c o u r t e s y c a l l
...
i need a place to sleep
so take this night
lay me down on the street
i know im not forgiven
...
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the monologue means nothing to me
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Fingers twitched; nails scraping lightly against damp asphalt until they met a small puddle near the side of their owners neck. He could feel droplets of water dribble here and there on him, sending a rather distressing chill throughout his bones as he brought himself back into the world of consciousness. His honey-brown eyes cracked open, as the urge to groan escaped him.
He maneuvered himself a little, until he was lying flat on his back, the movement enough to make him nearly vomit. His head was pounding and his stomach churned, but he continued blinking up at the dark gray sky that leaked rain; tall buildings surrounded him. He could feel the crushed glass mixed in his hair scraping agitatedly against his scalp as he remained in a daze, uncertain whether to actually sit up or not.
Maybe he just had a hangover – that would certainly explain his massive headache. He couldn't recall drinking anything, though; and his mouth tasted of nothing more than tobacco and mint mouthwash. The usual.
City lights blinked here and there from windows that lined the ally walls; the darkened atmosphere giving off a much later and gritty appearance in time. He couldn't exactly tell if it was afternoon, or ranging on evening night-time with the obscure sense his sight was greeting him with. The gross scent of old garbage made him cringe in revulsion, craning his neck a bit to look at the dumpster that sat pressed against the far end of the ally way. A sigh made to escape from his lips as he fell back limp to his previous position; flat on his back and staring up at the thick dark clouds that decorated the sky.
Lifting a hand to pat down his torso as he stared up at the walls that boxed in the ally-way he adorned, a frown made it's way to his lips when he found no form of injury marking his person. Sometimes he had to do that, given his body's adherence against physical pain; he couldn't count just how many times he had been hurt or badly injured without realizing it. Slowly, the hand was brought up to his face, before pressing over his eyes in a mild attempt at ridding the headache.
His clothes were soaked through with rain, mud and oil streaks decorating the formal attire he was greatly so enamored with. The thick scent of metal and copper wafted, and when he finally processed the smell, a small gasp was emitted. He quickly pulled his hand away from his face, bringing the other one up so he could properly assess them with wide eyes.
While he himself held no injury of any kind, his hands were caked in old blood that was beginning to flake and peel. The red gore curled over his shirt sleeves, leaving brick colored streaks in their wake. His heart dropped with a sudden onset of panic, and he quickly sat himself up; now completely alert and on edge. He stared down at himself in horror, taking in the way his attire was drenched in blood. But he wasn't hurt.
It belonged to someone else.
His head shook for a moment, unsure of what a proper reaction would be to this sort of thing would be. While he tried to back track just what the fuck could have happened, he was drawing a blank. The rain was beginning to pick up; biting against his skin like shards of ice in the late autumn weather. He shivered from his spot in the ally-way, broken glass and trash littered about his form.
The last thing he could remember was receiving a call from -
Stop.
Don't go there. Push it back. Don't think about it.
His eyes snapped shut as he immediately brought a gory hand up to press against his forehead. The rain was helping in the sense of rinsing off the blood, but the chill and uncomfortable wetness was making him feel extremely gross. His thoughts were twisted and turned; an endless spiral that reached no destination. He needed a good shower.
Reaching idly at the brick wall closet to him, he used it for leverage as he pushed himself into standing, leather shoes scraping unsightly against the dirty cement. The movement made his head pound a little harder, and he was craving the sweet release of nicotine – getting drunk also sounded like a pretty good idea, for some unbeknownst reason. He made a mental note to get smashed sometime soon; his body was craving it.
Habitually digging a hand in his pocket, grabbed at the pack of crunched cigarettes that sat snug against his cellphone. Tugging out the two items, his jaw clenched in irritation as he was greeted with the sight of soggy cigarettes, and a dead phone. Of course. Tossing the ruined cigarette pack aside towards the revoltingly grotesque dumpster that sat just a few feet from him, he stuffed his cellphone back into his pocket. Bad luck seemed to follow him so immensely, one would think he'd be used to it by now.
