Warning: 18+ Contains mature subject matter; Self-harm, Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Bullying, Self-hate.
I am in no way, shape, or form, condoning any of the actions told throughout the story. Self-harm is NOT the way to go. If you do harm yourself, please don't hesitate, talk to someone. Your life is just as important as anyone elses.
NOTE: This is an alternate universe. There is no persona, dark hour, or anything like that. All characters will be totally out of character from the original, so don't bitch about them being 'ooc'.
Please let me know if I should continue this fic or not. Please enjoy.
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." -Maya Angelou
Summary:
I've found my voice but I can't use it to scream. Why... why can't I scream? Is it because nobody will hear me? Is it because I'm afraid of what people would think of me if they found out? But, this is what I deserve, right? Should I kill myself? Or would that be to easy? AU ooc Darkfic. Mature Subject Matter. Aigis x Minato x Yukari.
Lemonade
By: Screaming With Your Mouth Shut
Chapter 1: Prologue
The book laid flat on the side of the table. A fairytale about him and her. Where there is no 'once apon a time,' or 'happy ever after,'. There was no princess locked away in a tower, no prince charming rescuing her. The main characters died and love never prevailed. The bad guy always got away. Always.
A leg shot out from the bed hitting the table, knocking the book onto the floor.
Thump.
The book smashes into pieces. Shards sent flying in all directions. Under the bed, all over the carpet, under the dresser, everywhere. The moaning ceased. And what laid was a beautiful, young girl who's heart had not for the first time, been shattered. Moving towards the corner of the bed, she tries to make herself invisible, curling herself up into a protective ball, as she lay afraid of what stood before her. And with a deep grunt, and a sudden weight disappearing off of the bed, the door closed, and her fear along with it. Leaving the broken girl, to her lonesome self, for what seem like eternity.
As time went by, the girl slowly inched herself towards the side of the bed. Placing one foot down before the other, a sudden jolt of pain shot up, making her collapse back down onto the bed. Her feet had been impaled with several shards. bleeding in every angle imaginable. She brought her feet back up to her dirty blood stained sheets, tucking her knees back into her chest. It was everywhere. She would sometimes scratch away at it violently, just wishing it would all go away. But it never did. It was apart of her, it was there to remind her. Pain was everywhere. She could barely move. The blood. The pain of moving her legs, the blood just wouldn't disappear. Slowly gliding a hand down to her private area, it felt hot and wet. Bringing her hand back up, only proved her suspicions. Blood. Tonight he had been more violent with her then usual. But it didn't matter. She didn't matter. She always told herself that she deserved it. This was what she deserved for everything she had done. She could never, ever be loved, so she suffered as punishment.
Nothing could fix her. She was like a broken porcelain doll. The damage was already done, no amount of glue and tape could fix these cracks inside her. She was alone in this world, forced to walk on her own two feet. But many times she felt them give out from underneath her. Betraying her, in all sorts of twisted ways. The world seemed like it was against her. She hated this. She hated living, she hated breathing, and hated the people around her, and most importantly, she hated herself.
She quickly drew the soiled sheets around her bloodied body, cuddling up against herself. The only friend she ever had, hurt her. Pieces of it, stuck in her feet, slowly draining the life from beneath her. All was lost. She couldn't remember how many times she read that book. It had become one of the few joys she had in her miserable existence. Her escape from all the pain and suffering. Where she could just loose herself in the vibrant colors of the words as the pages sang poetry. The only happiness she had ever experienced was taken away from her, the final string severed. She was truly alone.
Tomorrow would be that last day of spring break, and she would have to start school again. She felt slightly relieved to be able to go back. It gave her a chance to escape her nightmare at home, a chance to be free, only if it was just a little while. Most students her age would be disappointed to return to school after such a long break. Not her. She never went anywhere, she wasn't aloud. But she never had anyone to go with anyway, so it didn't matter. School was her escape from the harsh realities the loomed before her. It was also a chance for her to see him. But that also meant she would be returning to yet another harsh reality.
