Here is another chapter of this idea. :)
Chapter 2: Acidic
Grimmjow walked out of the hospital with white bandages wrapped around his chest. The night was cool, and the sky was glittered over with bright stars. The wind was gentle tonight. The lights luminating from the hospital windows shown brightly on Grimmjow's back, creating a small shadow underneath his feet.
He took in a short breath and exhaled. The pain killers were working. Grimmjow gave a small smile at the memory of the doctor's face. He never thought he would get a lecture from a doctor. Being an uncaring delinquent, Grimmjow zoned out on the lecture. He just focused on the man's pink hairh. "What was his name?" thought Grimmjow. "Heh! Dr. Granz. That guy is a fuckin' clown."
Blue eyes shifted to the street. All he had to do was walk down the concrete path toward Arrancar ave, then he would be home. "Piece of shit," he growled under his breath. Grimmjow pursed his lips and made his way for that path. As he walked, the bandages tickled his pectorals and upper abdomen.
The strands of hair bounced and waved as Grimmjow walked home. Though his appearance seemed like that of a war hero, Grimmjow hated walking down the same path everyday. Like following the yellow brick road, but without the midgets and the pigtailed idiot. As he walked, Grimmjow receieved sympathetic and questioning looks from others who passed by.
One walker happened to be his neighbor, Neliel. The green haired woman sucked in her lips, holding back a gasp. She knew that Grimmjow was a fighter, and she always scolded him like a big sister. However, she has never seen the boy in this condition. Nel made her way to him and stopped him.
"What the hell do you want?" snarled Grimmjow. He disliked being babied by Nel. He thought the woman was okay, but today was not the day to handle her motherly concern. That was his real mother's job. "What real mother?" he mentally cursed.
"Grimmjow," she said, "what have I told you about fighting? You know you can talk to me. You didn't have to get into a knife fight to calm yourself down." Nel put her hand to Grimmjow's chest when he tried to leave. "What happened, Grimmjow? Talk to me. I hate seeing you like this," pleaded Nel. She looked into the blue eyes, but the eyes scolded her sympathetic gaze.
Grimmjow grabbed Nel's hand and squeezed it in a threatening manner. The girl bit her lip to eliminate a cry of pain. "Just stay away, Neliel," growled Grimmjow. "You don't know shit, and you won't understand anything." He threw her hand down and continued walking.
"Your always welcome at my house, Grimmjow," called Nel. "I will be there for you when you need me. Don't shut out people who care about you." She ran behind him and hugged Grimmjow. His body was cold.
Grimmjow looked back and sighed. "Why ya so good to an asshole like me?" he asked. "I ain't done nothin' but curse ya, hurt ya, and turn ya away. Why do you care so much?" He felt Nel's body grow warmer.
"I'm your friend, and friends don't let friends slip into the gutter," came her reply. Her voice was soft and understanding; the voice of friend. "Don't turn me away, Grimmjow. I know about your household. I hear the screams and crashes. It scares me 'cause my friend is in there trying to evade the roughness of his mother's touch," added Nel.
The man felt breathless, for she did understand. Grimmjow swallowed down his pride. What Nel said was true. The Jaggerjack home was always a mini replica of World War II: he punches at his father and his mother comes in with the sneak attack. Last time she threw a liquid that almost burned off Grimmjow's skin. Luckily Nel found him trying to walk it off in the alley way. The woman rushed him to the emergency room. After the skin healed, he got a tattoo on that same spot: a gothic six on his lower back.
Grimmjow sucked in his lips; he was trying to keep a calm look. His eyes began to burn and his face grew hotter. "Damn it, Nel," thought Grimmjow. "Ya make me feel like I'm bathing in acid." He put his hands on Nel's and pulled them off.
Nel didn't fight the man on his reaction. She would accept his next move.
"See ya, Nel," called Grimmjow over his shoulder. He turned his attention toward the sidewalk in front of him and walked. His lonely steps echoed throughout the street. Grimmjow gazed upon the ground, where his shadow mimicked his every move. He shook his head like a lion would shake its mane; the dark reflection mimicked his move.
The sky was dimming. Bits of orange surrounded the receding sun like a halo, and the dark blue was taking over the halo's light. The breeze became cool; it chilled Grimmjow's lungs and exposed chest. He sighed; the air burned his throat.
He spat. "Fuckin' weather," muttered Grimmjow. His eyes shifted upward; his home sat in front of him. The home looked calm: the lights were off, the shades in the windows were ruffled, and the gate was ajar. The man tilted his head, for the he knew the calm was only temporary. He really didn't want to walk through the front door, but he knew he must. He didn't want to face his air-headed parents, but he will. He didn't want to face a new fight, but he would.
"Fuck me," thought Grimmjow. "Fuck me sideways, up ways, and behind... Here I fuckin' go." He shoved the gate open; the bars were cool. He stepped through the door; the door was unlocked. He stood in the living room; the room was dark. "At least have the fuckin' lights on!" called Grimmjow to the darkness. His hand searched the wall by the front door. When he found the switch, Grimmjow flipped the bar.
"Holy..." he didn't finish the phrase. Blue eyes were bugged at full circumference. The room was trashed. The paint was torn, the couches were ruffled, and the television set was missing. He panicked and ran through the house. Most of the furniture was turned over or wrecked. The kitchen was the worst; it used to be the most peaceful room in the house. There was a large window that looked in on the dining table, and there was a regular kitchen setting: white stove, white fridge, black counter tops.
Grimmjow couldn't breathe, for the sight was dreadful. The black counter tops were littered with trash, the fridge was on its face, the dining table was outside the broken window. Grimmjow's eye twitched after he looked from the table to the floor. There was a smear of blood that trailed toward the pantry. "No..." he muttered. Grimmjow ran to the pantry and opened the door.
