Thank you so much for all of the reviews! I appreciate and read every single one. There's not really much to talk about with this, so here's the second chapter of Not Without You. I hope you enjoy!
Warnings! :: CONTAINS ABUSE.
Going home was always the worst part for Izaya. He was still drunk, his mind feeling muddled and somewhat unclear. His body was tingling with a familiar numbness that alcohol always seemed to give him. He felt almost at peace, but the sense of dread lingered over him with each staggering step he took.
He knew what to expect when he got there. If he was lucky, he'd still be sound asleep in his bed. It was hitting midnight, after all. Was there any god in this universe, they'd grant him that one favor.
Soon enough, he was there, in front of the bare brown door. The wind rustled in the nearby trees, the only sound other than that of him fumbling with his keys.
Quietly, he turned the correct key, silently cursing the slight creak the door made as it opened.
It was dark. He let out a soft sigh of relief, pushing the key back into his pocket. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him as gently as he could and locked it back in place.
The only sound was of the television chattering in the background. There was a dim light coming from the kitchen, but he dared not get so close to his room at the moment. He made his way down the hallway and into the white bathroom, thankful for the nightlight inside.
The mirror seemed to mock him. He looked like hell. There was a red flush to his skin, dark circles lined underneath his crimson eyes. His hair was disheveled and in terrible need of combing. In that moment, he was certain if you looked up "mess" in the dictionary, you'd see his current appearance.
All of that, however, was absolutely nothing to what he noticed next.
He swore they were laughing at him. The cuts and bruises on his skin were definitely laughing, no, ridiculing him at this very moment.
He'd seen them. That bartender had fucking seen them.
His stomach seemed to fall straight down to his knees, the sense of dread intensifying with each passing second.
He saw them, he saw them, he fucking saw them.
His grip tightened on the sinks counter. He wanted to tear his eyes away from the visage of himself. He wanted everything about this night to be a simple lie. Was he really this stupid? Why in gods name had he done that? If alcohol really made him act this irrationally, he vowed to never consume it agai-
His thoughts were interrupted when pain sprouted throughout him. A rough and calloused hand yanked at his messy hair, straining against the roots.
"Where the fuck have you been?"
Izaya swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He willed himself to speak, to say something that would save him from what was to happen, but it was as if his body had forgotten how.
It wouldn't have mattered if he'd said anything. The hand carelessly tossed him down, back onto the wooden floor of the hallway. Izaya fell with a thud, a sharp pain shooting across the arm he had landed on. Before he could process what had happened, he was lifted up by the neck of his shirt and shoved clumsily against the wall.
That was when words became obsolete. Izaya was nothing in that moment. His cries of pain were automatic and lacked any true agony. He had long become used to this – used to the feeling of a fist connecting with his face, far used to the feeling of being unable to catch your breath. The way he'd drop you and just leave you there when he was done, gasping and broken on the floor, unable to even move.
Everything hurt. He wished that he were still numb. Now his entire body was alight with pain; it traveled down his spine, up his broken arm, through his battered legs and across his bruised chest.
But despite all of that, Izaya felt so very... loved at that moment. He forgave him. He'd always forgive him, no matter how many times he did it. He knew that this was only his way of expressing love, even if it was a little violent.
His eyes trailed back down to his wrists. They were still scarred, still ugly and ruined. Some of the cuts had opened from the abuse, leaving trickles of blood running onto the cold wood. He would need to clean that up. His lover wouldn't like it if it left a stain.
He tried to move, to crawl to the couch, to find purchase on the slick floor, but his limbs and the left-over liquor refused. Giving in, he made himself as comfortable as an unmoving man could. He let his eyes slip lazily shut, trying desperately to ignore the discomfort of the wood underneath him.
=x=
"Good work as always, brother."
Shizuo froze. The voice was the same monotone drone that he was so used to from his childhood. Turning around, he noticed it was also the same brown hair and dull eyes that always appeared to see straight through you.
"Kasuka."
He gave a small nod and took a seat.
Neither of them said a word. If there was anything Shizuo hated, it was awkward silences. He could practically feel his anger building slowly, but he managed to control himself.
"Can I get you something?"
"Ah... no. I don't drink."
Silence ensued yet again. Right before Shizuo could snap, Kasuka spoke.
"There's something I need to tell you."
"What's that?"
Kasuka seemed slightly hesitant to speak.
"I'm going to visit father."
Shizuo said nothing. If his anger had been high moments ago, it was skyrocketing now. The mere mention of his name filled him with malice and utter disgust. It was a silent anger, a scary anger that made even Kasuka somewhat worried about what he would do next.
"I know how you feel about it. I just thought you should know... and it'd be good for you if you went."
Shizuo didn't say a thing. He felt he would explode if he did.
"He's changed, you know-"
"LIKE FUCK HE'S CHANGED, KASUKA!"
Other people in the bar froze and turned to stare at the blonde, shocked at his sudden outburst. Kasuka, long expecting it, kept his mask held firmly in place.
"I'm not telling you to come," Kasuka stated. "I felt it would only be fair if you knew."
Shizuo knew that he was acting irrationally, but he was so consumed with fury that he couldn't think straight.
"Get the fuck out."
Kasuka was silent for all of three seconds before quietly nodding and taking his leave from the bar. After a while, everyone in the bar went back to their individual conversations and forgot about the sudden outburst.
Shizuo was still shaken.
Going to see our father? CHANGED? Has Kasuka completely forgotten what he did to the both of us?!
Shizuo stood there, not acknowledging the people trying to order more drinks. He was lost in his own thoughts, completely oblivious to the world around him. A hand on his shoulder interrupted him from the tornado whirling inside of his brain, calling him back to reality.
"Shizuo. You alright?" His co-worker, Tom, looked concerned.
He thought about that answer to that. In terms of physical condition, he was perfect. But on the other hand...
The bartender took a deep breath and gritted his teeth.
"No."
Tom nodded, not quite understanding, but not willing to anger the famed monster. "You can go home today. We're about to close anyway."
Normally Shizuo would've objected, but he just did as told this time.
On his walk home, his mind was racing with thoughts of his father. When Kasuka went to see him, would he hurt him again? Shizuo wouldn't be there to protect him this time. He wouldn't be able to save him. Like fucking hell he'd changed. Kasuka never got to experience the full brunt of what had happened – he'd only witnessed. No, he had to stop Kasuka. He had to. He whipped out his phone and dialed Kasuka's number, but there was no response.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.
He needed to talk to Kasuka as soon as possible. If he didn't, he'd go to that bastard and get himself killed. He'd call him in the morning, and if he didn't pick up, he'd go over there and knock some sense into Kasuka's stupid ass.
At the moment, he needed a distraction. He felt like part of him was going crazy. He tried to think of anything, anything other than Kasuka and what he'd said at the bar – and stumbled upon the thought of the raven-haired man he met the other day.
That's right, he wasn't here today, Shizuo realized.
Tch. He was probably out at another bar annoying some other bartender. It was nothing to worry about.
… In that case, had that guy also seen his scars? Had he done anything different? Had he asked about them?
Had he gotten help for him? Did that flea need help?
For a moment, he'd forgotten about the issue with Kasuka. He wondered how he was doing – Izaya, was it? Did he go home after walking out like that? He seemed like the type of person who might not even have a home to go to, with how annoying he was.
When Shizuo stumbled into his apartment, he collapsed onto the gray sheets of his bed. He didn't bother getting under the covers, far too exhausted from the days events.
The last thought that passed through his mind was thought of the flea's irritating smirk.