Hey guys! I'm back!
Yeah, I know, it's been too long, but I'm telling you, I've probably had the world's worst case of writer's block ever!
I literally could NOT bring myself to write for days!
But I got on Google Documents at school, listening to iNSaNiTY by SF-A2 Miki and KAITO, I suddenly had inspiration.
So, here it is! Enjoy!
"It wasn't your fault,"he whispered. "It wasn't, Itachi."
Itachi just sat, completely still. "It's all my fault,"he returned, not quite letting the noise escape his throat.
Shisui laced his fingers through Itachi's, kissing him sweetly, reassuringly on the lips. "It isn't, cara mia. Trust me, won't you?"
Again, "It's all my fault..."
Something in the air sparked.
"It isn't your fault, I said!"Shisui suddenly stood, screamed, and grabbed Itachi by the throat.
Itachi clawed at Shisui's hands, but to no avail, for the older teen was so much stronger than him. His biceps flexed visibly as he squeezed down tighter on Itachi's windpipe. His vision began to blur. He blindly clawed at Shisui's chest, ripping at his shirt, scraping away at his skin, until his nails permeated the epidermis, then plunged into his dermis. Blood splattered onto Itachi's face and hands, staining his once-pristine shirt. Shisui continued to grip harder, his eyes narrowing into barely-there slits, his irises suddenly a bloody, bloody red. His vermilion eyes locked onto Itachi's, pleading, pleading for his friend to let go. Instead, he heard in reply, "It's not your fault!"
Itachi screamed something not unlike a broken sob, and plunged his hands deeper into Shisui's chest. His hands locked around something cold and metallic. He got a hold of it and pulled.
Suddenly, Shisui's grip locked, hardened, but at least it loosened a bit. He no longer screamed. Itachi looked down to his reddened hands, covered in the strong smelling crimson.
In his hands lay the heart-shaped box.
He woke up, screaming, sweating, shaking. He looked down to his hands, in fear that they were, indeed, covered in his lover's blood. They weren't. Instead, it was his.
Itachi threw the covers off of his legs and moved over to the mirror.
"Shit,"he hissed, "I knew it."
Itachi dabbed at the corners of his aching eyes, blood ebbing away onto the soft cotton tee, once a pristine white.
That nightmare was nothing new. And neither was the fact that his eyes bled horribly every time he had it. The medical oddity was even metempirical to Itachi's optometrist of six years. He suggested a surgery that could possibly correct this atypical medical occurrence, but the arduous recovery and little possibility that this would, in fact, be corrected didn't sound very appealing to Itachi, so he declined. Once again, Google never seemed to help for a suitable solution to his bleeding eyes, so he resolved to simply deal with it.
Though, it didn't help the fact that Sasuke got scared every time he stumbled tiredly into his brother's room and saw him clutching his head, the sheets again stained beyond help.
Itachi kept the most painful eye shut (He had mastered this technique through circumstance. Very helpful, if not a bit unnecessary in other situations.) and blindly felt his way into the bathroom. Rather than just flush his eyes, he instead turned the shower on to cold, and sat on the closet toilet for a moment to catch his shallow breath.
What is happening to me? he thought sullenly, confused. Why is this happening all of a sudden?
He sighed his way through chest pains and inhaled the clean smell of the running water, making the atmosphere of the bathroom balmy; calming.
Itachi stretched out his aching limbs and undressed slowly, so his joints wouldn't bother him, noting every new scratch and bruise he had somehow acquired throughout the night.
The wounds appeared spontaneously every night. He never felt them until he noticed them, and often just disregarded them as Ichabod or Poe's doing, or he turned over in the night and scratched himself on something. He shrugged once more and climbed into the shower, letting the cold water hit his body like icy nails, the stinging nettles of water calming, cooling down his suddenly feverish temperature. He leaned back against the tile, sighing, letting his head lay against the cold wall of the shower. He tilted his chin upwards so the water ran against his throat, bruised and burning, and irritably sore. Everything hurt. He crossed his arms over his chest to rub his stiff shoulders, his hair pushed back by the cold fluids. He turned his hands to wrap around his own throat, staying like that for a moment. He began to squeeze down on his neck, without knowing it. His eyes flitted to the ceiling, black as coal, burnt out, too.
His hands continued to tighten, like a boa constrictor, without restraint. He smiled, almost, as he began to breathe heavily. The muscles in his arms convulsed, twitched, with anticipation and dread and joy and the great feeling that he was going to die. But he knew he wasn't, and, suddenly, his hands dropped to his sides. Itachi weakly turned over to lay against the tile again, pressing his cheek to the cold wall while the water chilled his bones and prickled the pale skin of his back.
All of a sudden, he heard it. Not loud, at first, no, it never was. But quiet. Oh-so quiet. They stirred in his ears, the whispers to which he couldn't recall who they belonged to. With a sudden crescendo, they escalated in pitch, too. They sang words of sin and sacrifice and whispered things he couldn't understand because they were all jumbled together.
Itachi latched his palms to his ears in distress, desperatly wanting to block out this horrible sound that penetrated his skull. He pressed his feverish forehead to the icy cold, wishing for deliverance against the burning skin he was encased in. The whispers only got louder; he couldn't escape it. His whole body would surely burn up if he couldn't abate this horrible heat! Surely it was Hell to grasp his soul! This was all his fault! All his fault! He scratched desperately with his long nails at his biceps until they were red and raw and bleeding. No good, he thought, the blood is hot, too!
Itachi slid to his knees gradually, struggling to stay upright. When his knees hit the tile, his head shot up in pain cracking cruelly throughout his body, through his pelvis, shooting up his spine. He threw his head back in a silent scream, and collapsed. He curled up beneath the chilly spray and clung to himself as if they would become unprehensible, as if he would melt away beneath the water's cooling properties. Itachi shrugged himself up slowly onto the slanted back of the shower and lay his head weakly on the side of the tub, his hair clinging to the back of his neck, to his shoulders, and to his back. He smiled, he rested his cheek against the plaster, and sighed relief. The whispers disappated in his head and instead was replaced with a soothing hum, courtesy of Shisui, singing him to sleep with "Cara Mia."
Itachi whispered, "Goodnight."
A/N: Yeah, not so good considering the huge wait, but I'll start updating, (HOPEFULLY), a lot faster. Thank you guys for reading!Oh...yeah...and if you could push that little review link down there...I would really, really appreciate it. BYE!