So this is my first public fic. Any sort of review will be helpful and much appreciated!
This chapter will be exploring suicidal thoughts. Be warned. The next chapters are going to be a lot more friendly, however, so skip this chapter if you're disturbed by these types of things.
Chapter 1 | Hallucinations
Futaba opened the door. The sound of wood scraping against wood was loud against her ears, and it was still ringing as she entered the Sakura abode. She closed the door behind her and carefully placed the bag of groceries on the nearby kitchen counter. It was then when she heard a steady knocking.
Tap tap tap.
She brought her hands up to her headphones, pushing them down as hard as she could against her ears, trying to block the sound out. But it was no use.
Tap tap tap.
Her fingers curved in, scratching at her ears. She crouched down and shut her eyes as hard as she could, feeling a sudden burst of pain in her head.
Tap tap tap.
Gradually, she opened her eyes and rose from her helpless position. She was still by the kitchen counter, but everything seemed to have more of a... greenish tint to it. Everything but a lone, silver knife, casually laying on the counter as though someone had put it there for her to see. The intricate designs seemed to beckon to her, and the gleaming blade smiled promisingly at the young teenager.
Tap tap tap.
The rhythmic tapping suddenly began again, louder and more apparent than before. She turned around, dropping the knife carelessly onto the tiled floor. A small cut had formed at one of her wrists, right next to one of the main artery veins. She was frantically scanning the kitchen, fearful for no real reason when her eyes rested in the direction of the living room.
Tap tap tap.
She quietly walked over, as though she was in a trance. Her eyes flicked around the room, searching for what had drawn her there. Almost absent-mindedly, she walked towards the coffee table, positioned between a large, three-man couch and a wide-screen TV. It was at that moment when her eyes stared at it. A silver pistol, laying there, armed and ready to fire.
Tap tap tap.
Startled, Futaba nearly fell over on the spot. The tapping seemed louder than before, by a multitude. She grasped at her headphones and closed her eyes, stumbling around and knocking the gun off of the table. The gun slid underneath of the couch, but Futaba wasn't there to see that.
Tap tap tap.
The knocking kept getting louder and louder. No matter where she went, she could hear it. It wasn't until she had reached her bedroom door when she heard it again. But this time, it was… quiet.
Tap tap tap...
The tapping died out as she opened the door. It creaked open, creating an ear-piercing sound in the deafening silence. Futaba tenderly walked into her room; the very room that she had spent most of her life cooped up inside. It was here that everything was a dark shade of green, and strange figures in the shadows whispered into her ear. They whispered about her failures, her weaknesses, her faults. They cursed her, they yelled, they screamed. Just when the Sakura thought she couldn't take it anymore, her mind focused on the middle of the room. It was there where she saw two items.
One, a small set of foldable stairs. They gave a lot of height, and looked light, light enough to kick away if someone stood on top…
Two, clothes. Clothes hung like a rope from the ceiling fan, ending off in a loop. A loop that looked strangely promising, a loop that looked oddly familiar. She took a step towards what she believed to be comfort, towards what she believed to be salvation from the screams that rang in her ears.
She took another step, and another, and another. It was when she took the first of four steps when the tapping began more apparent.
Tap tap tap.
The noise scraped her ears, and she felt them tear apart. And, despite stepping towards freedom, her heart began to beat faster and faster from an impossible nervousness.
Even past all of this, she took the second step. She bore through the tapping as she tried to reach for the noose, but her hands wouldn't move from the nervous position, placed carefully in front of her frantic heart.
Tap tap tap.
She took the third step. One more to go. One more, and she would be free from worry, from desire, and from wrath. One more, and she finally wouldn't be a failure. She would have reached her goal.
As she took the fourth and final step onwards, she felt herself run into something warm. And soft. Her eyes were engulfed in black as she hugged the warmth in front of her; it was a welcome break from a coldness in her heart, a coldness in her body that she hadn't noticed before. The softness and warmth started to fall away from her, and she held on tight, desperate to not lose the only comfort she had. As she reached the floor, a yell reached her ears.
"Oof!"
As she felt herself land on top of something soft, Futaba turned away from the cloth obscuring her vision.
"Futaba?"
She took a moment to register her surroundings; she was staring at the side of her bed, now neat and clean. The room wasn't greened anymore, and, as she looked at her brightened bedroom, Futaba realized that she was laying on top of Akira, holding him in a giant bear hug.
More specifically, her position on top of Akira instantly registered in her brain as "suggestive" and "lewd", rather than the "comforting" and "warm" that had been in her mind previously.
"AAAH!"
Futaba pulled away from her death grip and stood up, quickly brushing herself off and turning her blushing head away from Akira.
"It's not what you think!" she yelled, hot in the face. She began muttering to herself so softly that even Akira's dog-like ears could not hear.
Akira looked at her curiously, before closing turning the distance between the two from "close" to "nonexistent". He held her at his chest, and Futaba started crying quietly into the comforting shirt. He patted the orange head, whispering comforting words, words of praise, words of love, all the while patting her head and planting a lone kiss on her head. While he might not have known exactly what was going on, he knew enough that the Sakura was distressed. And who better to relieve Futaba of this stress than Akira Kurusu himself?
While calming Futaba down, he glanced at the broken ceiling fan, then at the tools laying on the floor, sighing. He'd have to fix it another day. For now, however, he had more pressing matters to attend to.