Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy the first chapter of Wrath. I have some things planned for this story so stay tuned! Let me know if you like it or not, because it is my first story in a very long time
"Che," Ichigo spat as he lit a cigarette and took a long drag on the smoking cylinder.
Leaning against the alley wall he surveyed the damage. His knuckles were bloody and bruised, turning an impressive hue of purple, spattered with the familiar red of blood.
It would take a few weeks for these to heal completely he thought, as he removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled.
He winced in pain.
Tentatively touching his lip he realised it was split to the left, crusted in dried blood that flaked away and was quickly replaced by the fresh warm fluid. That was going to be a good one he chuckled and continued to suck in the gloriously hazardous toxins from his not too healthy relaxant.
Cancer stick, that's what his dad had said once. Fucktard.
Ichigo pushed his long bangs from his face. His hair was shoulder length and filthy, matted with dirt and grime from the scuffle that had just occurred. Not caring for his hair he looked down at his black skinny jeans and swore.
Fuckers had cut his jeans! Fucking ruined! He seethed momentarily wishing they would regain consciousness so that he could pummel them some more.
Covering his head with the hood of his grey jacket, he fisted his hand in his pockets and walked away from the carnage, throwing his cigarette butt on the ground as he left.
Glancing back at the three men lying in a pile behind him he sighed. No one seemed to be a match for him recently. Especially some pussy's wanting some ass.
Ichigo slammed open the door to his small, depressing hole of a home and quickly kicked off his converse, slipping out of his jacket and throwing it on the kitchen bench that flanked the right wall near the door. Grabbing the back of his shirt he pulled it over his head and walked to his bathroom which was connected to the shit small bedroom to the right.
His apartment consisted of two rooms connected by a door that had long ago been able to close. One room was the kitchen and living area, whilst the small second room consisted of a mattress on the floor and a pile of clothes in the corner, the said bathroom attached.
Looking in the mirror he assessed the damage. He had slight bruising around his ribs where one of the men had kneed him by surprise. Otherwise a few cuts and scratches here and there, but on the whole, fine. He'd had worse. Far worse.
Sighing he stripped and turned on the shower, throwing his clothes into his room. Ichigo waited for the water to run warm, but it never came. The autumn weather had an icy grip at the edges, indicating a fucking cold winter.
Swearing under his breath at the useless shit hole that was his home he jumped in and quickly scrubbed his bruised body, washing away the blood and memories of that night.
Fuck it was cold. Ichigo quickly turned off the shower, afraid his balls would turn blue.
Throwing a towel around his waist he sauntered to the fridge and grabbed a beer, cracking it open, letting the froth pour to the floor. Shrugging he sucked on the white foam and sat down on the dilapidated couch.
Gazing at the dancing images on the TV blankly, his mind wondered. His life had been less than appealing; no wonder he had ended up in a shit hole, with no family and hardly any friends. Well he had one friend, but relying on him was like relying on his fucktard father.
The past wasn't necessarily a thing he wished to dwell on frequently but he found himself drowning in memories best kept buried. He had dropped out of school at fourteen, for various fucked up reasons, and lived on the streets for a year surviving on the good will of some local bar tenders and crime. He hadn't wanted to turn that way but when push had come to shove, he had, had to do what needed to be done to survive. Unfortunately, it had lead down some dark paths, which are still mental and physical scars.
Ichigo licked some tobacco off his lip, thinking about the first time he had stolen. He had been living on the streets for about four months and the desperate need for food had finally made him snap. He had quickly snatched a wallet sitting on the end of a ramen stand and made a dash for it.
Taking a sip of beer he looked at the logo. It was black with the words Yamamoto written in blue down one side. The logo reminded him of how badly beaten he had been. His face was so black and blue that he couldn't make out his facial features for months. He should have known with his bad luck that nothing could ever go smoothly and he would accidently steal some yakuza's bloody wallet.
