Author's Note/Disclaimer:
This deals with a fair amount of inappropriate material, including substance abuse and physical abuse. I wouldn't recommend that anyone under that age of sixteen read it, and anyone of a sensitive nature ought to proceed with caution. I don't want to be responsible for emotionally scarring anyone.
Bones & Joints
Cloud my eyes and tell me what to see
I'm falling
He touched his fingers to his lips, pulling them away, as if he wasn't expecting to see blood there. He knew though, his fingers came back sticky and stained as they had a hundred times before. His lip had split open against his teeth when the punch connected. His tongue darted out to taste the coppery blood, licking it off his lips, the hint of a wince on his face.
He closed his eyes, wishing for sight to disappear for the moment.
Gripping a chair to pull himself up, he stood tall, proud, regardless of the abuse his body had suffered. His left foot dragged a little, the swelling in his ankle impairing his movement. His shoulders shuddered, hunching forward and his breath caught in his throat, escaping in a small gasp of pain as his arm pressed against his bruised ribs. He stumbled, his fingers grasping in mid air, trying to find purchase on something--anything--to keep him upright. He hit the floor on his side, his arm breaking his fall.
Setting aside both dignity and pride, he crawled toward the sanctuary of the washroom.
Every way I turn the same disease
But I like it
In the shower, his hands found his wounds, massaging them gently, washing away blood in the places where it had dried, or still leaked from him. Healing water, washing away the filth that clung to his karma. He stared at the pink tinted water, swirling away from him, down the drain. He shuddered, feeling the hard impact of those fists--fists made of hands that could be so gentle--on him once again.
He braced himself against the tiles with one hand, breathing heavily. He could never fully escape that sensation of those loving, yet lethal hands touching him.
His fingers trailed along the scratch marks that adorned his cheek. Deep red welts. They marked him as property of another. He scrubbed his hair, watching the pink come and then fade once again. More blood fled from his skin and scalp. He felt at the small cut near the back of his head, it was stinging. He rubbed a little of the shampoo in it, grimacing as it burned. He did it again.
Lather, rinse, repeat as needed.
Brace myself and hit the wall with ease
Colliding
I'm not minding the pain
A towel wrapped loosely around his waist, he supported himself against the washbasin, gazing down at the drain. One hand tugged at strands of his wet hair and he stared at the bruised reflection that met his eyes. He looked old, harried, worn. He was only twenty-one.
He ran his fingers over the track marks that adorned his arm. There were more now. He sighed, opening the cabinet behind the mirror. Wrapping the elastic around his upper arm, he sighed. This would help. This would stop the hurting, would make the ache in his ribs disappear, would clean the slate of him mind from worries for a while. Pouring a small amount of the precious crystal into a spoon, he heated it using precise movements developed over time. He filled the syringe, closed his eyes, and slid the cold metal into a new vein.
Bliss. Euphoria. Sublime relief, as he felt each cell in his body tingle and shiver with joy. He was expanding, the divine sensation too big for his small body. He drifted in and out of coherent thought, just feeling the effects of the drug. His eyes rolled back, he slid to the floor, lost in something too good to describe.
He slept.
I've been down here before
All my bones and joints are sore
Dig my way out of the wreck again
He slept, naked save for his towel, on the tile floor of the washroom. He had curled up in a fetal position, protecting himself from a midnight ambush. His sleep was uneasy, his dreams like to a tempest, tossing his mind across a rowdy sea, over tumultuous winds. His childhood nightmares mutated to accommodate new fears, assaulting him as he slept.
His breathing labored. He shivered, cold on the tiles. He awoke presently, disoriented. He noticed the spoon, elastic, and syringe scattered about the room. He groaned, tossing the syringe into the trash, collecting the rest of the items littering the washroom and depositing them back on their shelf in the cupboard. Splashing water on his face, he pulled the towel around his waist once more, and staggered down the hall to his bedroom.
He dropped the towel and crawled beneath the covers, curling up tightly, pulling blankets tightly around himself. Shivering, he strove for sleep. He was merely a boy, yet he was, it seemed, infinitely weary. He stared at the wall. White paint, light paintings crafted with him in mind, white roses with dustings of pink at their hearts. The darkness in the room gave them a dark edge, casting dark shadows across the floor.
He fell asleep while the scent of fresh roses hung heavily in the summer heat.
