Here's a little thing that makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever. And I wrote it. Me. I did.
I don't even know what's pouring out of my mouth these days. Poo.
Disclaimer: I do not own Ao No Exorcist/Blue Exorcist.
Lips moved, voices run airily. Chapped and glossed lips were pressed too close for comfort against pierced and virgin ears. Their voices were like one hush after another, combining into a mess of slurs and barely understandable words.
He never understood why people whispered, why people gossiped, or why people even kept secrets. It was dumb! People were going to find out anyways. What was the point of not telling someone you liked them? You like them, so take a fucking shot already.
Yeah, he never understood secrets. Or lies. Or cover-ups.
He never understood why his past was a secret.
He never understood why they kept the truth from him, the truth he knew that he damn well deserved. But no, they only saw him as this crazed child who was so ill-tempered and horrible. They was this immature freak show ready to pounce at a moment's notice.
Did they really think that being told you amounted to nothing, being verbally abused to the point where noise just set you off, being so fucking angry at yourself because you knew everything was your fault could keep you a softy forever?
No, they were too smart for that.
But that's what he thought about, day and night. It bothered him to no end. It clawed at his mind and ate at his heart like this - this - this monster living inside of him.
The thought of Yukio wanting to kill him for all these long years infected his mind like the Black Death swooped over Europe. The thought that without a second thought, Yukio would whip out his guns and shoot his head off if he put a fucking hair out of line and if he damn well pleased was sickening, terrifying, fucking horrendous.
He hated whispers.
He hated that whoosh of voices crash to a stop when he entered a room. He hated the look they all gave him. He hated catching the faintest of words still being spoken, as if he weren't there.
He hated secrets. He hated whispers. He hated that he was always left in the dark. He hated that his whole life was a fucking lie. He hated it. Absolutely hated it.
Because he had a right to know. He had a fucking right that no one heeded.
And that infuriated him to no end.