He remembered the event so clearly, he could still feel the foot that had broken his nose. The man had, had short black hair with a sixty-nine tattooed to his face. Looking back on the event from seven years ago, he realised that the guy must have been a massive knob to have a sixty-nine tattooed to his face.
Ichigo laughed, running a hand over the raised lump on his hand where the douche had put out his cigarette. He still remembered the smell of searing flesh and the cry of his fourteen year old self, barely strong enough to keep the tears from running down his face. The man had laughed, spitting into his hair and dragging him down an alley way, smashing his face into the brick wall repeatedly. He was lucky to have been left alive.
Ichigo lay in a crumpled mess on the side walk for hours until a young woman had found him and taken him back to her apartment. To this day he was thankful to the young woman that had mended his wounds and fed him. To Ichigo, she was an untouched angel; the world had not tainted her in any way. How wonderful it must have been to be so fortunate, he sighed.
In the days that followed his brutal beating he had discovered that the young woman, Orihime, was a graduate nurse at the local hospital. She had wanted to take him straight to emergency but he had begged her otherwise. To be honest Ichigo, didn't remember anything. She could have shown him her tits and he would not have remembered. And she had great tits.
After a week in her care, he had felt well enough to leave. He had never been good with relying on others and quite frankly, he trusted dog shit more than any human being.
The young Ichigo had silently left one night whilst she had been on shift work, leaving little to no trace of him behind. That was the way it had always been for Ichigo. He was like the icy breeze that would quickly engulf you in a howling storm, leaving you dishevelled and chilled to the bone.
He had visited Orihime three times after he had met her. Mostly from being so badly beaten that he had required help. He had only seen Orihime once, without the need of medical assistance. He had seen her from afar and unconsciously called out to her. She had smiled and hugged him, asking how he was, the usual shit. She had told him that she had just gotten engaged to some guy by the name of Ulquiorra and was expecting their first child.
He had been happy for his healing angel. He had never wished her any harm, nor had he wanted the filth of the world to taint her. That had been the last time he had seen Orihime.
Ichigo coughed realising his cigarette and long burnt out. Riffling for his packet he placed the butt between his lips, cupping the flame around the base of the smoke, inhaling deeply to keep the embers glowing.
If Ichigo had been born to a better life, a different time line perhaps, Orihime and he could have been friends. But that was a concept that was too farfetched. I mean his only friend now was some depraved psycho with narcissistic tendencies.
A sharp ringing broke through his reverie. Speak of the devil!
"'Sup fag!" screamed a booming voice. Shiro was an overly frivolous drunkard that had more than once let him sleep on his couch for a blowjob or two. Definitely narcissistic, the two of them fucking looked similar and he had made Ichigo suck him off, asking if he was a seedless berry.
"Tch, you're probably the only one who could possibly get away with such an insult you cock sucker," Ichigo scratched his head, why the fuck would he call him now?
"Yo Ichi! Nel said she needs a scratch that only you could itch! Get here now!" Shiro laughed heartily. Ichigo could hear a female moaning in the background. "Dude she is sooo fucked up right now! And she wants you bad!"
Ichigo shivered. When Nel was fucked up, so was the sex. They had hooked up a couple of times on the basis of a desire that needed to be fulfilled. It wasn't anything special, at least not to him. Sometimes he just needed the contact of another, without it resulting in violence.
"Man, I just had a shower," he complained, "tell her to find her own way here and I'll scratch her itch."
"Yo Nel! He said he would do ya if ya found your way to his. You down?" He heard Shiro talking to the green haired beauty on the other end of the phone. He heard a soft mewling sound and then Shiro was back on the phone, "She said she'll be there in ten… that is if she doesn't finish herself off before she gets there!" Shiro cackled, hanging up on Ichigo abruptly.
Ichigo lay back in the chair, studying his cigarette and chugging down his beer. Shiro had been like an awkward, unreliable brother to Ichigo since he had been fifteen. They had met on the streets one night when Ichigo was pick-pocketing drunk business men who didn't know left from right.
