- A/N: So I love GrimmIchi stories. I mean, I absolutely LOVE THEM! They are my favorite yaoi Bleach pairing. :) They're just so adorable.
Anyways,
I'm not a perfect person
There's many things I wish I didn't do
But I continue learning
I never meant to do those things to you
- Hoobastank "The Reason"
Prologue: Rain on My Pain
- Sunday Night…
It hurt.
It hurt so badly.
It was so painfully awakening.
It burned and it bled.
...it felt so good.
Dragging the end of his razor over the flesh of his forearm, moaning as he plunged it deeper until he could no longer think, only feel. He pressed it so deep into his skin until he could only feel the pleasures of pain, and he watched as his blood flowed from the scar and dripped from his fingertips into the white, porcelain sink.
His eyes rolled back in his head and his knees felt weak under the felicities. No more thoughts. No more hurting heart. No more guilt or sorrow. No more regrets—only pain. He wanted nothing but the sweet joy of pain enveloping him.
He stilled and enjoyed how his mind failed him, and how everything around him was casted in blackness. His eyes closed, and he pulled the metal away and relished in his last few seconds of ecstasy until the sensation abandoned him for another time.
Tingles rippled over his muscles, and he bemoaned a troubled breath. Once the content subsided, his eyes started to flutter open slowly. He heaved a demurred sigh as he looked down into the blood speckled sink; spots of white cloaked in crimson. He turned on the faucet, the warm water washing away evidence; washing away his blood.
Blood.
Bleed blood.
Drowning and enjoying the bleeding of his pain. His eyes were burning, but he watched it all wash away and escape down the drain.
He wished he was a cutter's blood. He wished he would wash away, escape down a drain, and be someone's crimson relief. He wasn't fit for a heart.
He didn't want one.
He didn't deserve one.
He didn't deserve a soul either, or flesh.
He wanted to be hollow…dead.
He breathed shakily, his muscles tingling as he placed a bloodied hand on the sink to hold himself up, and he looked up into the mirror. He didn't recognize the figure staring back at him. What was he? Who exactly had he become?
Orange hair.
Brown eyes.
White teeth.
Pale skin.
Pointed nose.
It was everything he remembered, but at the same time, it was nothing he recognized. All he could see was black; sweetened corruption and darkness. Black tinted the edges of his eyes, slowly taking over his sight completely.
It could've just been paranoia. It could've even possibly have been that his mind was once again failing him and he was entering the aftershock effect that sometimes came. Or it could've been from the loss of blood that was still gushing from the fresh wound down his arm and dripping into the sink and onto the floor.
He didn't know.
But he did know darkness.
Darkness.
It ate him.
His heart. His soul. His mind. His senses.
It ate everything.
No orange hair. It was black.
No brown eyes. They were black.
No pale skin. Black.
Everything was devoured. Everything obscure. Everything blackened.
He was beginning to feel lightheaded and nauseous. He stumbled backwards and sat on the edge of the tube, a red hand print marring a corner of the sink. He breathing was harsh, panting heavily, hyperventilating as the wheels in his head began to churn again, flooding him with images and memories he didn't want; covering him with blood that wasn't his.
He could taste bile rising in the back of his throat, and he fell to his knees. His bloodied hand clutched his stomach, begging for the bitterness not to come up. It would burn. It would hurt…It would feel too good.
He didn't deserve to feel good.
He begged for it not to come up, for it not to give him the satisfaction, but it did anyways. He reached out for the toilet with his other hand and threw his head into the piss bowl before he heaved up everything he ate in the last week or so.
He heaved more. The burning bitterness cut through his esophagus. It felt like blades were carving at it. He heaved up blood, his body convulsing erratically. It was hard to breath. It hurt to try. His eyes sweltered with tears, and he could feel his heart clench in his chest and his blood drenched arm spasm under his body.
God it felt so good!
It felt so good to hurt.
To endure.
To live pain…
But he didn't want it.
It isn't justifiable for him to have it.
Finally, after he heaved up his last meal and more blood, he panted, drained. His throat burned with a white-hot intensity. Hot tear fell from his eyes, and his body shuddered incessantly. His body was hot, and sweat sheened over his dirtied visage.
He felt weak, and fell to the side of the toilet on his back, dry heaving. His chest rose and fell as he stared up at the ceiling. The familiar blackness began to shroud the corners of his eyes again, and he felt himself slowly giving himself to the catalepsy.
He didn't tend to his wounds. He never did. Not including the few times he had at school and other odd places he went when the images of his past became too unbearable. Only then did he clean himself up, but in the security of his own psychotic abode, behind the closed doors of his room or in the bathroom, he allowed himself to drown in his own misery, uncaring.
Like now, he just lied there, falling into nothingness, and uncaring of anything, or anyone. A soft click resounded, and he knew the door opened. Without even looking he knew who it was…who it always was. It was the same person every time. It just never seemed to change. Ever.