Taking a brief moment to consider his appearance in the calmest of manners, he finally frowned to himself as he stripped off the black weskit of his uniform. His bloodied and mud matted white button up shirt followed, and he rolled the item up in the black piece of clothing – hiding it in a bundle. The icy late autumn rain pattered against the bare skin of his torso; washing away traces of dirt and gore. It would have almost been refreshing if it weren't for the fact that he was a bit pissed off at his onset of confusion.
He shivered idly, holding his ruined clothes tighter to his chest as though it would make a difference against the cold – but; he couldn't let himself walk down the street so obviously covered in blood. Too many questions that he himself couldn't even answer.
One end of the ally held a dead end, leaving him with no other option than to take the obvious route. A few twists and turns led him out into an open street; only yet occupied by a few people here and there walking and carrying umbrella's against the downpour. Looking briefly around, until he found himself familiarizing the area he was at; he received a couple odd looks from the fellow residents out and about. He didn't blame them, really; a man walking around shirtless while it's pouring rain outside.
Taking up a particularly quick pace against his usual relaxed and slow ones, Shizuo Heiwajima headed in the direction of his apartment.
He needed answers.
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absolutely horrified; i hope you're satisfied
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Trudging sloshy rainwater and mud all over his cheap and grimy carpet, Shizuo couldn't help but take a moment to question himself as to when exactly the last time was that he had it cleaned. He tossed the bundle of wet and bloody clothes on his ragged couch, making his way into his tiny and cramped living room. His steps faltered for a moment, mocha eyes staring blankly at the broken television set that set against the opposite wall from his.
The device was thoroughly destroyed, looking almost as if someone had taken a baseball bat to it – busting out the screen and leaving in it shambles. Shizuo couldn't recall anything happening to cause such a scene; the last time he saw it, the television was completely in tact.
"What... the hell...?" He mumbled to himself, confusion settling in as he shook his head in thought.
Backing away from the sight in favor of fresh clothes, Shizuo bee-lined towards the only bedroom his small apartment housed, moving to strip his pants and boxers in the process. He tossed his dead cellphone on his unkempt bed while he finished the process of undressing. Kicking the clothing in the direction of his hamper, not wanting to be bothered with actually putting them there properly, he moved to grab up a new uniform with fresh boxers before something caught his eye.
His gaze locked on the glowing blue numbers of the alarm clock resting on his night stand. The numbers shown themselves back at him without lie, reading; 'Thursday – 2:19pm.'
That... can't be right. He thought to himself as his blood ran cold. Just a moment ago it was Wednesday – it was 5pm,Wednesday evening. He had just gotten off work – he remembered preparing some cheap instant ramen for dinner...and then...blank. He was waking up in the ally covered in blood.
How in the hell could he just loose 21 hours like that – was it...
Swallowing thickly, Shizuo skipped the thought of a good clean shower, and made to quickly dress in fresh clothes. His hands were shaking a little with nerves after he finished dressing himself; not bothering with the weskit and bow-tie this time. He snatched his cellphone from it's current resting spot on his twisted sheets, and made for the kitchen.
He almost felt like he was on the verge of something – something... it was there. Twisting under the surface... what was it? People don't just suddenly loose track of 21 hours – he needed to see Shinra. Maybe it was something medically wrong; maybe he was sick. What the hell kind of sickness would cause something like memory loss, when he himself didn't exactly feel ill?
Shizuo plugged his dead phone into it's charger, taking a deep breath as he did so. A spare pack of unopened cigarettes sat temptingly next to his stove, and he reached out to take possession of them. He movements halted, however, when his eyes fell on the cup of stale ramen that sat just a few inches away on the counter top. Fuck...
