Fragments of You
[A Suicide Club Fanfiction]
The chaos of the mass suicides continue, but people's daily lives continue on. For every person who commits suicide, there is another person who will stay alive no matter what. Yet even the ones who live are connected in some way to the dead and the other living, in ways they could never have imagined. Is there a way to stop these suicides, or even a way to slow the casualties? It all starts with a few people...
A boy whose life has nothing to offer him, but cannot bear to leave this world as a burden on others' shoulders.
A young golfer with a horrible sense of fashion who repeatedly turns up in the police station on reports of domestic violence.
A girl who believes she is invincible because everyone else is a figment of her imagination, and her younger brother whose silent loyalty hides a secret he can't tell anyone.
Flying
He winced as the thin, hollow needle slid into the tender skin on his wrist, piercing a spindly vein he could barely see. The sensitive area itched, perhaps just because he was aware that there was a sharp, pointy needle underneath his skin. The nurse plastered a piece of gauze over the puncture wound with medical tape and warned him not to touch it if he wanted to relieve himself of the pain.
Although watching a clear liquid drip down the tube into his body was disturbing, he firmly held his other arm against his side and resisted all urges to yank the stupid thing out. His head, as well as other parts of his body, were on fire, and all he really wanted at the moment was for it to stop. The striking white lights on the ceiling were beginning to blur and dance before his eyes.
A masked face entered his vision, lips moving behind the paper shield, but he could only hear vague murmurs through the sharp ringing in his ears. No matter how many times he blinked or shook his head, it refused to clear. He wondered when those painkillers would begin to take effect because he was really tired of this headache and the fire festering in the open wound on his forehead, currently underneath layers of soaked gauze.
The nurse appeared in the corner of his eye holding a metal tray of shiny metallic objects and fluffy gauze. He vaguely wondered what the doctor intended on doing with those when a dull sting from his arm distracted him. It was hard to see the nurse, but he managed to figure out that she was dabbing at his other open wounds while the doctor picked his tools carefully from the selection on the tray. At least the thing on his head made all of the other pains on his body seem like tiny paper cuts in comparison.
"Can you feel this, Nakajima-kun?" the doctor had to enunciate twice before he understood the man's words. His confusion must have been satisfactory as an answer because the doctor didn't say anything more and he really didn't feel much more than a bit of pressure against his head. The ache was still prominent, but if he focused his gaze on the ceiling and tried to make out the shapes there it wasn't so bad.
His eyes flickered lethargically after a while. It might have been a while. It could also have been five minutes for all he knew. Some subconscious part of him knew better than to fall asleep given the paramedics' warnings as they tended to him in the ambulance. The nurse occasionally slapped his cheek lightly, as well, her unclear voice ringing in his ears as he struggled to keep his eyes opened.
Don't fall asleep. You might have a concussion. Focus on something, anything, like dancers do to keep their balance. Don't fall asleep.
The lights faded in his vision and suddenly the ground beneath him was moving - or perhaps it was he who was moving. The fluorescent lights sped by like the lampposts on a highway, entering and leaving people's lives before they could even register that the lights had been there. His body was light and numb, the pain in his head throbbing with the intensity of an annoying, persistent headache. It was an improvement.
It was a little like flying, if human beings could ever fly like this. Not that he would know what flying felt like. Surely it wasn't like falling. Then again, he had never fallen from any height greater than a short tree before either.
They brought him into a dimmer room. From his position he could see curtains dividing the room in half and the backs of grey plastic chairs. Maybe they would let him sleep, but he doubted it. The nurse stayed with him for a time, speaking to someone at the door as he blearily opened and closed his eyes, itching to move but unable to do more than twitch his fingers. His limbs, what little he could feel of them, were heavy and leaden.
A figure dressed in a male school uniform entered the room. He had worn the same light grey blazer and slacks, but the nurse had been forced to throw the top half of his outfit in a plastic bag because of the blood. He wondered if he would have to throw all of it in the trash or if he could somehow wash the stains out. It would be such a bother if he had to buy a new uniform.
