Date: THIRD DAY as an ally to the Shinigami of Soul Society after getting kicked out of Hueco Mundo by the Major Bitch
Dear Journal,
You know, me and hysterics never really panned in out, like NEVER. So I'm just cool here. So in this solitary state of coolness, I shall now narrate to you the third day adventure of the dazzling protagonist of this charming tale, which involves love revelations, an unfolding of an inevitable romance, and the unraveling of the mysteries of the human heart in a world DEVOID OF FUCKING REALITY. What in bloody fuck just happened? Let's rewind the goddamn film reel, and see for yourselves.
1, 2, and 3,
I awoke at the sun's fucking blatancy poking heat in my eyes, so I hurtled off the goddamn bed, and being the hateful git that I am, I just about cursed my nuts off on everything I laid my hand on, and what do you know; behind me was a whole damn day of a catastrophic joke. A calamitous brunt of fate. A tragic sport of destiny.
I dipped my head in the tub to rinse me off the imbecilic memories of my so misbegotten, disjointed, fuckingly adorable second day in Soul Society.
I remembered having been accused of the accursed, baneful, four-letter word when, fuck, the eventuality of such event is just about a flagrant disregard to logic and everything that's fixed. When something is fixed, you show reverence to it. You don't try to dismantle it or blaspheme it or try to do anything that may insult it. When I say, Grimmjow Jaggerjack is NOT in love, then you live with it, accept it, and hail it as the immutable, unalterable truth. Get it?
So. He asked me, he, The Lovely Death of Me, most popularly known as Ichigo,
"The whole of this affair PROVES that you are indeed in love with a certain someone, Grimmjow. Am I correct?"
He. Fucking. Asked. Me. That.
He really did. Him. Of all fucking pricks.
"There must be some kind of a mistake. You Shinigami people are fucking sick in the nuts, man. Like, why would you even invent/construct/design a thingy place that determines if someone is in love or not? Man, that's just perverted. Privacy, man."
And he was STARING at me again with such an indecipherable touch to it that I was certain he was gonna do something between raping me and nothing. Yeah, somewhere in between.
"Look at you; you're all funny-looking and baffled. I'll get straight to the point because the rumors are really going rampant; are you in love with ME?"
"..."
Question marks can really kill you. I swear, man.
At this point, I started hearing a gruesomely tiny girlish voice from somewhere, begging in the most sympathy-inspiring fashion it could afford, "kill me…please kill me…" I kept hearing the goddamn impish voice so I looked wildly around to locate its originator, in which case I'd be able to kill it and shut it up, and oh fuck; all to no avail. There was no little girl in sight; only me and Kurosaki on the enchanting landscape. So I resigned with the acceptance that the ghastly voice was the product of my barely-there sanity. It was all foreign to my experience, but I accepted it anyway. Hearing voices, yeah, it happens to EVERYONE once in a while so—
"…kill me…fucking kill me…"
Kurosaki, the Lovely Death of Me, was staring at me; this time with a brutally peculiar glare for no understandable reason. YET. I was about to say 'Don't look at me like that' when my voice was drowned by—
"…kill me…fucking kill me…"
I was struggling to the point of tears. REAL TEARS OF PAIN. It came to me, to us, that the voice, hear this carefully, the voice, the goddamn girly creepy little voice was, get this and brace yourself, coming from…
…drum roll ala grande…
ME.
That was ME begging ME to kill ME in a GIRLISH voice. What the fuck. All because he, the most convenient source of my exasperation, the Lovely Death of Me, asked me if I was in love with HIM.
I might have excreted blood from my eyes because the next thing I knew was, Kurosaki was smiling DOWN on me (down on me because I was on my fucking knees) with pitying eyes of consolation. Well, fuck that. I didn't need shit.
"There. You DON'T have to answer that. I'm sorry I shocked you."
He sounded as though he was GENUINELY concerned about my safety when he just about compelled me to wail like a five-year old human girl. Yeah, you can just eat ten babies in succession and tell everyone 'It was an accident!'. Fuck that.
