the room and waited patiently by the teacher's desk for her to start the conversation.

"I'm sure you noticed that I didn't hand you your test back," she said, sitting comfortably down in her wooden desk chair. Syaoran nodded an affirmative. "And I'm guessing you're most likely wondering why?" He shrugged his shoulders and looked away, still not saying a word.

She frowned in puzzlement for a second. Sure, Syaoran had never been one of many words but to act so uninterested? She always thought he was one of those people who enjoyed math.

"Well, maybe this will answer the question." She said more to her self then anyone else, and leaned back in her chair to pull open one of the lower drawers. Sliding her hand inside, she pulled out the elusive missing test and handed it to Syaoran. He took it from her hand and looked down at the pages scanning it quickly with his eyes. Then comprehension dawned.

A big, fat red "F" occupied the right hand corner of his test. He had gotten a measly 32%. But oddly enough this didn't faze him at all. If anything, this is what he expected.

"And what I'm curious to know," the teacher started, breaking him out of his thoughts, "is how one of my best students could just up and get such a poor mark." He started to shrug—something which, he thought cynically, had become sort of a trade mark gesture to him—but she cut him off. "But it's not like this is the fist time either." She reached back into her desk, pulling out a large stack of old stapled-together tests. "On the contrary, it's been going on for a while now."

She plunked down the large pile and began to riffle through it, laying the tests in order out onto her desk.

Old tests dating back to the beginning of the year started on the left side, and bright blue A+'s were what those first few read. Naturally, that was what he had been getting since he first started school, being told to be proud to hold up a 98% average.

But as he started looking at the tests more to the right, the marks started changing. 95% was the next one, then 92%, 85%, 80%, 73%, and they continued on in the same fashion. Until stopping at the lowest one, besides his newly achieved 32%, was 54%.

"I wasn't worried at first," the teacher said, watching him read the marks, "I thought maybe you were just having a little trouble with the new unit, I mean you had never actually failed a test before. But your marks just kept dropping, and usually people start to pick themselves back up after the first couple of months."

She stopped to see if he was going to say anything. When he didn't she continued. "I know you're a bright boy, but it seems like your not putting anymore effort into your work. And I was wondering if there's any particular reason that this is happening," she stopped for a second to place her arms on her desk and steeple her fingers together. "Any problems that are causing this that I can help you with?"

And again, Syaoran shrugged.

This time she frowned, a little annoyed at his ignorant behavior, but tried to cover her look of unhappiness with concern. "If there's any problems at all…at home or anything, I want you to know that I can help." Syaoran had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at this. "And for the time being, I'm going to have to schedule you an appointment with the school psychologist."

That statement got his attention. "What?!" he yelled, his first word of the conversation.

The teacher looked slightly taken aback at his outburst. But quickly replaced it with her most firm no nonsense look. "Students do not just start doing poorly all of a sudden without a reason." she said, and narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm going to schedule you an appointment for tomorrow, and you are going to go."

Syaoran sighed moodily, and uttered a small, "fine," under his breath.

Suddenly she leaned back in her desk and smiled cheerily at him. "Well that's all I wanted to talk to you about," she said clasping her hands together in a gesture of finality, "Thank you for your time and I guess I'll see you tomorrow in class!"

****

Walking quickly down the hall to his room, as not to arouse suspicion, Syaoran bolted into his room and locked the door behind him, not bothering to check if anyone was already in there. Nobody was ever in his room anyway.

He quickly dropped his backpack to the floor as his knees buckled underneath him, forcing him to collapse to the ground beside his bed. He concentrated on lowering his heart rate as his sat there. After running all the way home from school, he could barely breath. But he needed it. He needed it so bad.

As he sat beside his bed, he groped blindly underneath it with one arm, until he found the desired object. A small silver Swiss-army knife was held possessively in his grasp as he pulled it out and flicked it open. It was a present from his father.

As he rolled up his sleeve to his elbow, still concentrating on his breathing, his eyes flickered over all the small white and red marks on his arms. Without further hesitation he brought the blade down against his arm. And for the first time that day, just before he was about to make the first cut, his eyes took on a spark of life.

He propped his arm on his knee and leaned back on his bed, watching the red fluid drip down his arm. Enjoying the relaxing sensation of watching his own life essence seep from his flesh. He'd been careful, always cutting just below his elbow, never his wrist. Anyone would notice if his wrist was cut, and since he still trained everyday with his instructor, wearing a sleeveless shirt or no shirt at all, he was bound to notice. The ones he already made were barely noticeable. And having highly magical blood running through his veins was a definite plus. The cuts never lasted long. And with the added benefit of wearing long sleeved shirts because of the dropping temperatures, it wasn't hard to hide.

He looked back down at his cut and concentrated completely on the red liquid running down his arm that he so badly wanted and needed. He blocked everything else out. All his pain, anger, and loathing seemed to flow out with the blood.

He loved the sensation. The sensation of being totally in control. The one thing he had control over in his whole screwed up life, his own physical pain.

At first it was an accident. He had been training with Lao, his sword master—even though he thought of him being more of a surrogate father—and had slipped up, getting a small gash on his arm. But the moment he saw the blood he couldn't look away. From there he experimented, using different things from around the house. Razor blades, knives, and finally he had stumbled upon the Swiss-army knife from his father.

And in a ironic sort of way, he thought, since it was his father who had first pushed him to this, what better way then to use something from his father to correct it.

And two years ago, at the age of thirteen, he had found his escape.

To be continued….

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A/N: Woot! All done! I'm sorry I took so long to get this chapter out! But you gotta admit, it's pretty long. It's actually the longest chapter I ever wrote!

Sooooo, did you like it? I hope so. I did warn you that it would be very angsty! I wonder if you guys were expecting the ending? Hmmm well anyway, don't worry, it will turn out all right….maybe. I mean, if I made him die or something you'd probably all kill me so he most likely won't. Heheheheh….

And don't worry, there's gonna be some romance action in later chapters! And you can probably guess with whom. And if you can't….I'm not telling! Ha!

ONE LAST THING: You probably noticed it took me a while to write all this. Hey, I'm a busy girl. So I have two options for you. Either I write shorter chapters and you get them every week or two, or I write long ones like this and you get them every month or so. It's your choice. Please give me the answer in your reviews! SO R&R! R&R!