Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Rating: M(ature)
Warning: You're morally despicable? Read on!
Author's Note: I've read a fanfic by a very dear friend of mine (actually I made her write it in the first place). And afterwards I really felt like continuing it, because she included a certain thought that made my fingers itch in the need to write! Anyway, if you want to read the first chapter search for Illusions of a Drunken Heart by Pickle Reviver. You can also find it on my favourites list.
Illusions of a Drunken Heart II
By Kiina
Chapter 2
Ichigo whimpered out in a final desperate attempt to get his father to snap out of it before it would go too far. It already had gone too far, but Ichigo just couldn't imagine how drastic his life would change after this night if his father would continue this…
The pen in Ichigo's hand trembled. He glared down at it and concentrated on keeping it still. It took a few deep breaths but eventually the annoying shivering stopped. He looked at his paper and realized that he hadn't written anything that made sense in the past few minutes. A quick glance at the white, clinically sterile clock over the door gave him an idea about how much time he had lost. "Stop it," he whispered under his breath, trying to force himself back onto his task.
Yet… the lines blurred in front of his eyes.
"Kurosaki-kun?" The teacher asked from the front. Ichigo cursed inwardly: She must have seen his trembling. He looked up and forced a neutral look onto his face. He knew he wasn't good at faking feelings, but this time it was an absolute must. "Are you alright?" Okay, now an easy smile, he told himself frantically. A teenager smile. Nothing to take serious. His lips almost moved at their own accord, but he couldn't be too sure whether they truly formed the kind of expression he wanted. Traitorous bastards.
"I think I caught a fever," Ichigo replied. His voice was smooth, serious and still very child-like. For a moment Ichigo felt like retching.
"Do you think you can manage until the test is done?" Manage? He hadn't had any sleep for the last week. He couldn't eat anymore and had had to spill his food down the toilet to avoid being found out. He freaked out at the lightest touches. Manage? Of course he could.
"Yes, I think so." Somewhere at his side he could see Inoue's concerned expression and he could almost feel Chad's eyes on the back of his head.
"If you can't go on, tell me," the teacher said, slight worry in her voice. He nodded and looked back down at his paper. Three questions to go.
It was quite ironic. He had been thinking that his life would change. But his life was exactly the same as it was before. Everything had gone on as though nothing had happened. What had changed – the only thing that had changed– was he. Ichigo Kurosaki.
It had been an act of despair that had made him hide his ripped clothes under his bed, after which he had taken a shower and cleaned his wounds. Then he had taken Urahara's healing pills. He had stayed up all night, cleaning the living room of all the alcohol bottles his father had left. All the time he had begged, begged, and begged for his father to forget.
And alcohol had truly made the man forget all that had happened. Forget the event that had pushed Ichigo into hell. That had pushed Ichigo so very far away.
Everything Ichigo looked at was different. Sure, the paper in front of him was the same kind of test he had been having every month ever since three years ago when the new teacher had been introduced to them. Sure, the paper still was of the same type of white and still carried the same false feeling of importance. Sure, the print on the paper was the same type and the content of the test was about the same difficulty. But.
But there was SEX.
Everywhere.
He could feel hands on his stomach, on his knees, on his lips. He could see deep, dark and heavy eyes that wanted, needed. He could smell blood and sweat. He could hear groans and harsh breathing.
And suddenly the cold lips were pressed against his own and he was screaming stop, stop, stop But they just didn't go away. And he struggled to get away, knowing instinctively that there was something worse to come. Something harsh and painful. But he couldn't. And then something hard and big was forced into him and he was screaming, screaming, screaming.
Why was he screaming? Because it hurt? Hah, yes that had been his first thought. What a cute, innocent and beautiful lie!
What a nice way to get out of it.
It had been such a good lie; it had kept him from realizing the truth for over two days. But then… he had caught himself smiling.
Staring down at the white paper and the unreadable words all he could see was his own body, beaten and broken. His own body lying underneath of someone else's. His own body, forced to have sex with a male that was ten time his age. With his own father.
Crying, screaming and begging him to stop.
And loving every second.
Wanting to be fucked. Smiling at the memory. "What the hell is wrong with me?" Ichigo muttered silently to himself. What had happened that had twisted his mind in such a spectacular way? Was it the fighting? Had all the fighting screwed up his mind that much? Had it caused him to seek pain and suffering? Somehow he didn't think that was likely.
Yet something was seriously wrong with him and he knew it.
To Be Continued
Author's Note: For the first chapter search for Illusions of a Drunken Heart by Pickle Reviver. You can also find it on my favourites list. It's a good story, trust me! Oh and this will be continued, since I like writing it.