Lithium
By Forsythia Sky
Chapter One
"You're lying," I snarl, angling my face to the hazy, blurred image of Shinra. The young doctor looks at me with what looks like pity in his chocolate irises.
"Shizuo, I have no reason to lie to you," he tells me sadly.
I know it is the truth, but it is so hard to just lie down and accept it. I am never one to go down without a fight.
"No," I say, with a shake of my head. "You know me! You know that I don't get hurt. This is not possible!" I know I'm shouting, but I can't control myself whenever that haze of red overtakes my mind.
"Shizuo, I'm not lying," Shinra pleads with my dwindling sanity. "Your vision is slowly deteriorating; we don't know the speed that it spreads but we know the outcome."
"You don't!" I yell, gripping the white hospital sheet in my fist so tight, my hands started bleeding.
The slow spreading of the bright crimson looks like flowers blooming on white snow.
Eerily beautiful.
Yet it does nothing to console my inner rage; the pain merely fuels it.
"You're going to be blind," Shinra states without remorse. And I am appalled at how calm he sounds, with no hint of inflection in that usually cheerful voice of his.
I think I hate him.
I lunge out of the bed, intending to grab his scrawny neck and snap it. I intend to pin the blame on Shinra. I want someone other than myself to hate.
I'm pathetic. But that isn't what stops my attack; a needle in my arm jolts me out of the haze and I stare at it mutinously.
I recognize that familiar prick on my skin. It is the same kind used on out-of-control animals.
How appropriate.
I want to cut that arm off, just to stay awake.
Luckily, I am much too pathetic to do so.
Before I black out, I stare at Shinra's hazy face, meeting his remorseful expression with my own betrayed one.
How could you Shinra?
I trusted you.
You told me you'd never lie to me.
But I know I'm only lying to myself. I welcome the blackness for the first time in my life. Then, remembering that I would likely be facing it for the rest of my life, I fight it.
I don't like fighting.
But I hate losing much more.
For the next week, I live like a zombie.
Doctors that come in to give me my medication are not met with resistance or glares; merely passive indifference to any treatment I receive.
I know I said I'm a fighter, but I never fight losing battles.
I've never fought a losing battle.
With strength like mine, one doesn't know the concept of losing when there is no possible chance of it. They say I'm still in denial, and who's to say I'm not? But when I glance out my window and stare at the rays of light, I want to cry when I realize they will never reach me again.
That my failing eyes will never accept any more light and I will be forever sucked into darkness.
Another thing that my strength has never allowed me was fear.
I'm not being vain. I am merely stating the facts that have been branded into my existence. I have never met an enemy that could overpower me and anything that is considered 'frightening' in the slightest to the average person doesn't scare me, for all I have to do is think about how I could destroy it and that would be that.
But this case is different; it scares me so, so bad.
Because this time, my enemy is invisible and intangible. It isn't something my hands could slowly choke the life out of. It isn't something I could throw far, far away so that by the time it finds me again, I am already at my deathbed.
How cruel this life is.
Here I am, with all the strength in the world, and in waltzes an illness.
That's all it takes for me to become powerless.
So with these thoughts, I give up. I throw down my hand of cards. I raise my white flag.
Nothing I do will change anything anymore, so why bother? Nobody can save me, and I can't save myself.
I will let this darkness eat me until all that's left is a shell of who I was. When it comes to darkness, it is so much easier to just succumb to its wishes than to fight with the intangible substance.
When I think about it, my life has been a meaningless cycle of blood and violence. So really, there has been no reason to fight to begin with.
So with these thoughts, I once again let that dark wave swoop me in its arms. I don't hate the fact that I'm powerless anymore.
At least now, I feel like a proper human.
And that is how I became; a shell. For the next month, I am nothing but an empty hole that has no end. No matter who comes to talk to me, this is how I am.
This is Heiwajima Shizuo giving up.
It's been a month already, and when I open my eyes, I am still lying in that despicable hospital bed.
But this time, there is a new face hovering over me and I could just make out the delicate features, dark hair and those shocking red eyes.
"Oh, you're awake!" the boy crows, giving me a once over with those strange irises. He acts like he's supposed to be there. I don't reply, but merely keep my fuzzy gaze locked with his as I sit up.
At least, I think they're locked with his…
It is strangely disconcerting how the raven-haired boy never wavers his smile, even when I don't return it in the slightest.