So there were my fucking sentiments laid bare: I asked ME in a GIRLY sniffing stifled voice to kill ME. If you translate that to its broadest possible context, what you'd get is that I wanted to die right then and there rather than answer the question he asked me. And he went over me, comforting me with his magnificently soothing words. Yeah.
I hate it. I hate it when people DON'T kill you when you just about asked them nicely to. Nicely. Hell, I was even begging! Crying, in a girly voice!
So, that has to be the most attractive second day you ever heard. I shall close the curtains now and commence the story of the third day.
So. The Vice Captains did this daily morning meeting, and I was asked to fucking attend it too and I did so without thoughts of protest. And I might as well walk into some fucking gallows. By the time the shit was done, all them Lieutenants exploded with an applause, which almost induced an ear-bleed, and fuck that. I looked around and fucking guess what? They were clapping for ME.
Wow. Just great. I mean, with the population count of the goddamn community, you'd expect at least one person to possess a goddamn brain. There were all thirteen of them and no brains whatsofuckingever.
"What's the fucking idea?"
"I congratulate you, Grimmjow Jaggerjack, for being capable of setting foot on The Sanctuary Plane." Tattoo-face 69 told me.
Let's add him to the fucking line-up.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Hisagi Shuuhei, vice-captain and acting captain of the Ninth Division. Kaname Tousen was my captain."
Yada yada too much information—fuck. That figured. He had a jerk for a captain, and now the contagious powers of jerk-ness were passed on to him.
"Tousen's a fucking jerk."
"He's a traitor, but the last thing he is is a jerk. Anyway, who's the lucky lady your heart is beating for?"
Back to the fucking line-up; there's Renji Abarai as my Soon-To-Be-Murderer; Kurosaki Ichigo as the Lovely Death of Me; and now I present to you Hisagi Shuuhei, my Maker of Despair. All of them, all fucking three of them, were circled around me like a flock of hungry vultures spelling death and all. Man.
"Stop talking shit."
"There's nothing wrong with being in love. I mean, we perhaps don't even KNOW who she is. Or do we?"
My Soon-To-Be-Murderer and The Lovely Death of Me were like watching their comrade mutilate me, and all that was missing were a fucking bucket of popcorn and some Barcelona Chair, and oh fucking hell. So there I was, trying to get myself killed by my Maker of Despair when suddenly, fucking suddenly, some gorgeous knight in shining armor came to rescue me, which just about amplified my necessity to STOP breathing to tenfold.
"Hisagi-san, let him be. Time will reveal. For now, let's spare him"
My rescuer was Kurosaki. The Lovely Death of Me. Now I fucking owe him my life which wasn't even valuable to start with. What the hell, I'm bouncing out.
I plodded away from another episode of humiliation after getting my pride pricked by some bastard Hisagi Shuuhei who, more or less, had exhausted all his jerk-ness reserves by persecuting them all ON ME all at fucking once.
Alone again.
Not.
Man, is there no fucking respect for boundaries in this goddamn place??
Lovely Death of Me alarm went raising bloody havoc in my ears.
"What do you want, Kurosaki?"
"Same thing I asked you yesterday; are you in love with me?"
How does someone pull something that horrendous from under his tongue and manage to keep a straight face at the same fucking time?
"Yeah. So fucking what?"
"…"
Shit.
The problem with me is—
—the problem with me is big.
Fucking big. THIS BIG. The problem with me is, I CAN'T fucking lie whenever the situation calls for it desperately, and what with its rampancy, you can just fucking have a medical condition named after me.
He was at it AGAIN. Staring. If someone could bail me outta this staring challenge, well, you are GOD.
"Well, that clears it."
Of course it did. Cleared my head until no brain was left. Fuck this shit. Awkward torment. More awkward torment when he came flitting towards me until he was this near, thisnear, thisfuckingnear to me, and it could have been all better, you know, if he just stayed rooted to where he was, but instead,
INSTEAD,
Fucking instead,
He fucking kissed me on my left cheek where my hollow mask wasn't.
This dude ain't for real, like, man, his tormenting tendencies are cutting edge, man.
Man.
If I so happen to be found dead by tomorrow morning with a shotgun tip in my mouth and a hole blasted in my head, you know WHO to blame.
Signing out,
Grimmjow Jaggerjack
--
TBC
