Cold. Panic. Sweat. A mixture of various emotions and sensations swirled through his head. Everything was hazy and blurred. A heavy weight in his subconscious kept him from moving. There was hardly any strength in him to lift his head. Groaning, he pushed himself off the ground, slowly but surely. The scenery in front of him suddenly turned pitch black, as if he were trapped in a void.

What...?

A sudden chill ran up his spine. The feeling of dread overcame him. The darkness seemed to extend and pull him in at the same time. He felt hopeless, wanting nothing more but to escape. The darkness stopped moving, a faint light taunting him to come close. He stood up, walking backwards in the opposite direction. Even though he wasn't sure what was over there, he had a pretty good idea what was going on.

"No...NO!" He cried, running away now. The light instantly appeared in front of him, it's form beginning to contort. The sudden appearance startled him enough that he fell on his butt. The light was growing, it's transformation almost complete. The all too familiar figure caused him to shake.

"No...please....not him, anything but him!" He begged, crawling away. Tears were streaming down his face, the realization catching up to him. The ghost that now appeared came closer, a disgusted look on it's face.

"I'm sorry! I never meant for this to happen!" he stumbled on a rock, causing him to fall backwards. His hands shook, his body in a petrified state.

"Please..." his words left him. He bowed his head down, refusing to look at him. A pair of feet appeared in his line of vision.

"...Arthur?" the ghost said. His heart stopped. Shaking, he looked up.

Arthur gasped, sitting up in a panic. Tears were streaming down his face. His entire body was shaking, his breathing short, and shallow. Gulping, he cupped his face, letting the sobs rack his body. His head felt hot, and the crying made it worse.

All the sadness was causing his head to hurt, but he didn't care. He'd seen that face again. The one he was trying so hard to forget. He should've known it'd be too much to ask for a peaceful night. He didn't deserve it, after all.

Cool water ran down Arthur's back. He stood in the shower, lost in thought. How long had it been since the incident? A month? More? He didn't know. All he knew was guilt, depression, loneliness. His old friends had come back to torment him again.

'How fun,' he thought sarcastically. Sighing, he turned the shower head off, cutting the flow of water. He grabbed his towel and stepped out of the tub, drying himself off. Draping the towel around his neck, he shuffled to the sink. Arthur stared into the mirror. His skin was paler than usual. His green eyes that were usually filled with sarcastic smugness were dull, not reflecting any emotion at the moment. This would've surprised him, but he was used to it now.

Looking down, his gaze shifted to a razor that was on the counter next to a bar of soap. He stared blankly at the object before picking it up and fondling it in his hands. No thoughts of any sort ran through his head. It was like his body was on autopilot. Raising the razor, he gently pressed the blade against his left shoulder. The last time Arthur tried this, he had chickened out, the idea of pain scaring him. Now, he was numb. And the idea seemed like a good one. Not even blinking, his dull, half-lidded eyes watched as the blade cut through his skin, making a straight line.

Blood began to leak from the cut Arthur made, making a trail of red down his arm. He continued to watch the crimson liquid reach his hand. He placed the razor back on his arm and began to cut a branch pattern towards his elbow. He paused, staring at the veins in his wrists. He could end it right now. He could make himself bleed and bleed until there was nothing left. He could...

A stinging sensation interrupted his dark thoughts. Blinking, Arthur's mind finally came back to reality, absorbing what he'd just done to himself. He instantly turned the water back on, trying to wipe off the blood. He winced at the pain in his arm. When most of it was gone, Arthur placed his hands on the rim of the sink, his head hanging low. He gulped, slightly scared of himself.

"...I need help...don't I?" he asked himself quietly. Arthur raised his back to look in the mirror. His eyes were watery and red. He sniffed, bandaged his cuts that would soon become scars, and left.