TRIGGER WARNINGS: Dark thoughts, self-confidence issues.
BESTIALIZED
CHAPTER TWO
The long journey back home was a continuous haze of darkened streets with the creeping insidious pain up his spine, waiting to consume him in its fire. His body was on auto-pilot and Tsuna knew all too well not to think about the pain pain pain less the fragile control he had on his feet would collapse and his mind would fall to pieces. He almost didn't even notice he was home until his key was turning in the lock and there was his mom on the couch, curled up in sleep.
Tsuna sagged in the doorframe. Whatever strength that had carried him home was gone and all he felt like doing was stare at her peaceful, sleeping face. His mother looked so content and innocent and he wanted to stumble close to her, hug her and try to absorb her own contentment to make it his own. He saw it play out, he would shake his mom awake and she would jolt in surprise, ready to greet him with a smile until she realized something was terribly wrong with him. She would hold him and take care of him and soothe the pain away like it was just a bad dream, a bad nightmare—
But no.
Tsuna also knew that she would come to pity him, he could already picture the concern, but also the fear in her eyes. She would know how powerless he was, how weak he was, and she would not trust Tsuna to take care of her. If his mother knew, then he was damn sure that everyone else would find out. Not because she would tell anyone but because Tsuna knew Nana was an open book. Her distress would fly off her in waves and everyone would know something had gone wrong and it would eventually point at him.
He could see his relationship with his friends fall apart over this lapse, this weakness.
They would leave.
If the thought left him cold before, it left him numbingly terrified now. He couldn't stand to be alone, though he very much deserved it God, how could he ever protect his friends if he couldn't protect himself and he suddenly felt trapped.
He didn't want anyone to leave.
And they didn't need to be forced to deal with this…mistake, anyway.
So she didn't need to know. They didn't need to know.
He nodded slowly to himself, calmer now that he had a plan, a goal. His mother would never need to know of this. She could stay like she was now, happy and safe and innocent. Even though he was flawed, stained, and unworthy of her trust and love he would do everything in his power to keep protecting her. And everything would be fine, he would make it fine.
Taking a shaky, uneven step into the room he turned back and dead bolted the door. The lock seemed so much flimsy than it had ever seemed in the past. He wondered if it could actually hold up to an intruder that really wanted to come inside. Fighting the urge to barricade the door with the solid wooden shoe rack (because one, he couldn't possibly push it in his current state, two, his mom or Reborn would definitely notice that he had rearranged the furniture) he decided the lock would be enough. For now.
He took in a deep breath as he observed the still room, he was so familiar with the living room, been in there everyday all his life. He should feel like home, should feel safe, but instead he felt like an outsider. Like a foreign contaminant that was a danger in polluting the dry warm place of his home.
He felt dirty, so dirty. His skin itched.
First he had to get up those stairs. Each step was done gingerly, but quietly without even the slight whimper of pain. The black spots were there behind his vision, blooming briefly then disappearing just as quickly with each pause to rest. He forced his legs to move him up and up and up and finally, Tsuna stumbled blindly towards the bathroom where he had stood earlier that morning, brushing his teeth without a care in the world. He made far too much noise by now but his mother kept sleeping deeply and soon he was inside and locked the door behind him with shaky hands.
That made two locked doors between Pietro and him. It became slightly a little easier to breathe.
He couldn't bear the thought of taking off his clothes so he climbed in the shower fully dressed. He turned the shower on as hot as it could go and the boiling water pounded on him, drenching his clothing and weighing him down like an anchor. Tsuna grabbed wildly for the soap and rubbed the bar desperately over his covered skin until his legs gave out.
He could only curl up in a ball of pain on the shower floor. But then he couldn't breathe and he was drowning. Tearing at his clothing, the few buttons left attached to his shirt bounced off the tiling as he ripped it off. His sodden pants were more difficult though though they were still unzipped and unbuttoned. He left out a great, pained gasp when he kicked his legs. It hurt, it hurt a lot and he didn't care because he needed to get it off him, get it off, get it off, please of please just get him away from me.
And they were off, but every movement he made was just so much agony and he kicked the pants in the corner away from him.
Clean, he thought, he just wanted to be clean.
He grabbed the bar of soap again and it slipped away but he needed it really badly, so despite the sharp spurt and spark of fire that nipped at his lower torso he chased it desperately with grasping fingers and got it in a firm death vice. Tsuna rubbed his skin raw; raking his dull fingernails from his arms to his chest until he arrived at the place where he wanted to ignore. He wanted to ignore it, wanted to pretend it wasn't there. But the urge to clean was so much stronger than the urge to forget so he slowly, cautiously reached back and retracted his fingers to stare at it. There was a strange pinkish mixture that washed away under the spray before he realized what it was. Blood and cum.