Karin always found him. She was always the one that saw him lain across the floor in a bloodied mess, his clothes sticking to his sweaty body and tear streaks staining his cheeks. It was always her who found him. No one else, and silently, he wondered why?
It was a rhetorical question…he knew why it was only her. It was because she was the only one there, the only one left.
No one else.
"Ichigo?" He usually stern voice had turned timid a long time ago. Her once powerful dark orbs, softened now…weak. Her usual scowl replaced with a permanent frown…always. He heard her dejected sigh as she once again witnessed him sprawled across the floor, soaked in his own blood and bile.
"…Karin…" He rasped into the darkness. Then he was subdued, and taken away by it.
"…again," she whispered, sighing. "…Ichi-niichan…"
X:~/~:X
White. Everything was white. It smelled of plastic and used paraphilia...and of melancholy. Bright lights.
It was clean, so very clean.
White…pure white.
It was a contradiction to life for one place to be so white, to look so pure, and that's why he hated this place with an undying passion. He would always fucking hate this place. In a way, he was glad he'd never have to come back after today, because today was the day it all ended. Nothing was ever so white and pure looking. Not in his life, and it made him mad, but he didn't show it.
He hardly ever showed how he felt.
How he felt was hardly ever a factor to anyone, and that included himself, because he hardly ever felt anything besides anger and pain. Everything else was a foreign concept to him.
What the fuck was happiness?
What in the hell did love feel like?
Who would ever want to know what peace of mind felt like?
All that shit was fucking pointless.
He groaned as he stood next to the bed. It was white too. It burned on the inside just to stand as close as he was to it, but he did anyways.
He stood on the bedside of a green-haired woman. His eyes ran over her now fragile figure, expressionless. Her natural sea green hair was sickly and sprouting grey strands. Her hair used to be darker, greener, and beautiful, like his sister's, but not anymore.
Her once lively complexion was dulled with her age, stress, and sickness. And her once stern and robust physique was thin, fragile, and weak from the constant medications, and the constant puking. He stared at her. He wanted to be sympathetic, but couldn't. It would've done nothing.
She had a heart disease, and had been fighting it for years. She didn't cry when she found out. No one did.
She never cried.
But she was crying now.
"Grimm…jow?" she wheezed, a tear sliding down her pale cheek. Grimmjow hummed, his eyes still revealing his indifference. He noticed her twitching her stiff knuckles and took her smaller hand in his larger one.
"Grimmjow…baby," she rasped, another tear escaping. He didn't answer, only listened. She smiled a closed-mouth smile. It was small. "You're such a sweet boy…So sweet. Takin' care of mama like ya have." He squeezed her hand lightly. He could've crushed it if he wanted to, she was so fragile. "…you…you know mama loves you…you know that, don't ya sweetheart?"
He hummed.
"Yeah…" she breathed. Her petite body shuddered when she sighed. He leaned down so that she could cup his cheek in her other hand. Her soft hazel eyes stared passionately into his. "An' mama knows ya love her too." Grimmjow descried her lips curve down into a frown, but he said nothing.
Her hand fell away from his cheek.
"…I jus' wished Nel felt the same." He contemplated saying something. He hadn't spoken in days, but the girl bellowing in the next room was sound enough. Her cries were heart wrenching. Her screams were breathtaking though…stunned to know someone could scream so loud, and lament so much at once.
His mother choked up a ragged cough. He knew she didn't have much time left.
"Grimmjow…Grimmy?" She offered him another closed-mouth smile. He offered her silence. "…I don't…have much time left, ya hear? But I need ya ta do somethin' for me…ya hear me sweetheart?" He waited. Then he felt her smaller hand squeeze his, and he looked down at it before looking back up and noting her solemn countenance. "Grimmy…I need you ta be somebody…be somebody fa yerself, and yer sister…I want ya ta become somebody, and leave this place…and take Nel with you…ya hear me?"
He felt her hand squeezing his with all the might he presumed she had left. She would die shortly if this was all she had left. "Ya listen ta ya mama, and you go an' do somethin' fer yerself and for yer sister…you understand me?" He continued to stare. She would die soon. Maybe in another hour or so. "Don't you be like da rest of dem fools…out der in 'em streets, ya hear? Go back ta school Grimmjow, and ya make somethin' of ya self…ya took care of mama enough, she don't need ya no more now…not where she's goin'."
He nodded stiffly. She would die soon. If not in an hour, then within minutes. He figured he should probably tell her he loved her, and would miss her before she was even gone. But he didn't.
He waited.
He stared at her.
He listened.
He always just listened.
"Jus'…jus' take ya sista wit'chu…don't leave her here…not by herself. Those streets too dangerous fer her…an' when ya git her back, hug her for meh…hug her real tight, an' ya tell her I love her, even if she don't love meh…an' ya tell her I'll be watchin' ova her too, even if she don't want me to." She smiled again, but it looked strained. Her hazel eyes gleamed, and her tears started to fall again.