"Who are you?" I ask without pretense. The boy remains unfazed.
His grin actually spreads wider across those pale features. It's kind of attractive…
What the hell am I thinking?
The boy backs up a bit and gives a haughty smirk. "Orihara Izaya," then he does a sweeping bow which looks so out of place when he's wearing those flimsy hospital gowns. He looks like the type to be wearing expensive designer clothing to match his aristocratic features. "It's a pleasure."
"Right…" I say, reaching over to the bedside table. Where the fuck are my cigarettes? "What—?" My hands are fumbling around the table desperately. Are they actually there, but I am unable to see them?
I hear a snicker come from this "Izaya's" side of the room. "Looking for this?"
I turn to squint over at him. In his thin fingers, he's holding what I'm guessing are my packet of cancer sticks. He shakes the box slowly and mockingly.
I growl. "Hand those over, louse."
"Uh, uh, uh!" The annoying boy sings, clasping his hands behind his back. My shadowy room makes his ruby irises seem like they're glowing.
Or it could be my eyes playing tricks on me again; they've been doing that for a while.
"Manners, Shizu-chan!" He skips around my room, looking at one with the dark colors in my prison that make his skin look even paler.
I narrow my eyes at him, though it pains me to do so. "Just give me the fucking cigarettes! Who the fuck do you think you are?" I'm cranky when I don't get my nicotine, but I'm usually not this bad. Something about Izaya just irks me.
Any regular person would be scared shitless of me and my notorious ill-temperament by now, but Izaya acts like I am only scolding him like a mother would. He giggles and does a twirl.
"And how do you know my name anyways?"
His giggles grow a tad bit more crazed. "I have my ways," he says. Then he lifts my pack of addiction to his face and stares at it with an extremely thoughtful expression. I feel that red-hot anger coil in the pits of my stomach.
Then abruptly, it's gone. I sink back down in my mattress. What's the point anyways? My whole life, all I have been doing is fighting. I'm so tired, and I just want to disappear already. But Izaya isn't finished yet, for he slinks carefully to my side. He doesn't say a word, and just stares at my passive face. For some reason, it seems to piss him off.
He just stands and stares at me with those fierce eyes.
Sick of it, I reluctantly ask, "Why are you in my room?"
Looking slightly appeased, he prances over to my window. He doesn't reply.
Then abruptly, he throws the window open.
A huge gust of wind plows into the room, the cold air chilling my skin and throwing my blankets into a state of chaos. The smile on his face looks like one of a desperate, drowning man clinging to hope. He basks in the glow of the full moon out tonight and stares at the glittering stars. The wind ruffles his hair wildly; without restraint.
I will forever have the image branded in my brain, even when my eyes can no longer see it.
I have been cataloguing every beautiful image in my head for my dreadful future.
The chilling air feels surprisingly good against my tender skin and I close my eyes and mouth in bliss. I swallow my original protest against his rash decision. Izaya turns back to glance at me, his original smirk back in place and clasps his hands behind his back again. I don't even care that he has my cigarettes anymore.
Nothing matters.
Just the feeling of the clean, crisp air wipes away my inhibitions and I feel refreshed. How could this stranger do this for me? I resist the urge to rub at my eyes to rid it of the cloudy substance that hinders my vision of this beautiful sight.
It wouldn't help. It would only make it worse.
"It's too stuffy in here," he explains, and I completely agree. But he still hasn't answered my question, so I repeat it. He looks amused.
"I was bored."
I purse my lips slightly, unsatisfied. I hardly believe he came into my room out of pure boredom but I don't call him out on it.
I don't bother covering up my shivering body from the chills but instead, I embrace the cold. I feel more alive than I ever have. Just from the small act of opening a window. I hadn't realized when I had become so far gone. Izaya moves back to the door of my room with that carefree gait of his and I realize how skinny he is. The hospital garbs hang off of him frighteningly.
It finally occurs to me that he's sick or injured, if he's in this hospital. I can be kind of slow on the uptake, I admit.
"Goodnight, Shizu-chan," he sings, giving another mocking bow. I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
"It's Shizuo," I correct, though he's already gone. I don't stop the smile from creeping over my lips. What a strange kid…
A/N: {Thia}: Thanks for reading! Please review! Tell me whether I should continue or not ~ hehe!
