Disclaimer: Hey, boys and girls! Sorry I deleted my other fanfic, but I just wasn't feeling it any more. But here's a lovely oneshot for ya, I personally loved it! I seriously had an obsession to write it; not even kidding. Anyway, enjoy Insanity!
INSANITYThe insaneness of it all bore down on him every day. Every minute of every day. Every second of every minute of ever day. Why would no one see that it was killing him? Why would they just stand there, smiling their fake smiles, as his world crashed around him?
He didn't understand it. He couldn't understand it. Ever since his mother had died, when he was 4, everything had begun to fall apart.
At first it started with mere whispers. Soft nothings that came to him in the night, when nothing else was there.
Then the nothings turned to words. Harsh words that grated his every nerve, drove him to shouting in his seemingly empty mind.
At the age of 11, he began to hallucinate. Another person, the inverted image of himself, would appear, speaking in that distorted voice that urged him to cause pain. It urged him to cause pain to himself, to those around him.
The family noticed the changes, how he jumped at every sound, how he shook his head and said "Stop talking to me!" when no one was around him.
But they couldn't help him. They couldn't stop the voice of insanity that urged him to wreck the world around him as his was being wrecked.
Years went by after the hallucinations began. It was his seventeenth birthday. That other him, whom he merely called Akuji, for the destruction he called, was with him every second of every minute of every day.
That insanity that his voice caused called to him, beckoned him with every passing second. He was getting closer; he knew it, getting closer to that end that Akuji spoke of every day.
He had to find a way to let the insanity out, before it consumed him. He wasn't ready to give in just yet.
So, on that night, the night of his seventeenth birthday, he crept into the kitchen of his family's clinic, selecting with great care the sharpest kitchen knife he could find.
It was perfect; it felt so right in his tan hands.
Slipping back into his room, he sat on the bed, ignoring Akuji, who, for once, was silent as he watched.
At first, he didn't feel anything as he drew the knife along the curve of his arm, a few inches above his wrist. It merely tickled.
Annoyed, he drew the knife along his skin again, harder, watching as a thick line of dark blood rose up. It burned, but it was a good burn; he actually felt happy.
Beside him, Akuji leaned down and licked a drop of the blood, smiling an insane smile.
The whispers of insanity, of the urge to cause pain, disappeared for a while. He went about his normal days, ignoring those around him. Ignoring his counterpart who followed him daily, but was curiously silent.
Then the whispers started again. A few weeks had passed; his cut had healed to a thin scar. But this time, the whispers were different.
They demanded he cut himself again; they demanded he show his blood for that insanity.
To escape them, he did as they commanded. Bringing that same knife up to his room, he proceeded with another cut, just a few centimeters above the old one. But he wasn't satisfied; it hadn't hurt, like he wanted it to.
Akuji wasn't satisfied either. He demanded another, and another. And only after he'd watched him make those three cuts did he command him to stop, did he take the knife and lean down to lick each cut.
It was enough for now; it had to be.
His family pretended not to notice the bandage wrapped around his arm the next day; his sister Yuzu didn't comment on the missing knife. They couldn't.
This time the whispers came sooner. Not even four days had passed this time. Akuji was with him in school, whispering frantically in his ear. He wanted the blood; he needed it. It felt like he was experiencing withdrawal; he had to get out.
No one noticed him slipping out of the classroom, running as fast as he could to get home.
He slammed into his room and took the knife from under his mattress; he made frantic slashes at his arm, in various places.
He wasn't careful; he drew deeply. He needed this, like he needed air. Each slash was like drawing in air after having been denied for the longest time. It was a relief so deep he nearly passed out.
Akuji was the one who once again made him stop, who licked him clean when it was over. Akuji was the one who hid the knife, who bandaged him and slipped him into bed. Akuji was the one who once again began his whispers of insanity, urging him on before he slept to begin once again the minute he woke up.
It would never end, and he knew that.
Days passed, and turned into months. His arms were masses of scars, old and new. He'd started on his legs, having run out of room on his arms. He relished being alone, being able to inflict those cuts on him that felt like sweet release. He needed the pain, the same way his other half needed his blood.
It was insanity, and it felt good.
That was, until the insanity changed once again.
Akuji called for more this time; he wanted it all. He wanted every drop of blood he could get. He whispered for a bigger knife, for deeper cuts, watched in sick fascination as his tan half drew the knife in a long cut along his leg, following it with his tongue.
But it wasn't enough; it was never enough.
This time Akuji guided the hand, drawing it in long, sweeping cuts along his chest, along his neck. He needed, he wanted, and he took.
He didn't mind, though; he let Akuji have his fun. It was what he wanted, needed, as well. He wouldn't deny Akuji what he'd already denied him for so long.
He didn't protest when Akuji suddenly drove the knife deep into his side, pulling it out to suck up the blood pouring out. He didn't feel the pain, couldn't feel it.
He weakly helped Akuji with the next thrust, this time on his shoulder. He arched up, feeling his eyes burn, but nothing came out of them; all of his body's fluids were escaping him from below.
He could only watch, in happiness, in joy, in pleasure, as Akuji drove the knife into him one more time, this time over his heart.
It felt amazing, better than sex.
He felt himself getting cold, his limbs heavy, and his vision darkening. Yet still he watched as Akuji happily lapped up his blood like a cat, licking the knife clean.
He heard, one last time, that awful, distorted voice speaking to him.
"You're mine, now, King. And this time, you'll never escape me; we'll both be dead together."
Yet he couldn't hear him; he was already dead.
So, what'd you think? Really dark, I know. And so graphic! Sorry, I really wanted Ichigo to have something like schizo, or depression. That's what Hichigo does to him. Yes, Akuji is Hichigo. Anyway, what did you think? Please review!!! Pretty please??? (I'm sorry for killing Ichigo and making Hichigo so weird, but it had to be done)
hichigomate