People have been bullying and picking on her since 3rd grade.
Everyone seemed to avoid her like the plague. The people who didn't, took it apon themselves to stuff her into lockers or take her already small lunch and throw it away. There where days spent where she never ate a thing. This caused her to be unnaturally thin. He would starve her, and she would starve herself along with it.
But she would always tell herself that no matter the pain, seeing his beautiful face made everything she's been through, worth it.
87 lbs.
Would the red flashing number on the scale change his opinion of her? Or maybe the fact that she is dirty and worthless. Surely someone like him would be put off by someone like her. Was there ever a chance to begin with, or should she keep catching herself in her dark, cruel, demented fantasy.
Snaking her aching arms around her exposed chest, darkness slowly began taking her over, drifting her off into oblivion, nobody will know her, nobody will miss her, and nobody will hear the soft sobs and constant whispers to herself that she will never be loved.
The room was silent.
Dark.
Cold.
Musky.
Motionless.
There laid a boy, sprawled out over the floor, blood seeping through his dark grey sweatshirt, and onto his light blue jeans. At first glance, no one would be able to tell if he was still breathing. Not a soul. Ignorance was bliss.
The apartment was barren and under furnished. The roof leaked and the pipes rattled. Dingy with the faint smell of cigarettes, calling it 'livable' would be awfully generous. The countless empty alcohol bottles were all to keep him company. They never left his side, starring down at him with the glare of a thousand eyes. Sometimes, they would even speak to him. They would tell him things. Words of hate, and sorrow. He would get down onto his hands and knees, begging them to stop. But they never listened. Nobody listened to him. Nobody heard him. Nobody believed him.
And he hated it.
Slowly bringing his arms to his side, he gathered enough strength to push himself up. Just as fast as he got up, he fell right back down. The sudden blood rush to his head soon subsided, and he was able to pick himself up right where he left off. Luckily for him, his father wasn't around. This happened more often then he thought. Only he knew true hated and anger. He had been on the receiving end of it for years. Why? No one knew. Some would think it was the alcohol, others would think was the accident that took place twelve years ago. One that he could never live down, as if it were permanently etched into his mind.
The day his little sister died.
He would admit, his father favored his sister over him. Maybe it was because she had his mothers eyes, maybe it was the smile. Like the light at the end of the tunnel. Whatever it maybe be...
It never changed the fact that it was his fault.
Just like every other problem of his. It was always him. His father never failed to remind him that everything was his fault. Now, he couldn't tell if it was the liquor speaking or not. There was never enough time. Rational thought went out the door, broken bones came in. Then, once he was satisfied with his work, he would drag his ass back to the bar, fueling up for round two. This gave him enough time to prepare as well. He was always to injured to treat himself, so he had to go to the girl next door. The only person who seemingly knew what was going on. The only person that was ever there for him.
They have known each other for a while. Ever since she moved next door to him. She would hear the things that went on next door every night. And every night, she would cry, and say a little prayer to him, hoping she could still repair him after it was over. Alas, it never seemed that way. She took it apon herself to take care of him, almost like the mother he never had. But the beatings kept getting worse and worse, and she soon found herself running out of supplies. So she had no choice but to get a part-time job.
He was extremely thankful for everything the girl did. She was the only one who stood by his side, through thick and thin. Cleaning and bandaging his wounds, giving him a place to stay when things got rough. They soon found themselves becoming closer and closer as time went on. He felt like he had somebody, who he can trust through this thick fog.
...Finally
. . .
. . .
. . .
The chapter continues, the page turns.
They don't live no fairy tale,
No castle,
No knight in shining armor,
No prince,
No princess,
King or queen,
Only cuts,
bruises,
knives and nooses,
Just him and her,
And so their story begins...
A/N: Please let me know if I should continue this story. Any question or concerns, please feel free to message me.