Because of Me
Chapter One:
Kitazawa's POV:
Softly caressing your hair, seeing that light in your eyes I curse myself for what I'm about to do, but my curse is silent even to myself as I think about taking you. You, the cheer in my life, you, the happiness melting away my sorrow—sorrow the alcohol can't quench.
The alcohol, that's why I'm doing this—I don't want you to hate me, I love you too much, only—only the alcohol I need more. That sweet nectar of the gods gracing my lip—god, what I wouldn't give to savor that liquid in any of its forms.
Even giving up you.
Damn, that light of yours shines too bright, I can't do it now, can't rob you of your innocence—not sober at least.
That was my last journal entry before that fatal day—before I pushed you over the edge, before I pushed you into killing me. You don't know it, and you probably never will, but I tried countless times before to do what I did that day. To sell you, but always I got cold feet and cancelled my plans—always calling them back and telling them not to come.
And that day would've been the same had those punks not come early—and if that one hadn't brought a gun I'd probably still be alive today.
Enough thinking about what could've happened, it's no use dwelling on those things when one's dead, floating lazily around watching over the one who killed them.
Yes, that's what I do, Eiri-kun, watch over you, hoping you'd drop away the frozen layers of your heart and let someone in. Let someone into your life, to love you, who you could love in return.
But the closest my wish got was bringing that pink-haired singer into your life.
Even he couldn't melt away all the layers of steel surrounding your heart—yes, it's steel, not ice, protecting your heart, because of me—because of me.
Why couldn't I see how deeply you cared for me? Why couldn't I realize your bright, bright smile had always been meant for me? In my alcohol befuddled mind I never realized how much you loved me.
God—I couldn't even remember how it felt.
Yes, yes Eiri-kun, I know how it feels to be hurt, and I drown it all away through alcohol—at least when I lived, now I have nothing to blur out those memories.
Oh, god how it hurts remembering not just my pain, but the pain you suffer from because of me.
I regret what I've done—turning you into a cold-hearted bastard who can't ever show love to anyone, who can't trust anyone—not even your lover.
All I have to relieve my soul is knowing you haven't repeated my wrong—you haven't fallen victim to that vicious cycle, the same cycle I fell victim to.
Yes, Eiri-kun, I had my innocence raped away from me—at an age much younger than sixteen. I remember that summer—the summer I turned eight. That summer, since I failed to live up to my parents' expectations, they got me a tutor.
Oh how I hated that tutor, how I despise him now. His methods of discipline consisted, at best, of pinches and whacks with a ruler, and at worst—at worst he broke my wrist once. Of course that's not mentioning the rape—
God, Eiri, I curse myself for not remembering what it was like—I always thought I was a good tutor since I never hit you or punished you in any way. I was always good to you—wasn't I? Only…only I betrayed you, betrayed you in the same way I was betrayed—betrayed you beyond redemption.
I know that—what I did to you can never be forgiven, not when I realize I stole more innocence from you than what was stolen from me.
I caused you to kill me.
And by doing so, I caused you to lose an innocence that can never be repaired—your pearly white hands will forever be stained with blood. My blood, my wretched, alcohol-cursed blood.
How—how, I keep demanding of myself, how could I tear that innocence from you—it's not merely the attempted rape that plagues you—it's your murdering me that plagues you. You staining your hands with the one you love's blood. God, Eiri-kun, how can you regret my death? You shouldn't, I deserved it—I deserved to die for selling you to those punks, for hurting you.
God, Eiri—why do you still love me?
Why are you now in the kitchen of your elegant apartment, brandishing a knife to your wrist? I see you now, Eiri, your blond hair matted with sweat to your forehead, your gleaming light brown eyes staring at the sharpness of the blade—you're drunk, I know it.
But that doesn't stop you from making the first cut, a cut not deep enough to cause much damage, but it's still enough to have me cry out to you.
A cry you fail to hear.
The next cut runs deeper, and soon your shirt is stained red—and your hands—your hands are once again covered in blood.
'Eiri!' I call out again, looking at you frantically, at the blood pushing its way out of your cut wrist. 'Eiri.'
Unable to hold you in my arms or call for an ambulance I search the apartment for your lover—hoping he's asleep in the bedroom I check there first, but no—that's when I remember, you kicked him out again.
'God, Eiri-kun, what do I do?'
I don't want your hands to once again be permanently stained with blood—this time your blood.
'Eiri-kun—' I reach you as your alcoholic stupor fades and you realize what you've done, but it's too late as you fall to the kitchen floor. 'Eiri-kun!'