He was bleeding down there and it shouldn't be a surprise but it came as one anyway and he retched again. Except there was nothing else to vomit, his dinner at that restaurant was all emptied out at that damned alley way. He stared as the throw-up, the pink mixture all drained down that drain and disappeared into dark, forgiving pipes. Tsuna wished he could've peeled off his own skin and let it drain down there too.
His vision was darkening again like it had before and he had trouble focusing on the task at hand. He couldn't sleep yet, he still felt so dirty and he can still feel the thrusting pain in and out, in and out—he stopped thinking. It was over. Why wouldn't it stop? He picked up the soap, but dropped it again to cover up his ears. Like a child, trying to block the world out, to not hear anything but the beating of the shower spray.
He then realized the hot water had run out. But he still laid there in that fetal position under this new freezing water. But then he realized he couldn't just stay here and hopefully, drown himself again, but he had to face the music. If he stayed in this shower overnight everyone would know something was wrong. He shut off the water, struggling to stay awake and staggered out, dripping wet, shivering. His uncooperative hands helped dry his brutalized body that protested every move with red-hot streaks of pain pain pain and danced across his nervous system until he began seeing black spots. He wrapped the towel over his shoulders, hunched, and after several moments of staring at the door lock, opened it.
Pietro was not waiting for him on the other side.
Of course he wasn't, he thought, almost letting out a chain of hysterical chuckling. He couldn't remember for the life of him why he had been so sure he'd be out here, hungry and waiting with pressing hands—
He stumbled into his bedroom, locked the door behind him. He didn't bother turning on the lights and he opened the drawers and blindly pulled on two thick, warm sweaters and three—no, four would do sweatpants and more than one nice pair of socks before he crawled into bed. He tried to take comfort in the warmth and softness of his blankets, tried to pretend he felt safe. But didn't.
He didn't think he would ever feel safe again.
And belatedly, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep either. The pain burned with an insistent ache radiating from his insides so how could he possibly sleep?
But he did after that thought and he dreamt.
—
The nothingness clung to his skin like tar, sliding down his throat and gathering inside of him, filling him up, suffocating him. He could see Gokudera, or was that Yamamoto, or was that his mom, eyes filled with disgust, disgust, disgust. His friend, brother, mom turned away and he could see them disappearing in the distance. He tried calling out, to beg him, him, her to stay with him, to save him from this—this thing—but he couldn't. He couldn't breathe actually, he couldn't call them over the cock lodged down his throat.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't even see.
Tsuna woke gasping for air and his body was on fire. He was sweating from the heavy blankets and the excess layers upon layers of clothing and every inch of him was crying and singing out in agony.
He couldn't breathe.
He kicked at the covers of the bed and he fought not to scream as he did so, causing more spikes of pain pain pain shooting down his spine and his lower torso with every jerk of his legs.
He struggled harder and managed to push back the comforter enough that he could throw himself off the bed. He hit the floor hard, but he was safe. He was safe.
He lay unmoving on the floor for a long time, unable to even think about shifting slightly for the pain pulsing through his body. Eventually, though, the agony dissipated into a manageable ache and he could breathe again. His personal time on the floor did nothing to diminish his own disgust. He still felt so dirty, so dirty inside inside and out. He shuddered violently and whimpered in pain.
"Tsuna?"
And suddenly, everything felt so much more terrifying. He looked up weakly to see Reborn's shoes reflecting his horrified face. Dear god, he had forgotten that Reborn slept in his room. How could he had forgotten? He had to act normal. Because if Reborn found out what happened, he would leave him too. And as much trouble the baby gave him, he wanted him to stay also. Reborn already thought he was horribly weak, and if he somehow found out that the Tenth boss of Vongola was unable to protect himself from being violated so, he would leave. He would leave in disgust and Tsuna could not have that.
"Reborn," He greeted with a smile, he sat up ignoring the pain pain pain, "Good morning."
He needed another shower.
"Did you bring back food?" Was Reborn reply.
And his stomach dropped. He had forgotten all about it. He was suppose to bring food back for everyone. He bit his lip, and it wasn't hard to look scared, "Sorry Reborn, I forgot about it."