Grimmjow didn't realize it, but tears were also rolling down his own cheeks. She giggled, hoarse. "Don't you go worrin' 'bout mama na boy…gotta be a man…head up ya hear, and ya dry them tears." He didn't. He just stared, detached. "Everything's gone be alright baby…I just wished I coulda gave ya more, Grimmjow…ya really deserved more." She cupped his cheek in her hand again. "…such a sweet, sweet boy ya turnt out ta be Grimmy…couldn've asked for a better son."
She choked up another ragged cough. "…Lord have mercy," she muttered. Then she focused her eyes back onto his. They stared at one another for a short while. "…C'mon, give mama a hug." He did, and embraced her as tight as he could without harming her delicate frame. "I'll always love you, no matter what," she whispered softly into his ear, her hold on him as tight as her muscles would allow. "…And you'll always be mah little man…no matter how big ya grow."
Grimmjow's tears never ceased. They just fell silently. "I'll be watchin' ova you too ya know...Na ya stop cryin' an' do what mama told you…go be somebody…be a man…make me proud." He pulled away from her, and looked down at her smiling face. He leaned down again so that she could cup his face in her hand.
She would die soon. If it wasn't within the next few minutes, then it would be in the next few seconds. She stroked his cheek, sweetly humming his favorite lullaby, and he fell into the touch and closed his eyes. "…Such a handsome boy…ya gonna give me some handsome gran' chil'ren too, hm?" She stroked his face, humming affectionately, her eyes fluttering close, slowly. "…Such a good boy ya turnt out ta be…a good…good…boy…"
Her hand fell away, and her other went limp in his large hand. Her heart monitor droned, monotone, flat-lined. Her heart had finally quitted. She had finally given up her suffering. She had finally moved on, and Grimmjow sniffled once and quickly did what his mama told him to do before and dried his puffy eyes.
That was it.
He was done crying.
That was the last of his tears for the rest of life.
He didn't have anything else to cry for.
Nothing else…no one else mattered anymore.
Hesitantly, he dropped her hand from his, and stepped away from her lifeless body. Doctors and nurses scurried into the room in a professional panic, jumping this way and that, and Grimmjow just watched…and watched…and watched until he could watch no more, and he walked out.
She was gone.
It was a good thing.
He didn't need her back.
He only wanted her back.
She wouldn't come back though.
Not when it was finally over.
All her heartache.
All her regrets.
All her suffering.
It was all finally over, and she could now rest.
He continued to saunter down the brightly, white-lit corridor, a few bustling nurses and doctors brushing past him to get to his mother's room. Sirens went off, orders were being shouted, metal clanked and clanged, and footsteps were scuttling urgently. But even in all the commotion, the only sound he could hear was the moans and screams of that one girl. She was still screaming, still lamenting, and silently…he wondered why?
It was a rhetorical question…he knew why. It was because she actually cared. She actually gave a damn that one of her loved ones was in ICU, dying—or perhaps even already dead. She actually loved. She could actually feel emotions. Grimmjow would envy her, if he could ever know what it felt like to care.
Grimmjow reached the end of the corridor and the transparent doors slid open for him. He stepped outside.
It was raining.
He hated the rain.
It rained the night his grandfather died. It rained the night Neliel stormed off and left the family in shambles. It rained the day his father decided to become an alcoholic junky. It rained the evening he found out his mother had an irrecoverable heart condition and only a few months, that turned into years, to live. And now it rained the night that same heart condition finally killed and took his mother away from him.
He hated the rain.
Hated it!
But he sighed, resigned.
He dug into the pockets of his black hoodie—it had a few holes in it, but it would do. He had nothing else anyways—and pulled a cigarette from his box of squares and his liter. He lit the tip, and took a long drag of its poison, and blew the smoke out his nose.
Grimmjow pulled his hood over his head, took another drag, and walked out into the world, finally alone…in the rain.
Rain.
Rain washed away evidence…like water down a drain.
Rain always brought him pain, but with any luck, tonight it might just do him a favor, and get him hit by a bus…or maybe two…
Rain.
…how he'd love it then.
This is one long prologue. Lol!
But anyhow, this idea (originally) came to me from the wonderful The Petulant Prodigy after I read his/her stories, and also after listening to the song "The Reason" by Hoobastank (you should listen to it if you haven't already. It's awesome!).
But The Petulant Prodigy's work is amazing. I mean, utterly amazing. The angst is so realistic in his/her fics that I thought that I should give it a try since I proclaim myself to be a rather explicit angst writer. So I figured I'd write about real life angst tales and issues that actually occur in everyday life, but on a more exaggerated level.
But tell me how that's going, okay? And to do that, I'd appreciate it if you all reviewed, yes? Please and thank you! :)
Oh, and this will be the only warning I give you all: If you cannot handle gruesome and really dark content, then you should probably leave and not come back, because shit is only going to get real from here. Lol! But if you can handle it, I welcome you to read the next chapter.
Express your thoughts in a review. Thanks! :)