The sight caused Grimmjow to fall backwards on the trail of blood. In the pantry hung his father. There was an electrical cord supporting the dead man by his neck; there were multiple stab wounds on the torso. The fathers blue hair looked partially brown, and the clothing was stained in red. The blue haired man set his hands on the ground to pick himself up, but he slipped. "Fuck!" he cursed. He turned over and sprinted away from the scene.
His face was getting hot, and his eyes were starting to burn. His breath skipped when he remembered that his mother is probably dead, too. Grimmjow looked to the stairs and ran up the steps; he stopped when he came upon his parent's room. The door was open, revealing the gory scenery. He stepped inside; his footsteps were quiet. There were bloody prints all over the wall; he didn't doubt they were his mother's prints.
Grimmjow turned his head, and the sight that greeted him was too unbearable. His mother's body was laid across the bed. The sheets were red, and the bed stand was splintered. He walked toward the bed, and he noticed that the body was paler up close with the exception of her bruised neck. His mother was naked, and her legs were parted. Her eyes were closed, and her arms are spread out. Her auburn hair was spread out, just like the sun's halo. The blue haired man sat on the bed and pulled his mother's body to him.
The skin was cold, and the body's weight was heavy. Grimmjow rested his mother's head on his chest; he hugged her close. He remembered that his mother held him like that when he was still a child. After he turned fifteen, he wasn't held the same way. The memory brought the tears in his eyes to fall. Grimmjow choked, "Mom... Mom... MOM!" He squeezed her body tighter. "Why? WHY? WHO FUCKIN' DID THIS?" he screamed. The woman's pale lips remained sealed.
After yelling more curses at the murderers, Grimmjow laid his mother's body on the bed and pulled the sheets up to cover her nudity. He placed a simple kiss on her forehead and stood up. He ran out of the room, out of the house, out of the haunting memory. He ran to the only place he knew that would accept him: Nel's house. The green haired woman lived across the street from him.
Grimmjow barely avoided a speeding car, and he almost hit an old man. When he got to Nel's home, he jumped Nel's gate and ran up to the door. He banged on the door; tears were still streaming down his face. He took a step back when the door opened.
Nel was in her white night gown. Her eyes lit up in surprise and sympathy. She ran and hugged Grimmjow, who held her tightly in return. She rubbed his back to soothe him; the motherly touch made Grimmjow cry more. "Shhhhh... Tell me what happened," Nel whispered.
The next day...
Ichigo was sitting next to his brother and Chad. They were all busy working on a math problem that their teacher assigned them. Shiro poked his brother, who winced. Ichigo growled at him. Shiro stuck his tongue at his brother; he turned his sights and poked Chad, who didn't budge. Chad responded by pushing Shiro's head to the side.
"Alright, students," called Mr. Kurotsuchi. "Who can tell me what the integral of sinx is?" He looked around the room and spotted Ichigo. "Mr. Kurosaki, can you tell us the answer? You should since you spent time working on the problem and not messing around."
The orange headed boy pursed his lips and responded, "-cosx."
"Good," said Kurotsuchi with a frown. He turned and started to lecture some more.
Shiro looked over to Grimmjow's empty desk; he smiled. "Maybe he gets the message," he thought. He jolted when Ichigo jabbed him with a pen. When he was going to give Ichigo a piece of his mind, Chad jabbed him with a pen on the other side. "You bastards," he muttered for them to hear. Chad and Ichigo gave sly smiles.
Before Kurotsuchi could yell at the boys he heard playing around, a couple of policemen came into the room. Both cops were male, tall, and heavily uniformed. He saw Grimmjow stride into the room with a gloomy look. His masculine features were there, but the cocky spirit was gone.
"We're just here to drop off this boy," said one officer. "He's had a rough night. Please excuse his tardiness." The male officer gestured for Grimmjow to sit down.
The blue haired man shrugged and walked to his seat; he set his notebook on the desk. He sat down and looked at the desk as his arms hung at his sides.
Ichigo looked at Grimmjow and wondered what was wrong. The day before, Grimmjow was a monstrous being, but this day he looked docile, which was saying a lot. "Did my brother whip him that bad?" he thought. He looked at Shiro, who shrugged.
The policemen left, so Kurotsuchi went back to teaching Calculus.
Grimmjow opened his notebook and started taking notes. He didn't make any smart remarks, he didn't try to throw a paper ball at the teacher, and he didn't bother to annoy the other students around him. He was quiet.
After a half hour of listening and taking notes, the students were able to leave, for the bell had rung. Grimmjow stood and closed his notebook. He didn't bother to look at anyone. He made his way out of the room and to his locker. The students that passed by were staring him; he was too quiet. When he opened his locker, the locker door was slammed shut by a pale hand. Blue eyes shifted lazily to the culprit.
"What do you want, Shirosaki?" asked Grimmjow in an annoyed tone. His face gave no threatening sneer.
"Ya need th' cops t' look afta ya ass now?" asked Shiro with a demon like smile.
"None of your fuckin' business," spat Grimmjow. He pulled the white hand away from his locker and opened the metal door.
Before Shiro could make a smart remark, Ichigo came behind him and said, "Shiro, stop. I don't think he's up for a round of shit."
"Why ya bein' so nice for this ass, King? He almost put ya in a coma last night," countered Shiro. "I should be givin' 'im a few swings more for it."
Ichigo shook his head and pulled his brother to the other side of him. "It doesn't help when you kick someone while he's down. The odds aren't fair. He and I started out even; don't take him down in a vulnerable state," explained Ichigo.
The blue haired man hated the pity that was being thrown around him, so he slammed his locker and walked away. "I don't need pity," he thought, "especially not from Kurosaki."
Ta Da!
Just review or do what ever.
Cinco de Mayo! Woo! :)