Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters therein, only the plot.
8 p.m.
Grimmjow's mind was conflicted. The aftermath of the night had left him lifeless. Any shred of dignity he had left was crumpled up and thrown away. He couldn't think anymore. His mind was so full of memories of the life he had lived, but that life had all been a lie. He had been force fed an illusion of tranquility-of love and contentment. He could no longer stand to be deceived by what was so clearly wrong.
Yumichika had arrived 1 hour earlier to see him. He had told Grimmjow that they needed to discuss something important when he had called beforehand, and Grimmjow had heard an odd quivering tone in his voice. Already, Grimmjow had suspected that the words Yumichika would utter would have a decidedly bitter twist to them. Yumichika, prim and proper in his designer clothes, had shown up at his doorstep just minutes after calling. Grimmjow moved to greet him, stretching his right arm toward his lover. His fingers longed to brush against Yumi's soft porcelain skin. Trying to coax a kiss out of Yumichika, Grimmjow's left hand lingered against the nape of his neck. Yumichika shied away from the touch pushing roughly against the solid chest approaching him.
Grimmjow was suddenly shoved backward and almost lost his balance. He grunted in disapproval. Yumichika's lithe form shivered under the heat of a questioning gaze. His kempt raven-black hair fell slightly over his brow, veiling the perspiration beading there. His eyes remained fixed to the ground, trying to avoid the scrutiny of the harshness pressed against him. It almost seemed like those eyes knew exactly what he was contemplating. I don't want to have to do this, but the repercussions of disobeying seem far worse than abandoning him. Yumichika breathed in deeply, before releasing a long drawn out sigh, signaling Grimmjow's attention.
"I understand that we had something to talk about?" Grimmjow ran tired fingers through natural blue hair, pressing a firm hand along the back of his neck. He felt an ache slowly descend into the premises of his forehead. A pulse was heard there, throbbing so profusely that he was forced to close his haggard eyelids. This wasn't happening. It will not happen.
"Grimmjow, I'm so sorry to have burdened you," Yumichika began as his hands trembled noticeably. His shy voice was barely heard.
Grimmjow grimaced and shook his head. "I don't understand." The surrealism of the situation kept his defense from crumbling down and allowing boiling anger to spew forth. Comprehension had yet to settle within his mind. It was obviously something trivial that Yumichika had decided to exaggerate. He had always had a dramatic take on life. Why would this be any different? Pettiness did not faze Grimmjow, then why was he reacting in such a way?
"Well? Out with it already. I'm tired of this silence, it's stifling." Grimmjow was becoming impatient. His heart beat rapidly. He could feel the growing pressure against his ribs as adrenaline surged heavily into his blood.
"A beauty such as I most have been terribly difficult to take care of." The once shy voice rose decibels. Confidence was slowly being regained as an earnestness that had been dormant woke.
The perplexed expression on Grimmjow's face was laughable. Of course, he could see where this conversation was leading. Maybe it was best he leave, but some invisible force kept him there. Curiosity, perhaps? He stared at the face before him intently, wanting to uncover what lied beneath.
"I need a lover that would be able to provide for me, and, honestly, you just don't have enough." The resolve present within Yumichika's voice raised suspicion. The sound made Grimmjow subconsciously recoil in fear. He had never heard this tone uttered from those pursed lips. The words held a venomous bite. He wasn't enough. His fists clenched tightly because for some reason the sudden urge for destruction just wasn't that easy to quell.
Destruction.
Blood.
Death.
The animalistic need was there, buried beneath faint human emotion. It would only take an instant to channel the primitive instinct forward and out. Grimmjow quickly took control and suppressed the need. His strength had changed significantly since he was younger. No longer would he make a fool out of himself with surges of uncontrollable violence. He had learned from the past and would never forget those mistakes.
"So, what? You're just gonna walk off and leave me for some other bastard?"
Yumichika froze, turning away from Grimmjow's snarling face. The savage words were breaking his heart. He didn't want to do this, but he had to. I'm sorry! He wished so badly to cry out and confess his sins to the man he still loved. He had to leave, before he ruined everything.
"I don't need you anymore," Yumichika said, then subsequently slammed the apartment door behind him. His small frame was propped against the front door, shaking. Hands were pulled together to hide the minuscule tears escaping from his reddened eyes. The look on his face! Grimmjow's blue eyes held the unmistakable tinge of betrayal. The remorse hung thickly through Yumichika's thought process. There was no turning back now, and that was Yumichika's last lingering thought before he gathered what little will he had left and ran away from the scene of love's last hope. I'm a creature...