Phone still in hand, he slowly slid himself down the cabinets, back pressed solidly against them as the charger cord snaked up over his head and into the socket at the end of the counter. He could hear the traditional round clock hanging on his wall slowly tick away; and the lighting in his apartment was dim. He had no urge to turn on any switches – it'd just add to his already ridiculous electricity bill, so he instead opted for the light being providing from the rainy gray skies outside. His dyed blond hair was still matted and sticking to the sides of his face, ever so slowly drying from his time outside.
Giving it a few more minutes, as he kept his eyes closed in an agonizing silence, he finally tilting his head down to stare at the device he held firmly in his hands. Flipping it open, he delighted himself in seeing that it was charged enough for him to start browsing through it's content. He was hoping to find something, anything – a text message, a call – something that could clue him in on what might have transpired over the past 21 hours of his life.
It didn't quite work out that way.
Both his inbox and outbox were completely empty, and all records of his call logs were erased. Every bit of information saved in his phone was gone, save his rather short contact list. What the fuck...You talked to someone... there was a call... think -
He closed his eyes, pressing the phone against his forehead as though hoping it would somehow give him the answers he so desperately craved.
"SHIZUO!... Shi – Shizuo..."
Shizuo jolted as if burned, as a loud screech of terror shrilled through his apartment. He knew that voice anywhere; never having been accustomed to hearing it in any other form than a smooth mechanical essence. Kasuka, it was Kasuka. He could hear his younger sibling screaming in pain, in horror; calling his name -
"Kasuka?" He called back, jumping to his feet in instant alarm. He rushed from his kitchen, cellphone long since forgotten as it clattered on the tiled floor.
His heart race had picked up, now pounding in his ears while panic clutched at the frays of his mind; breath quickened as his eyes darted in every direction – every crevice of his tiny apartment; trying to search out a person to match with the voice.
The scream sounded again, a little more distant from behind his back – his bedroom. "Kasuka! Kasuka, I'm coming!" He called back; voice booming in alarm as he barreled himself at full speed in the direction of the shriek.
Thunder crashed outside; lighting up the room in a blinding and unsightly manner the moment he passed the frame of his room. Save the low rumbling of the storm outside, nothing else greeted him. Once again he found himself standing alone in his single apartment.
Silence.
Breathing erratic, with his face a mixture of tension and anxiety, Shizuo nearly crumpled to his knees. Was he hallucinating? No... no, that had to have been real. His head still ached a bit from the way the loud screaming had abused his eardrums. It was real... had to have been...
Covered in cold sweat from the sudden onset of panic and overdrive his body had gone into, he stepped away slowly and careful until he felt his back touching the wall right next to the open doorway. His alarm and confusion was starting to bubble into anger – anger about why he couldn't figure out what the fuck was happening to him.
His fists tightened as a small growl escaped from his throat. Shizuo waited with a forced patience until he felt himself collected enough to make it back into the kitchen.
Not even caring anymore if the phone was fully charged or not, he jerked it from it's plug and socket with a snap of his wrist. Taking a deep and steady breath, he shakily scrolled through his contact list until he hit upon his brother's number. Sometime a while back, Kasuka had bought a second phone for the mere purpose of talking with Shizuo alone – to talk to him as 'Kasuka', and not as 'Yuuhei'.
Holding it to his ear with the jittery movements of barely contained rage, his breath caught when the line clicked after one short ring. "Kasuka-!" He blurted out, before he even let another noise escape.
"Hey... this is Kasuka. I'm sorry I missed your call, nii-san. I'll return it as soon as -" Crunch.
Straight to fucking voice-mail.
Closing his hand tightly, Shizuo gritted his teeth before lowering it to examine the current remains of the device. Crushed from his vice-grip, he scowled and dumped the pieces on the counter; snatching up the new pack of cigarettes in the process. He needed to calm down quick before he destroyed his entire home.
Grabbing the only hooded jacket he possessed from where it had been tossed across his sofa, Shizuo slammed the door to his apartment on his way out.
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AN: currently in the process of being re-written. wip.
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