The person who he latently recognized as his friend Yukio sat in the grey plastic chair by the bed. Grateful that the ringing in his ears had stopped, he turned his head to the side and struggled to open his mouth enough to form coherent words. His mind was a little blurry; he vaguely remembered the events leading up to his shipment to the hospital, but it was difficult to grasp.
"What happened?" he managed to murmur. His words sounded funny, but he must have made some sense because his friend answered after a moment.
"…After Mishima and Kobe made you face-plant on the pavement and threw you down the stairs, someone called the police. That was stupid, 'cause the police station is really close to the bridge. The cops called an ambulance, but I think you were going in and out of consciousness by then. They wouldn't let me touch you, but one of them drove me here. I think his name is Yamane. Anyways, they said that you have a concussion and not to let you sleep."
He nodded lethargically and tried to move his hand again, but it was too much an effort to lift it from the sheets. Yukio stared at him, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a patch of gauze on his cheek near his lips where Mishima had punched him. He remembered that much. He didn't really know how it started, though. They had been walking across the bridge to go somewhere…he stopped thinking about it because it hurt his head, but didn't feel all that bothered about the blanks in his memory.
"I thought we were in trouble there, when you wouldn't move at all and the bleeding wouldn't stop. The doctors said it wasn't a bad cut, but I thought you were bleeding out or something…They said it was because head wounds bleed a lot. Shouldn't be too bad if you don't fall asleep," Yukio rambled, simply to occupy the time. He liked to talk and normally would discuss something a little less serious, laugh a bit, and tease him. He guessed that it had really freaked his friend out.
"Sorry to worry you," he mumbled, turning his head back to the ceiling where he wouldn't develop a crick in his neck. "What happened to those two? Did the police get them?"
"Yeah," Yukio replied. A pause filled the air between them. Maybe this was awkward for his friend; he didn't think so, but then again, he was still floating in a different world now and could barely move his fingers. "That officer who drove me here wants to talk to you later, when you wake up a bit. You can go home soon, actually. The hospital is a little busy with all that stuff that's been happening on the news. You remember the people who came to talk to us in homeroom, right?"
"Who…was that again? Who drove you?" he asked, struggling to recall the name. He was a bit unfocused now, that was true, so no matter how hard he tried he couldn't remember. The people who visited their homeroom, though, he did know with great clarity. It had been a boring morning that grew increasingly boring as the presentation went on. He had been doodling all that time.
"Officer Yamane," his friend said impatiently. His friend was an impatient person. He was probably doing that annoying thing with his leg, moving it up and down rapidly. He did that when he was impatient or bored. "You'd better not be getting amnesia. How am I supposed to explain that to your parents?"
"Yamane-san is our neighbor…he's nice and has a cat. She comes into our backyard often, so I play with her. Oh, he has a wife, too." The little white cat with the grey markings entered his mind. She was adorable; the family had named her Yumi and she was always white, even after she went wandering the neighborhood for a while. Sometimes she would come to his backyard and curl up in his lap with a pleasant purr, basking in the sun as he scratched her ears.
"I wonder if Yamane-san brought his cat…?"
He heard a dubious scoff. "Are you okay? I'm pretty sure he didn't bring his cat with him to work. You're in the hospital, if you remember, because Kobe shoved you down a flight of stairs. Oh, you have stitches, too! Five of them right near your hairline. It's covered up with gauze right now, so you can't see it yet. It's going to leave a scar, though. Isn't that a fun souvenir?"
That was right. They were going to the music store because Yukio wanted a new CD and his parents had asked him to pick some things up from the grocery store. There were no cats involved. Mishima and Kobe, who antagonized them occasionally in school, followed them part of the way through the streets and acted as if he were their friend. They dropped the act when they reached the bridge that crossed over the river dividing that part of the city.
That had led to the rather one-sided fight. Mishima shoved him when he was off-balance and his face had met the pavement, scraping parts of his cheek, hands, and knees. While Yukio yanked him away, Kobe had lifted him to his feet and whether it was an accident or not, shoved him down the stairs. He was surprised that he avoided breaking something.