I've been down here before
Lost myself and so much more
Find my way out of the game again
He walked, with some difficulty, to meet them at a coffee shop three blocks away. It took him half an hour to get there. He'd wrapped his ribs with a bandage, hoping it would provide some sort cushioning from the strains of everyday movement. I didn't help at all, except to restrict his breathing a little.
They were sitting outside, sipping coffee out of white porcelain cups. Porcelain, like the color of his walls, only dusted pink like his roses from blood. He slid into the seat they saved him, smiling though it took some effort.
"Ohayoo, minna-san!" he said, leaning over to place a kiss on the cheek of the boy next to him. "Morning, koi."
"Morning," the boy said, returning the welcoming kiss. "Daisuke, where were you last night? I tried calling you, but you didn't pick up."
"What time?" he asked, turning as much as he could while minding the ache in his ribs. "I was out for a while."
"Around eight, you said you'd be in then yesterday, didn't you?"
"Well. . . yeah, but. . . well, you see Yagami-san stopped by, and asked if I wanted to play a little one on one. I thought I'd be home for your call, gomen, koi. I didn't mean to miss you."
"Taichi came to visit you last night, Daisuke?"
He nodded. "Yeah, didn't he tell you that, Haikari?"
"No, actually. He said he was going out with someone. . . I suppose it fell through."
"Probably, he just sort of dropped in on me, caught me off guard."
"Right, that must be it."
He didn't see the suspicious look that passed between the others at the table.
Open up my head and take it in
Just like always
Ichijouji Ken was coming to visit him. He inspected the bruises on his arms and torso, hoping that the shirt would cover them, though it was tight, the sleeves were long. He only worried that, if things progressed they usually did when Ken came over, the shirt wouldn't be there for very long.
He jumped at the sound of knocking at the apartment door. He grinned, he checked his hair in the mirror, adjusting the goggles he always wore, and hurried to open the door. What he found was not what he expected.
Think about the bar and take a swing
Loaded trapeze
Yagami Taichi stood in the hallway, drunk, wearing a very smug expression.
"Hello, koi." He kept smirking, it was unnerving. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"T--Tai-san?" He stammered, looking at the drunk boy. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you, koi." Taichi reached out, gently brushing his face. "I get the feeling you're not so glad to see me."
"I--I was expecting someone, actually. Just a friend."
"Another bo-oy?" Taichi was teasing.
"Uh, yeah. . . Tai-san, why don't you come back a little later?" He was beginning to get nervous, Ken would be coming soon.
He didn't catch the look of anger that crossed over Taichi's face, not did he notice the fist that was flying toward his face. He couldn't dodge it, and the force of the other boy's punch knocked him to the ground. He sprawled there for a moment, before scrambling backwards, away from his attacker.
"Tai-san, stop it. . ." He crawled further into the recesses of his apartment. Taichi followed. "Please. . ."
"You think you can run around with someone else behind my back?" A sharp kick to the ribs. "You think you can cheat on me?"
"N-no, Tai-san, please, stop it."
He shut his eyes as another punch connected with his face. He was being held in place by a strong hand, while the other was at the zipper of his pants.
"Please, Tai-san, I don't want this. . . leave me alone. . ." He was crying again. He didn't care, he knew Taichi wouldn't listen. Nothing he said would make a difference.
It was always the same, he always had such horrible luck.
What you need the most from me is yours
I'll continue to deceive you my friend
He didn't hear the soft knock on the door. He couldn't see the boy standing in the doorway, looking hurt and confused. He did, however, hear his name being called.
"Daisuke?" Ichijouji Ken. "Yagami-san?"
He would have said something, but his breathing was impaired by the soccer player sitting on top of him.
Taichi turned to look at the boy in the doorway. "Do you want a turn next, Ken?"
He bit the inside of his cheek, afraid that Taichi would hurt Ken. Tai was getting off him, he curled up in a ball, grabbing blindly at the corner of the couch, hoping a blanket would be there. Nothing.
He didn't see where Taichi went, whether he left or was hiding, but Ken's slender fingers were soon stroking his arm gently.
"Koi, are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. . ." He coughed. His ribs ached more now, and his face was throbbing, he could feel it swelling. He got up onto all fours, one hand cradling his side. He tried to crawl to the washroom, but collapsed after a few seconds.
