This Is How You Break Me
Disclaimer: I don't own -man, or any of the characters.
Be careful when you say that things can't get any worse, because they most certainly can. And, more often than not, they will.
xXx
"I've fucking had it with this shit!" the dark haired man seethed, heading towards the apartment door.
"Kanda, wait!" Allen cried out desperately, rushing after him. He reached out to grab the other's sleeve but his hand was pushed away roughly. "You can't leave! Please!" The only answer he received was a snort and the sound of a door slamming. The force of the slam knocked a picture from where it hung on the wall onto the floor.
"Please, you can't go," he whispered to the now-empty room with a hollow voice, falling dejectedly to the floor. "You're all I have left." He sat there−eyes unseeing−for hours. The darkness of the night was slowly creeping in but there was only one thing going on in the boy's mind; one thought running in circles and submerging him further into a darkness that had nothing to do with the receding sunlight.
'What now?'
xXx
The next few weeks passed by in a vague blur—it was like they didn't even happen. Allen still went to work, but that was about it. He would smile when he had to, but those smiles were so strained and fake that he felt like his cheeks would crack, as if his skin was made of porcelain.
Porcelain... Kanda used to say that he looked like a porcelain doll; so pale, beautiful and delicate. Kanda used to say a lot of things to him, but not anymore. Not since that night.
Why did it feel like he was drowning?
xXx
"You're fired."
At one time, those words would have had a much greater effect on him. Wasn't he supposed to be more upset about losing his job? But somehow, Allen just couldn't bring himself to care. He supposed that whatever emotion he was supposed to feel was being swallowed by the all-consuming grey.
He went back to his empty apartment after that and sat himself on the couch. Nothing was on; not the TV, not even the lights. He had to be more careful with his money from now on. After all, he was jobless. And who would hire someone like him, someone worthless?
The shrill sound of the phone ringing pierced through the complete silence, bringing the white-haired boy out of his thoughts. For a moment, he entertained the idea of picking it up but decided against it. He had no one; anyone who would be calling would be asking for a Mr. Walker.
Was he no longer 'Allen' to anyone?
xXx
Days passed. Or was it weeks? He couldn't tell anymore, because it didn't matter.
Why was it so dark, even in the sun?
xXx
Allen hated mornings; they reminded him of waking up next to Kanda.
But they'd spent afternoons in the park together, enjoying the day. He hated those too.
Candle-lit dinners: hate.
Kisses shared under a twilight sky: hate.
Whispered goodnights: Hate. Hate. Hate.
He hated every time of day−even though time didn't matter anymore−because each second reminded Allen of him.
So maybe it was Kanda he hated?
Or maybe it was his parents, for abandoning him.
Or Mana, for giving him a home, and hope, then ripping it away when he left.
Or his friends, for rebuilding him only to shatter their work when they left as well.
But there was one thing he was sure of: the one Allen hated the most was himself.
xXx
The landlady had knocked on his door several times, demanding the payment he owed. However, he had neither the money nor the means of getting it.
Somewhere beneath the numbness, the boy felt a small shred of anxiety twisting in his gut. That was the good thing about being numb, though: he didn't really care. The only thing that bothered him was the sound of the periodic knocking on his apartment door.
Which is why he was currently sitting on a park bench so late into the night.
In truth, the knocking had stopped many hours ago. But Allen didn't know this because he'd been sitting on that exact same bench for all those long hours.
After gazing at the stars for an immeasurable amount of time, a shadow suddenly loomed over him, blocking the faint glow of the moonlight.
"Well, what do we have here?" a voice asked, and Allen looked up to see a very well-dressed man with dark hair and a lecherous smirk plastered on his face. The man looked to be Portuguese and his eyes shone with a lust that he hadn't bothered to veil.
Without responding, Allen just stared at the man with a sense of foreboding flooding over him.
After a brief silence, the man spoke up once again. "I think you know what I want." With that lustful tone, the boy indeed knew what the man wanted, but he still said nothing. With no response from the younger male, the man added, "I can pay, of course."
And that was all it took.
xXx
Sometime later in the night, Allen was limping down the empty streets, heading towards his apartment. He was thoroughly dishevelled with the buttons on his shirt being in the wrong holes, his hair a mess and his skin glistening with sweat. A bunch of crumpled twenties were stuffed in his pocket.
The walk was painful due to the soreness of his body, but Allen's mind was curiously blank as he took step after aching step.
The boy finally made it back to his home, but it wasn't until the door was shut and locked behind him that he let himself think about what he'd just done in order to get his hands on some money. He should feel happy, right? For the next month, at least, he would not be evicted.
But the only emotion he was able to feel was disgust towards himself. Disgust because he was so filthy, so dirty.
Dirty. Dirty. Dirty.
For the first time since Kanda left, Allen cried. He sobbed, wailed and just let it all out until there were no tears left to cry and his body was exhausted. After he was finished, Allen curled up on the carpet and stared at the wall where a picture showing smiling faces used to hang.
If he'd been broken before, he was completely shattered now.
xXx
Christmas: the most wonderful time of the year. At least, that's what they say. To some, the saying may be true and maybe for them it really is a holiday filled with joy and cheer.
But to Allen it only shoved into his face the facts that he wouldn't otherwise let himself think of. Like how he was completely and utterly alone, and how he should probably get used to it because it wasn't ever going to change.
The empty apartment mocked him with the memories contained between the walls. Flashes from past Christmases inside the apartment−ones that used to bring a smile to Allen's face whenever he thought of them−cut through him like knives, spreading agony throughout his body.
The boy hastily stood up; he needed to get out of there.
xXx
Allen had been walking down the dark street lined with parked cars for a long while before his mind registered that it was snowing. Instead of marvelling at the beauty as he'd always done, the white-haired boy's features twisted into a bitter smile.
To him, everything was bleak. He even held resentment towards all those laughing happily on the sidewalk.
Hiding under the numbness, he crossed the street. In his attempt to block out the world, Allen didn't see the oncoming headlights nor hear the screeching of tires until it was too close for any hope of getting away.
Time seemed to slow down at that point, and Allen felt more at peace than he had in a long time. His eyes shifted away from his oncoming doom and towards the sidewalk. And, as if magnetically attracted, silver eyes locked with another pair that had widened in horror.
Long, dark hair and blue eyes that were so familiar. So painfully, painfully, familiar.
Painful, like−
And to all a good night...
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