A heavy silence followed the harsh sound of a door slamming. Grimmjow was uncertain of what he should do next. Following Yumichika would only lead to another confrontation and he was too tired to deal with any more pain. It hurt so badly just to breathe alone. The fragrant aroma that was his ex-lover was infused into his very being. One breath and raw emotion would pit into the bottom of his stomach. What had happened to him? When had he gone so soft?
He walked the short distance to the kitchen, barefoot. A cool draft of air puffed out as the refrigerator was opened by uncaring hands. The brief clings of metal against metal were heard before a hand reappeared, back from its rummaging, wrapped around the chilled bottle of alcohol. Seemingly, it was this liquid that would allow Grimmjow to relax and drown out his sorrows. There was no other way to extinguish the demons from his soul. A deep breath was released in the dankness of the dark kitchen. Another huff and the solemn body retraced its steps back into the foyer. What was wrong? There was something missing, but Grimmjow's body was numb. Nothing but a pounding heart was left to show he was alive. Wake up! That inner voice screamed at him, to do something, anything but this. Fuck them all.
He couldn't force himself to care anymore. This absence of body heat didn't startle him. He was transfixed with the coolness in his hand and, with a low pop the beer was opened, cap thrown aside to the wood floor.
Instantaneously, lips pressed against the bottle and began to suck its sustenance away. The bottle was tipped down, and gravity finally set in. The empty bottle shattered as it was thrown against the wall. Little bits of glass accumulated along the floor, and he didn't care.
My heart, like this glass, will forever be abandoned and broken. Why does this feeling make me sick?
Grimmjow leaned forward to examine the sharp reflective edges on the floor below. They were jagged like he was, incomplete, and, most of all, dangerous. And somehow, it made the urge to cry come forth even stronger than before. He wouldn't cry. No one deserved his tears. He was just the stray on the side of the road that no one wanted to rescue.
He felt so vulnerable after sacrificing every essence of his being into love. He should have listened to that part of him that refused to be chained down to some shady promise of happiness. Somehow he was relieved to be devoid of that feeling now. It was natural to be so unhappy. After all, he had to return to the state of mind he had known all of his life.
9 p.m.
The minutes ticked by slowly as Grimmjow lay prone on his couch. His eyes stared at the ceiling with a trance like fervor. An alcohol-induced thought drifted into his mind. I still feel it-where the pain of lies and false hope cuts at my skin. If only I could release my suffering from its cage. This beast inside me...
A limp hand hung over the side, brushing idly against the uncovered floor littered with an excess of bottles. Grimmjow sat up gradually, regretting his decision to do so. His sight clouded up and suddenly made him dizzy. It's too damn hot in here. His faint breathing picked up. Suffocating, he pulled at his green t-shirt to ease the sweat pooling along his spine. The shirt was freed from his body and left crumpled up on the seat of the couch. It didn't make him feel any better; it made him feel far worse. It made him remember. He shuddered, tracing the thin scar stretching against his abdomen with a callused finger. He returned to his original position. Skin pressed against cool leather. He laid there for what felt like an eternity until a strange impulse possessed him. He had to leave the cramped apartment. He observed as his body removed itself from the uncomfortable cushions, forcibly moving without the brain's consent. He slid the wrinkled shirt back over his body. Reaching out with one hand, he felt for the keys that hung near the door and grabbed them, encasing them within a sweaty palm.
He had to do something, but he wasn't sure exactly what needed to be done. I just need to leave, that's all. The vacant hand wrapped firmly around the rusting door knob, and, with a cringing screech, opened the door to the hallway outside. He slammed the door without any consideration for his annoying neighbor next door. The bitch can just deal with it.
A painful stab swirled in his chest, though he was thoroughly intoxicated. He had to push himself to jog down what little steps he had to travel to reach the exit. The smells of exhaust, greasy, overcooked food, and gasoline filled his senses. He had to blink several times to ease the dizziness away from his conscience. The effort wasn't sufficient enough. Nonetheless, he pursued his escape out into the small parking garage. He almost fell, clumsily stumbling over his feet.
Car after car, his eyes scanned the expansive concrete garage for one precious possession. A flame-red motorcycle beckoned to him. The jangling keys at his side resonated in the warm atmosphere. His mind was an empty shell, seizing no control over bodily action. A hand brushed against the silver handlebar before latching onto it.
10p.m.
The hum of the motorcycle engine died down as the cycle was brought to a halt. The man on the machine set his leather boots onto the pavement and slowly stood up, using the kickstand to keep his precious bike in place. Removing the helmet, he revealed wild blue hair, tangled in a mass of spikes, and piercing, cerulean eyes. The neon green sign glowed with the words The Lost Angels' Bar. Some strange force lured him here, and he'd be damned if he didn't acquiesce to its demands.
