Disclaimer: I do not own Get Backers. Sorry, I dunno what else to tell you. I could just ramble on like I usually do; some people think it's funny and entertaining, but I'm just not gonna do that this time! Nope, notta! LOL
Those days…
Those days….
It's those kind of days that can drive a guy insane, just close enough to the edge so that he can look over into oblivion. I hate those days… When the memories come rushing back to me, all of a sudden, and I can no longer drink or smoke away my thoughts. 'You did it'…'It's all your fault'…
'No redemption…'
I can usually handle it. I drown it out by getting into a fight or an argument or taking a nice long walk with a smoke places softly in-between my lips. I listen to the sound my shoes make as they hit the concrete sidewalk, and that noise seems to, somehow drown out all other sound of life around me. Eventually, I hear even louder footsteps behind me just moments before I'm nearly tackled to the ground by my overzealous buddy; my best friend, my "partner in crime", if you will. He always manages to track me down and pull me out of the darkness; but the thing that kills me is that he doesn't even realize he's doing it. Damn, lucky blonde-haired crazy-head.
"Ban?"
But on those days, not even HE can break me out of this state. I can still remember what happened that time… The memories came back and hit me so suddenly. I stumbled about, holding my head as if I had been hit with a baseball bat. I heard nothing that I could make sense out of, and the world went in circles. It was that night, on one of those days, that I took the Smith and Wesson I had stashed in the car and I ran. I don't know where I had gone, but by the time I had gotten there, I knew I couldn't take it. I caulked it, not bothering to check for ammo, and brought the head into my mouth. The taste of metal and sweat still lingers on my tongue; a taste I will not soon forget. I stood there, still and silent for a long time. Being there, holding the gun in my mouth like that must have triggered some odd sort of rationality, and it got my head to clear up just a bit.
"Ban!"
What was I doing there? It was so stupid… Then, just as I had calmed down, I tightly shut my eyes and pulled the trigger. Even though the gun had failed to go off, I felt, inside, that it really had, and I was dead. Ginji, like always, had tracked me down and found me inside our dark hotel room near the window. He was really there again, if not a little late. He pulled the gun from my mouth and pried it from my stiff and cold fingers. He threw it to the ground as I doubled over onto my knees on the floor as I hacked and coughed. Ginji was so frantic, probably thinking something stupid like the gun had been in my mouth too long, thus blocking my air too long, resulting in brain damage. When I put it together in my head, for just a moment, it hadn't seemed so stupid. No, what was stupid is what I had just tried to do.
It's been almost two weeks since that time, and food still didn't taste the same. Ginji hadn't forgotten, fussing over me day and night… But, then… how could I explain to him, that… that was just how those days went for me…?