"What else…is wrong with me? Are there anymore stitches?" he asked.
"Just those on your forehead where your face met the concrete," Yukio told him with a disgruntled voice. "Have fun taking a shower for a week with all of those bandages they gave you. You aren't supposed to get some of them wet."
They were quiet for a while after that. Yukio shook his shoulder each time his eyes began to flutter closed and he spoke occasionally about one random thing or another. As soon as the topic dropped, he had trouble recalling what it was they were even discussing. The room should have had a television set or at least a radio, but apparently Yukio didn't feel like listening to anything. That was rare. Everyone was listening to music these days.
Yukio shook him again, but this time he stared at his friend in confusion. He wasn't about to fall asleep this time. The other boy pointed towards the door where a taller person stood, a shadow against the bright lights beyond the room. The person entered the room, a familiar man in a familiar suit. He smiled at the officer.
"Hello, Yamane-san. Where's your cat?" he asked. It seemed like a perfectly logical question to him, but he heard Yukio scoff and watched his neighbor's confused frown turn into a small laugh of amusement that he didn't understand. The family's cat usually came when they called.
"She's at home," he chuckled. "How are you doing, Asuka-kun? Does anything hurt? Your parents are worried about you."
He frowned; that wasn't good. He didn't want his parents to worry over some stupid fight he had been in. At least they were both busy with their jobs this week and could not afford a single day off. They wouldn't have to skip work just to take care of him when his wounds weren't even that serious. He knew how much it bothered them to have interruptions during especially busy hours at the office.
"They…they aren't coming, are they?" he asked with concerned, troubled eyes. "I feel fine. It doesn't really hurt much anymore."
"No, I'm sorry. They said they want to come, but can't get off work yet," Yamane apologized unnecessarily, reading his concern the wrong way. He stepped around the bed, in and out of sight, and stopped to stand next to Yukio. "Your friend didn't get a chance to tell me what happened in the car. What can you remember?"
Yukio scowled, but didn't seem in the mood to retell the story as he leaned back against the chair.
"I fell down the stairs of that bridge near the police station. But I got these stitches from falling flat on my face."
"You kind of went flying down the stairs, actually," Yukio interjected with a chuckle. The officer made a choked noise, his eyes wide. "I guess you're pretty light. I still don't know how you didn't get more hurt, to be honest."
"You did what? How am I supposed to explain this to your parents? Why would you do that?" Yamane said incredulously, confusing him as he listened intently. It was hard to concentrate on one thing in particular, so just keeping up with the conversation was a challenge. It took him a moment to register the information correctly.
"It's not like I wanted to go 'flying down the stairs' as you put it," he frowned, twitching his fingers again. This time he succeed in dragging his hand up to his temple, gently prodding the gauze there but afraid to press against it too hard, even if it was numb. "I was pushed. Well, I guess you can say I was thrown, by those high school boys you officers arrested. We were in a fight."
"You can't say we were in a fight," Yukio protested. "If you say that, it means that we willingly participated. We didn't; they did everything. They didn't even stop at pushing you down. They had to shove you down the stairs, too. And that's the entire story, officer."
Yamane nodded slowly, looking back and forth between the two boys. Whatever concern he had was a result of those incidents those specialists had been coming to their school to talk about. Well, they weren't called incidents anymore, but murder. He almost forgot that Yamane was a police officer sometimes. He had a right to be concerned, he supposed, but it was still a bit silly to think he had jumped off a flight of stairs of his own volition.
Really, if he wanted to kill himself, he would have jumped off the bridge itself. That was common sense, he thought, but considering their reaction to his question about the cat, he had to rethink that. He sighed and let his hand rest against the bed again.
"When can I get out of here?" he whined.
- SO THIS MOVIE. It really grows on you after you get past the ambiguous ending. Really creepy and deserves more fic about it. So here I am. All original characters with the occasional canon character showing up (from the police).
- All characters are also inspired by characters from other fandoms, as well, so I don't own some of them. Can you name them all?