7 p.m.
The shrilling of a cell phone erupted from the pocket of a jean-clad thigh. The raven-haired man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, but rushed to answer the phone while his heart tried to calm down.
"Yes?" He answered timidly, not knowing who exactly would be calling him from this number.
"Yumichika." It was a deep voice that sent chills crawling all over his body. That powerful voice filled his heart with fear, but, most of all, a loathing and hatred rooted in the urge to wreck havoc. There could be no prediction over what that man would request this night. I feel like a slave. Command me and I shall obey like a lap dog.
He swallowed around the clammy feeling in his throat and coughed. He chose his words carefully, taking several seconds in consideration. "Good evening, Aizen-sama." His tone was sincere, though an underlying growl wanted to show through.
"Please, call me Sosuke," the voice purred. An echoing thud reverberated from the speaker, followed by a hesitant voice.
" O-Oyabun-sama, there seems to be a problem..." The conversation was heard distantly from Yumichika's ear.
The man released a frustrated huff before muttering, "One moment, please."
More thuds and other indefinable noises were heard, and then the presence of the man as he returned to the phone. "I have to end this conversation for now. Listen though, Yumichika. I want you to leave the building and wait for me at the Starbuck's. Ok?"
He wanted so badly to refuse and hurry back to those dismal blue eyes and that warm, comforting embrace. The caress of fingers with strength enough to break whatever they graced, the feeling of skin and muscle pressing heavily against his back, hot breath puffing onto his neck... He wanted that and so much more. But it was forbidden, and he despised the circumstances that brought him into this mess. He felt so far from his true self. To glance in the mirror and see the deceitful being he had become would destroy him. An ugly shadow of the former beauty...
"Yes, I understand," the obedient dog answered and hung up.
8 p.m.
He stared vacantly through the window of the moderately crowded coffee shop. Whiffs of brewed coffee beans and freshly baked pastries prickled his delicate nose as he waited for the anticipated visitor. The aroma was fairly enticing, but he currently had no appetite. Why feed this loathsome body of his? Food would not fill the dark void burgeoning deep within, nothing would suffice. His head hung low, barely a breath away from the top of the table.
A clanging bell sounded from the entrance, startling Yumichika, who was previously lost in thought. Gazes, from several people around the shop, curiously watched as the man strode in. From Yumichika's vantage point all he could see were long, lean legs approaching. Black pressed-slacks accentuated the length of the man's stature. Without even glancing up, he knew exactly who the man was.
Sharp brown eyes fell upon its prey. The heady smell of expensive cologne perforated towards Yumichika's vicinity. The unmistakable power he felt emanating from that presence stifled him.
An arm was brought forward, tightly encasing his own. Fingers cradled the wrist as if to prevent him from escaping. Yumichika didn't need any such thing. His life was already at stake at the very beginning. Escaping would only complicate matters. Like a knife at the throat, bound under the promise of death. Death. Somehow the thought reassured him.
The man before him was merely a façade put on as an extravagant show of authority. Passerby gawked at the mysterious aura that exuded from him every single step he took. Eyes were drawn to the masculine face framed by black-rimmed glasses. His harsh eyes peaked through mousy brown tresses of hair, building upon his shady reputation.
"We have business matters to attend to this evening. Would you care to join me?" Aizen requested, the sultry voice beckoning yet subtle.
Yumichika nodded before uttering, "Of course, Aizen-sama."
10:30 p.m.
The luxury of the sleek limousine was nothing but a superfluous possession to Yumichika. Relaxation was out of the question. He couldn't let his guard down around this man, who so possessively placed his hand on his upper thigh. He couldn't think...
The vehicle settled finally, stopping in front of an establishment. Because of the dark-tinted windows, it was rather difficult to make out any specific details. The driver exited, and, then, silently opened the door for his boss. The slight chill in the air entered through the open space. It was at that moment that Yumichika was able to make out the bold, lit-up words, Lost Angels'.
First of all I would like to apologize for the extremely long length of time it took for me to finish this part. I would like to thank RinLune for pushing me to work on this. She helped immensely. Please, go read her wonderful stories! Anyway, the main reason I wanted to rewrite this story was because I felt that the plot was inconsistent and wasn't very suited to what I had in mind. I am going in a little bit different direction with this. I hope that this chapter is far better than the last one. :D Ah! One more thing: for those of you who don't know... Oyabun is a Japanese term for Yakuza boss. (source: wikipedia)
Please, read and review. Tell me what you think! It would be very much appreciated. Bye bye for now!