His lungs were on fire, each breath burned him, and he had trouble ignoring the way he could hear his pule in his bruises.
"Daisuke, stop moving around. You'll make it worse. Let me help you, Dai. . ." Ken was stroking his hair, lifting his head into his lap, kissing him where it hurt, making it a little better.
"I'm sorry, koi. . ." He lifted a hand, trying to reach Ken's face, but it was an enormous distance to cross. "I ruined our evening together."
He saw the small smile above him.
"It's ok, Daisuke, I still get to spend time with you." Then everything went black.
You lost what made you you
Or maybe I never knew
He woke as the early hours of the morning stretched across the city. Ken was next to him, sleeping like an angel. He watched him sleep, brushing strands away from the other boy's face, making sure not to wake him. He was almost afraid to breathe, fearing that even the softest breath would shatter the silence that seemed so perfect.
Sighing, he slipped from beneath the covers, pulling on a shirt and padding out into the hall. He tried stretching, trying to estimate the extent of his injuries. His ribs still ached, and his face was sore and tender. He knew there would be bruises, but people had stopped asking where they came from. He expected that people stopped caring.
He stared into the mirror, before opening the cabinet and staring at the items that hid behind the glass. He quickly made an inventory of what was there, taking careful stock of where everything was set, and how old it looked. He reached for the syringe, pausing a moment to look at the door. He hesitated, hand poised in the air, before snatching the needle and then moving to lock the door.
His ritual commenced, his sleeved rolled up his arm, the needle in his vein for a moment, and then euphoria.
This would be the last hit. He'd stop, he promised himself that. He'd stop for Ichijouji Ken, because if he slipped, if he took too much, Ichijouji-kun would be sad. He's stop. This time, he would.
He just needed one last little bit . . .
I can't stay here anymore
Give it all or you're on your own
He heard something outside, people arguing, Ken was angry. He was still drifting on the waves of elation that the drug provided, but he could still realize that something wasn't right. He fumbled with the lock, and shuffled down the hall, leaning against the walls for support. He couldn't remember now just how much he had taken the second time. . . maybe it had been a little too much.
Ken was yelling at Taichi. Gesticulating, shouting, cursing. . . it was so strange to see. Ken was so reserved, so quiet. . . he was everything that Taichi was not.
He couldn't understand what exactly was going on, his vision had begun to swim, colors seeping into one another, blending into a general swirl of motion and stillness.
"What--?" he began to speak, but couldn't really remember what he was going to ask.
"Daisuke?" Someone was touching him, holding him up. He couldn't see. "Daisuke, look at me, what's wrong?" It was then that he realized his eyes had closed. He forced them open with some effort.
"Koi," he managed a rather vacant smile. The look on Ken's face was not what he'd expected to see. Deep creases lay scattered across his forehead. Brow furrowed and eyes wide, Ichijouji Ken touched his forhead.
"Daisuke, what's wrong?" He couldn't understand why Ken was so serious. "Daisuke, say something!"
"Don't shout at him, Ken, he doesn't look very good at all."
"Go away, Taichi. I want to talk to Ken." He said, touching Ken's face. He smiled. "I'm fine Koi, I just need to sit for a minute."
Taichi didn't say anything, which was odd. He wondered why there was a second set of hands helping him toward the couch.
"Dai, just lie down, you'll be ok." Taichi lifted him onto the couch, laying him out so that his head was supported by soft cushions. "Ken, go look in the washroom for some aspirin."
Why was Taichi being so nice? He hadn't been this gentle with him in ages. It was nice, he thought. He wasn't sure though, everything was going hazy.
Ken was running back in now, holding something in his hand, showing it to Taichi. He strained to see, then remembered. He'd left the needle out.
Ken was stroking his hair and saying something, but he couldn't hear. . . it had suddenly gotten very dim and quiet in his apartment. He couldn't hear the buzz of the air conditioner, or the sound of the radio that had been playing earlier.
He looked up at Ken, forcing himself to focus on his face. He stroked the boy's cheek, smiling. "I love you, koi. I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't want you to find out. I've finished with all of this, though. . . I don't need any of it anymore, I have you. I'll be yours for as long as you want me, Ken. . . I'll be yours until I die." His eyes slid closed, and he barely felt Ken shaking him, shouting at him.
He didn't hear his lover, begging him not to die.
I will leave you
Had he heard, he probably wouldn't have been able to anyway.