Author's Note: Thank you as usual! It's nice to have something to update, even while I'm in a bit of a dark place with an inability to write. Lol.
I've been up and down so much lately. I think it's my mind's way of telling me to take a break and draw something (which I attempted last night), but I'm totally addicted.
Shizuo has been here a total of four times so far - every other day to be exact. I've already paid him once.
Using him only for his body heat, the conversation continues to stay rather slim between us. Our negative feelings are still in their proper places - as they should be - refusing to eliminate any of the strangeness begotten by my form pressed against his.
He gets that I don't want him for any other purposes, just as I know he only makes a conscious effort not to kill me for the payment he receives.
So when he's sitting on my couch, with me in a daze as I lean against him, we don't talk. We don't even try to pretend that this is right; nor do we call attention to how wrong it is. Someday it will be over, and when that day comes, none of this will have ever occurred. Both of us will move on with our lives in the same fashion we always have, except - hopefully - he'll aim for my head less often; or rather not at all.
This time, I've actually gone two days without Shizuo. Pleased when I found myself well enough to go for a walk in Shinjuku yesterday afternoon, I decided that humans can be quite medicinal to one another, even if you don't like them… sort of like chamomile tea.
Of course, Shizuo isn't what I would call human, and who actually enjoys taking medicine? Or drinking chamomile?
Nobody.
It's feeling better that we're after.
On the other hand, I'm a presumptuous idiot, impatiently getting ahead of myself more often than the recommended dosage. One might even say that after six months, I'm simply out of practice, which is a fair assumption to bestow.
Feeling good two days in a row is not grounds for ignoring my body's need for rest. But the empowerment of that blond's heat went straight to my head, only numbing it for a short period of time before the migraines decided to extract revenge.
You see… my short walk lead to a job… a job I wasn't necessarily prepared for, making me wonder a myriad of things. Who was I to deny Shiki-san and miss out on five-hundred-thousand yen assignments? And it was so simple! Talk to a few guys, charm and frighten them, extract information, pick up package on the way back. Done.
Nothing difficult.
Decent rate.
Shiki had been proud last night. So very proud. Maybe I let it go to my injured head, just a little, when I agreed to go back to work for him, doing jobs that my own part-time subordinates can't handle. Then again, I hardly ever use them anymore. The whole of situation is becoming a bit desperate and fucked up… like I'm some sort of nobody struggling to make my way to the top, even though I know that it's never been true of me…
I've always been somebody.
I've made damn sure of it.
And this time, I got carried away.
For that, I feel like quite an idiot.
I've had some pretty horrible days since these migraines began, as if the very life of me had been sucked dry from my body. Now, it feels like this yet again, only whoever drained me lit my body on fire. In almost twenty-four years of life, I've never felt like this.
My body doesn't want to leave my bed, not even for those useless pills which mockingly sit on the dresser from across the room. Despite their uselessness, I want them as I force myself to believe that some relief is better than none.
The world surrounding me glows with a familiar aura, maximized tenfold. It burns, attacking me with silent fury. My eyes water, but what's the use in wiping away the tears? For it will not wipe away this agony that shakes my body with its wrath.
What little morning sun has managed to pierce the barriers of curtains and blinds is enough to blind me. Burying my head in my pillows, I hide.
I know what I need.
I need Shizuo's heat. More than anything. More than the past several times he has been here for me. And I would call him in an instant if I did not dread the painful light of my phone's screen, or the shrill ring as I call for him to save me from this hell. Albeit, even then, my sore limbs do not want to move, while the weight of the migraine keeps me pinned to the sheets, dizzy and suffering.
An hour passes before I realize that this is getting worse rather than better. The pressure in my head soon reaches a point of nausea.
I can't wait anymore.
Keeping my face buried in my pillow, I reach a trembling arm out to my cell phone. Blindly picking it up, I hope I have a close enough relationship with this device to navigate it without seeing the screen's details for myself.
With a bit of effort, I hear the dial tone and can only hope it's the correct number.
It rings twice before a familiar voice answers.
"Hello~" that usual sing-song tone is shrill like the squeal of brakes on a beaten down car.
"Fuck," I hiss.
"Izaya... are you okay?" Shinra asks, lowering his voice into something a little more bearable.
I swallow, attempting to clear my head enough to speak in words other than curses. "Ngh... I... I n-need Shizuo."
"Whoa. You know he's not here, don't you?"
"C-call him. Tell him to get over here..."
"You sound like you're in a lot of pain. Are you-"
"Thank you, Doctor Obvious. J-just tell him. Now."
Irritated that I've called the wrong person, I hang up on Shinra with the hopes he has the mind to do what I say. Shizuo is the only one who can help, as shitty as it is to admit.
Roughly an hour later - hell, maybe it has only been twenty minutes, I don't know - I'm still in bed when there's a knock at the door; the sound of which is forceful enough to send an earthquake through my skull.
I know who it is, but I don't know if I have the strength to pull myself up.
Following another set of knocks, my phone rings. Just as blindly as I called Shinra, I manage to answer the call.
"I'm at your apartment, Flea," Shizuo grumbles, "Shinra called me."
The sound of his voice isn't as bad as Shinra's, yet still harsh enough to make me wince.
"Oi, Izaya. You hear me?"
"Ngh... yeah..." I am not surprised by the weakness in my voice as I force the answer.
"Stop screwing around and come get the fucking door or I'm leaving," he threateningly commands, clearly irritated before even seeing my face. Then again, Shizuo has never required a visual to hate me.
"N-no..." the throbbing is so loud I can hear it in my head. "I c-can't."
"Well, unless you want me to break the damn door in to come save your puny ass, you better figure out a way."
I know he's right. And yet, the very idea of getting up seems impossible, like he's telling me to go to go to space on foot.
"Your pain is... too much... isn't it?" his voice suddenly drops to a melancholy, low town.
"G-give me a minute," I breathe, suddenly remembering that Shizuo is not allowed to see me weak.
"Don't force yourself. I can break in the door."
"No..." I hiss, carefully lifting myself from my mattress. "I'll be there in a minute."
Said minute is the longest of my life.
My migraine is giving me vertigo. Nauseating vertigo, like a bad night of drinking. Like somebody poisoned the alcohol to play a prank. This only leads to surprise when I make it down the stairs. By the time I reach the front door, I'm falling against it, simply trying to picture myself in those arms that fight off the onslaught of pain.
"Soon," is the word I've repeated to myself for the past five minutes, up until I've unhooked the last latch from my door.
"See?" I give Shizuo a weak smile as I open the door. "Fine."
He scoffs. "You look like shit."
Opening my mouth for a clever retort, whatever insult I was about to throw dissipates as another wave slams down on my head, shutting me up before I can speak.
I crumble instantly, without warning to myself or the blond who has just stepped inside. The world sways, unrestrained by gravity in my broken mind.