Disclaimer: I own very little.
A/N: I blame the prompt given by thekittykitty. The prompt for this one was, "1000 plus words, R, 'If I could bleed, or sleep!' and 'Nobody said it was easy / oh it's such a shame for us to part / nobody said it was easy / no-one ever said it would be this hard / oh take me back to the start.'" At first I was only going to make it a break-up fic, but then I remembered the rating, and, well...
WARNINGS: Darkfic, implied/semi-present non-con
Sacrifices
The hand caressing him suddenly gripped him tightly, strong fingers digging into his skin, hurting him. He winced, whimpered, told it hurt, but got no response.
"What are you doing?"
His question was unanswered as far as words went. His eyes widened as he felt a hand tugging at his shorts. Panic rose within him, this wasn't like usual, was it, this was different, this was wrong –
"Please stop it desu –"
There was no response.
"Go away."
There was no voice, no one to say the words, yet he heard them all too clearly. The never left him in peace, not for a moment, they followed him even as he hurried through the streets full of people doing their afternoon shopping. No one paid him any attention, the little girl oh look it was a boy after all pushing his way through them.
He wasn't very strong, so as to push people out of the way, but he was small and quick, and there was always somewhere he could slip through even in a crowd.
He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, or whether he was going anywhere at all; it all seemed so confusing, a huge blur in his mind's eye. It was like the tears he refused to let fall had filled his eyes nevertheless, preventing a clear sight of the world.
This was familiar yet not, this was wrong, he was sure about it. It wasn't supposed to be this abrupt, this sudden, it wasn't supposed to be about bruising touches and bites that actually hurt. It was supposed to end when he said no.
Yet it happened. it was happening all the time, and he had no idea what he could do.
There was another bite, even harder, and he knew it drew blood, it had to, and he whimpered, "Don't! It hurts!"
The only answer he got was a growled, "Shut the fuck up."
"I don't want you."
He almost glanced around but didn't, knowing it was no use. Nobody was talking, still, nobody even knew who he was, here. Nobody probably even knew he existed, easily forgotten as he was, gone as soon as they glanced elsewhere.
Maybe he was fleeing from something – from what, he wasn't entirely sure. Maybe he wanted somewhere to be, somewhere safe, somewhere he wouldn't have to listen to the voice, except the voice never left him alone, not for a moment. He wished he could just sleep and forget it all, and wake up to silence, or perhaps not wake up at all.
But then, the world rarely works as you wish it would.
Stumbling a couple of steps, he came to a halt, leaning against the wall next to a shop's brightly lit window. People passed by, none seeing him, like he were just a part of the wall. At the moment, he wished it were so.
The logical step would be to go home, as he well knew. At home, he would be safe. At home, he couldn't be hurt anymore.
Then again, those were all things he had thought he was, just a moment ago – the blink of an eye, he felt, though the ever logical part of his mind reminded him it couldn't be possible by any means. He'd been so sure, so certain –
He tried to escape, now, to avoid whatever this wrong thing was that was happening to him, but to no avail. His wrists were held in an iron grip over his head, one he was sure would leave bruises, and all his struggles did nothing to stop the other. Once he tried to kick, kick where it hurt, even though doing so felt so very wrong, only to find his kick blocked and a low voice swearing to make him bleed if he ever tried it again.
He ceased struggling after that, since the gaze in the golden eyes as he heard the words was not that of a man who made idle threats.
Yet he couldn't help but try to get away, to escape please gods no, as his shorts were torn away by force, despite his protests. It was in vain, of course, and all he got for his efforts was a painful slap and a growl reminding he was yet to bleed.
The tone of the growl implied that would come later.
"I don't need you."
Pushing himself off the wall, he continued hurrying onwards. Perhaps he should really go home, he thought. At least there he could go to his room and close the door, lock it if he wanted to, and know for sure nobody would come to bother him. To touch him. To… to hurt him.
But could he really be sure? Anywhere, of anyone?
He wasn't so certain anymore.
He did bleed, didn't he, he bled and cried and it was wrong, so different from usual, wrong and strange and painful. He asked why, demanded explanations, just wished to know why the other was doing this to him. This wasn't right, he cried, why oh why –
And the eyes were almost calm as they looked at him, calm and without any qualms, and the voice informed him, just like that, "Because this is what I am."
And then he only felt more pain, a fitting background to his world shattering.
"Go away."
At some point he found himself stumbling home, nevertheless, hurrying to his room and closing the door behind himself. He wanted desperately to go and take a shower, to wash all the filth off himself, the filth and blood and who knew what, but he couldn't, not now. It seemed all his energy was needed to simply stay upright, and then he couldn't do that anymore, even, collapsing on his bed.
His bed smelt clean, his mother had probably changed the sheets just today, and tears rose to his eyes as he thought of the other bed, the other sheets, of the droplets of blood on the white sheets.
He couldn't do anything afterwards, just shake and hold himself, but the other didn't seem to care. Finally he regained enough strength to stand up and start gathering his clothes, every move making him wince because it hurt, oh gods it hurt.
He didn't dare say a word, fearing what might happen, nor did he cry as he slowly pulled the clothes back on himself, trying to cover his shame. The other didn't say anything the whole time, didn't even look at him, as though he had stopped existing.
It wasn't until he was dressed again, still hurt and ashamed and just about to cry, that he heard the other speak again.
"Go away."
"Go away."
Without a sound, he curled up and cried.
"Jin?" The voice was quiet, almost fearful, and he didn't have to look up to know who it was. Of course he recognized the voice of his mother, and who else would have called him by that name, or been at their house – no one, that was who, not anymore at least.
Anymore. All thanks to himself.
The call of his name was repeated, and again, and finally he found himself calling out, "What is it?"
"What is wrong, Jin?" she asked, as though it was any concern of hers. "And don't try to tell me it's nothing. I know you better than that, Jin."
"It's… nothing important." As she continued looking at her, nervous yet determined, he snapped, "What? I didn't say it was nothing, just that it was nothing important."
She sighed, raising a hand over her eyes. "I just wish you could tell me what troubles you."
"Sure, sure, the hell. Look, you're not in one of those fucking counselling talk shows, got it? Whatever's wrong with me, you can't help it."
There was silence for a while, and he looked away, hoping she would get the hint and leave. Just as he was sure he'd be rid of her, though, she spoke again.
"Does it have to do with the way Dan-kun left, almost crying?"
The brat should have cried, really he should have, he shouldn't keep his emotions bottled up like that and didn't he know it was no good anyway, being here. Hopefully he had learnt his lesson now, hopefully he would stay away, for if he returned Akutsu would let him stay, he couldn't not, and if that happened he'd eventually snap and hurt the brat even more than he now had.
He was bad news, really. All his kind were. It was about the time the brat finally realized it for good.
He never answered his mother, just turned around, and he kept telling himself it was because she wasn't worth an answer and not because he was hiding tears, himself.