The two had glared each other down. It seemed as though both boys were waiting for one of them to back down or burst into flames under each other's malice driven attention. Shiro had confronted him, sprouting nonsense about this being his territory or some shit. Next thing he had known they were both having a full on brawl in the middle of the street. Ichigo had knocked the prick senseless.
Once the two had settled down, Shiro nursing a healthy black eye, he had turned to him offering a hand, "I like a man that can dominate me, the names Shiro," he grinned.
Ichigo had laughed and introduced himself. They chatted for a bit realising they had a lot more in common than just a similar face. They had teamed up for a few years, experiencing life together, stealing together, hell Shiro had introduced him to everything. Cigarettes, drugs, women, Nel…
Maybe Shiro hadn't been the greatest of influences but he was practically the only stable in Ichigo's life. This said more about Ichigo's life than Shiro himself.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale… Ichigo gazed at the smoke that seemed to reach towards him like hands, wondering if he would need something stronger. Nel was a bit clingy for his liking but she was nice and her body was… well… fucking great. He was getting hard just thinking about it… Last time they had gotten together they had fucked in the kitchen. He could still feel her whip dragging along his spine.
Nel… She had been a demonic little goddess when they had first met. He had been nineteen at the time and Shiro had taken him to see his female friend at a strip club. He had watched her avidly slip, slide and grind against the pole in the centre of the room. Her hot pink leather corset hardly holding anything in place. Her legs seemed to go on for miles, meeting voluptuous hips, a tiny waist and tits that made men rock hard at the sight of her. However, she seemed only to have eyes for Ichigo that night.
Thus returning to the current situation, Ichigo checked his phone. 15 minutes had gone by. Where the fuck was she?
There was a tapping at the door, almost rhythmic.
He smiled wincing at the pain in his lip as he went to answer the door.
"Are you wet enough y-," Ichigo stopped mid sentence. This was not Nel. Not by a long shot.
Glaring at the figure in front of him he removed the cigarette from his lips, leaning on the door frame, adjusting his towel that had slipped dangerously low on his slim, muscular hips.
"Not who you were expecting then?" the man asked.
"What the fuck do you want?"
Chuckling, the man dragged a hand down his face, locking Ichigo's eyes with a ferocious rapture. "You gonna let me in? I need ta talk to ya."
Ichigo contemplated the request and laughed, "Fuck off blue bird."
"Oh you're a funny one. Fine, don't invite me in, but you're coming with me sunshine," the man stated.
Ichigo laughed and extinguished his cigarette on the door frame, this could get ugly and he wanted both hands free. "The fuck I am you dick."
"I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but seriously! You're such a little bitch it pisses me off," the man seethed, reaching for Ichigo's arm.
Before the man could reach Ichigo, he fired a fist at the strangers face.
Ducking the punch easily, the man landed a hefty blow to Ichigo's stomach, knocking the wind from the smaller man.
Ichigo's vision wavered slightly; however, it would take more than that to take him down. Grabbing the man's wrist he spun under his arm locking it behind the strangers back and pushing him into the wall. Ichigo chuckled at how easy this man was to deal with. A lot easier than back in the day…
A sharp pain shot through Ichigo's skull as an elbow connected with his temple. The world swayed viciously to one side, the outer rim of his vision blackening rapidly. He heard, rather than felt the thud of his body hitting the veranda.
The blue haired man stood over Ichigo, grinning manically down at the ginger.
"It's still too early for you to take me out Strawberry."
Fuck, Ichigo thought as he felt his eyes slide shut.
A/N: Thanks for reading if you did! I truly love a troubled and bloodied protagonist, so I am sorry if you feel otherwise but it just gets me all flustered and fangirly so bear with me haha.
I get the chapter names from Shakespeare too by the way. "Wrath makes him deaf" is from 3 Henry VI.
Anyway thanks! :3