Reborn only shook his head and gave a long suffering sigh. But thankfully, Reborn did not indulge why, only hopping back up to sleep once more in his hammock. Tsuna forced himself to his feet and stumbled out, fumbling only briefly with the lock. He walked as quietly and quickly as he could without limping to the bathroom, causing the glass-sharp slivers to shoot up and down his backside. Once the bathroom door was closed and locked behind him again, he paused to breathe, leaning against the wood of the door and did everything in his power not to think. He began pulling off his many layers of sweat-dampened clothing and wondered how he got them on so easily. Once the pain subsided after a few minutes, he considered taking the next steps needed to get him under the heat of the shower when he made the great mistake of glancing in the mirror.
He looked away, his stomach churning again, ready to dry heave. Luckily, there were no bruising on his face, but he could see the horrible black splotches of blue and black littering his torso. Without thinking, he ran a hand over them but recoiled just as quickly, imagining Pietro's own pressing hands again on him, his unforgiving foot slamming against him again and again.
In and out, in and out, the thrusts came and it kept taking and taking and why couldn't it stop—
Tsuna sank to the floor, eyes screwed shut and his hands reached up to cover his ears. Calm, calm calm. He needed to remain calm. He took slow intakes of breaths, or tried to, but something was wedged down his throat and it was choking him and it was impossible to breathe—calm, calm.
His skin itched. He needed a shower.
He crawled to the shower, and almost jumped away had it not been the pain holding him there. The soggy mess of cloth was still lying bunched up on the shower floor. He didn't want to touch it because it was dirty and he felt that touching it would make him even more dirtier than he already was. But the practical thing to do was to dispose of it. He knew he couldn't leave it there. His mom or Reborn would find it eventually and she would ask questions so he reluctantly snatched it up and struggled to dump it beside the toilet. It fell with a sick, wet splat onto the tiles.
He turned on the shower again, making it go as hot as it could go and spent several minutes clawing desperately at his skin before moving on to grasp the bar of soap again. He scrubbed himself raw at least four times but by the fifth, he still didn't feel clean. The bar of soap dissolved in his hands through his seventh washing.
He stared at his empty hand and tried to resist the urge to run out and turn the house upside down for more. So he tried focusing on disposing those soiled clothes without Reborn or his mom suspecting anything.
He got out of the shower, dried himself as quickly as he could without looking too much at his repulsive body. Quickly putting on his three-some sweaters and two-something sweatpants and replacing his socks back on his feet, he gathered the scattered bits of clothing he no longer wanted to look at. He stood awkwardly at the door before opening it and was relieved to find nothing there. He was relieved, immensely so, but he felt weaker for it.
He threw the wet clothes at the bottom of his closet, unable to hold them anymore. And he began wrapping more layers over himself. But tried not to put everything he owned on him. He knew putting on a winter parka would not only rouse alarm, but it would not actually make him any safer. As he contemplated this, he became aware of the steadily throbbing pain emanating from his temples. He had been so worked up before he hadn't noticed the headache.
There was a bottle of aspirin in the kitchen, he remembered. That would help him think, help him rationalize this…mess into something more…manageable. And it might lessen the other pains of his body.
He hesitated only a moment before cautiously, slowly, moving down the stairs (step by painful step), but his quest for painkillers was quickly forgotten when he saw what lay on the couch.
His mother was waking up.
Steeling himself with a fond smile he watched her stretch lethargically like a child, how he wanted her to stay like, and she twisted to greet him with a smile on her face. "Morning, Tsuna, you're up early!" she said happily, "Ready for school?"
School. Right he goes to school.
"Yes mom," he nodded slowly, "Just getting some breakfast."
Nana got up, stretching once more, and walked to her bathroom to freshen up. Tsuna's smile dimmed. She was his only family that was available (if you counted his dad, but he wasn't here a lot), and he knew that if she ever found out about this she would be so immensely disappointed in him. She'd leave without a word. That was okay though because as far as he was concerned, she'd never know the truth. She didn't need to know. This was for her own good, for her own protection, after all. It felt a lot like sawing off his own arm but he would do it anyway. He would lie to her for the rest of their lives.
He was already weak and ruined. What was one more bestializing stain to his soul?
AN: I admit, I was sort of inspired by the many versions of the song 'Rolling Girl' originally sung by Hatsune Miku. But I liked Akiakane's version better. But Tsuna! Don't be an idiot! Of course no one will leave you! They would help you through this, not push you away! He's so stupid to think that. I'm scared to write Tsuna's time at school. Things are going to get more progressively worse before they get progressively better. And also; Hibari's appearance soon.
