This is my first fic written from a first person POV. It's also probably the first fic I'm writing that is going to be dark and kinda angsty on another level. I got the idea while listening to the song Right Where It Belongs by Nine Inch Nails. Real sad/depressing song, but also weirdly comforting (for me anyway) if you haven't heard it. Do not ask me how I managed to get this idea from that song because even I don't know. I was going to make this a prologue but figured it'd be better as a chapter, so I might be going back and forth between time intervals so ya'll won't be confused. That being said, I hope you like the fic.
~Right Where It Belongs~
I was numb. Every part of my body was numb, including my brain. Whether it was from the hard booze I shoved down my throat or the unthinkable confession I had just received from my fiancé of three years, I don't know or care to know at this point. All I knew was that I had become disassociated from myself. Like some alien parasite overtaking my body I witnessed every movement, but it felt as if someone else was controlling me… like someone else was me.
My luminous marine eyes—now pale with stoicism—were intently fixed on the nothingness in front of me. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I could feel myself slowing down as if all my senses were on the brink of dying. The lights—though on their highest level—seemed dim; any hums and unfavorable arguments that usually came from the next door neighbors this time of late evening were automatically tuned out; all I could faintly touch were the chilling rivulets of perspiration that ran along the smooth glass; even the liquid fire of the alcohol dulled my taste.
When I went to pour myself another glass I noticed too late that the bottle of scotch was empty; I had drunk the final drop and did not even realize it. Now, I'm not much of a scotch drinker since I've always preferred vodka instead. That was more Axel's… thing. But for some reason I felt like being a scotch-man today. As I sauntered into the kitchen and kneeled down to open a cupboard where the bottles of various alcohols were stashed something had caught my peripheral vision. It was just the gleaming blue numbers on the microwave clock: 8:00 PM. Really? If that clock was correct, then I had been cemented to that chair for over three hours.
The few minutes after were pretty much a blur. I must've sat down again while serving myself another glass of scotch because I continued drinking. And somewhere in between I must've opened the front door of my apartment because now my elder brother, Sora, and his boyfriend, Riku, were standing there with faces of awe. I remember Sora trying to tell me something, his lips moving to words that sounded incoherent like he was speaking from a great expanse. Little by little I could hear pieces of the words until my senses gradually returned, and then I was able to make out entire sentences once more.
"Roxas, are you okay? What the hell happened here? … Roxas?"
When no response spewed forth from my mouth, Sora carefully walked over and set a warm hand on my forehead tenderly. He seemed afraid to even touch me and by the perturbed expression on Riku's face I can only imagine how I must have appeared. Best guess? Most likely an automaton that had been programmed to drink itself into a stupor while portraying a countenance as cold as stone. Unfortunately, I was right.
"Roxas, what's wrong with you? Say something, anything," implored my twin brother, whose tone wavered with fear now. His quivering scowl matched the strength of the concern in his eyes which were nearly overflowing with saltwater tears. I kept forgetting how simple it was to make Sora cry.
"Maybe we should put him to bed, Sora," said Riku. I vaguely wondered why he felt the need to whisper while in my presence. Was I that much of a threat or was I just creeping the shit out of him then? Not that I blame him.
"What do you mean?" asked my ever naïve brother.
"Look at him." Riku jabbed his head in my direction, his shoulder length platinum hair swaying with the motion. "It's obvious that he's not all here right now. Even his skin is paler than usual. And the fact that he's drinking, which he rarely does, while zoning out… Something is off."
"Yeah, you're right. I noticed that too. Maybe… it has something to do with Axel?"
Riku softly grunted and quickly searched the area. When he returned he seemed perplexed.
"Speaking of Axel, where the hell is he? Everyone knows these two are stuck together like glue; everywhere Axel goes so does Roxas." His voice suddenly shifted to one of a foreboding tone. "It's not like him to leave Roxas alone. Whatever he did… it must've been really bad."
Sora gazed into my eyes with his equally aquatic ones, probably hoping to discover a spark of life still present, however small. But he found nothing because there was nothing to find. Someone might as well have thrown a vacancy sign around my neck. It wasn't until Sora caressed my cheek with so much love in his eyes, embracing me and gently whispered, "Come back, Roxas. Come back to me, little brother," that I finally realized everything wasn't going to be the same anymore.
… I don't know what happened or why. All I know is that in the next minute I had freaked out and went into a frenzy, tossing over the rectangular oak table and chairs, hurling random objects in every direction, smashing anything within reach with the use of my fists and legs, all the while screeching like a fuckin' banshee. If a stranger were to see me they would immediately call the police and I'd be sent to a psych ward for evaluation of my mental status. It was as if all the emotions that had lain bottled up and veiled beneath my detachment had suddenly decided to unveil themselves… and it was too much for me to handle.
In my fury I had nearly punched Sora, but fortunately Riku stepped in and dragged my brother away before that could happen. I still think Riku was predicting that I would act insane. After all, this isn't the first time he's seen somebody he knows go crazy right before his eyes. His mother and sister both suffered from mental breakdowns caused by the daily abuse from his stepfather, so he was accustomed to reading the signs of a person about to break. Who would have thought I'd be one of those people? The concept was laughable back then.
All I remember is accidentally stumbling over something on the tile floor and Sora screaming as I bashed the back of my head into something very solid. I stood for a few seconds, the warmth of fresh blood oozing through my hand from where I had set it on my head. Fuck, it hurt! The aching throb wouldn't stop for shit. Colors and items blurred and spun out of control until I finally lost my balance and slid onto the floor with a muffled thump. Sora rushed over to me. I could feel myself being lifted off the floor as he carried me over to something softer; I'm assuming the couch. Even though he was a few inches shorter than me, I weighed less.
"Riku," he whimpered. Chances are the blood freaked him out. Another thing about Sora: He hated the sight of blood. "What are we going to do? The wound doesn't look too bad. Maybe… Maybe he just needs to rest a bit after we stitch it up."
At this point Riku sounded pissed, rightfully so.
"No, fuck that Sora! We're taking this bastard to the hospital. NOW. Let them deal with this shit. He can rest his crazy ass all he wants on the way there!"
Pretty pathetic how that's the last thing I heard before I blacked out entirely.