Author's Note: Lol. Dude, Anon. While on the subject of name-calling: You're a fucking dumbass. I guess nobody ever told you that critquing someone for their work didn't include immature name-calling while hiding behind anonymity. A critique is analyzing somebody's work and pointing out where they could improve or how they can develop a story better in the future. It is not saying things like, "You suck," and "You should stop writing," and "You're an idiot." That is not a critique. I'm fairly sure you, and everybody here, knows that. And then you want to call me out for calling you out? If you had any guts at all, I wouldn't have to respond to you this way. I'm rec'd because even though you and I don't like my writing, other people do. A lot of other people. And they are my confidence. While they aren't why I write, they are why I post.

Complaining about my bad writing and not understanding why my stories are recommended only makes you look like the envious, spiteful coward you are. I never did anything to deserve this kind of bashing from you. You chose to come here, on my page, and act out of your own free will with absolutely no real grounds to do so. You've been trolling me for months.

And I'm the stupid one?

You've told me before that my writing makes this fandom look bad. Honestly, it makes me laugh that a person can be so negative and so immature that they don't see how their blatant cowardly rudeness is what really makes a fandom seem uninviting.

That said, I do thank you once again for adding to my hits, views and reviews. Every comment counts toward my popularity. What's that they say? Oh, right. All publicity is good publicity.

PS - To everyone else, I really am sorry that this is happening... Please ignore this if you can. Some people like to be anonymous because they're afraid of the person they decide to pester with their bullshit.

"What are these from?" Shizuo questioned, picking up both of my hands, gaping at my wrists. The bruises left by my sisters' handcuffs burned beneath his rugged touch.

He had barely walked through the door before he was up in arms over something pertaining to me. Again. I mean, what else was new? Personally, I wondered if the drama would ever end... and then, I realized that I was the drama.

"Nothing..." I muttered. I hadn't thought much of the sharp grip of those temporary shackles. As long as I was free of them, I didn't care what markings they left me with. There were deeper scars cutting into my world than my sisters' usual devices.

"Izaya! This isn't nothing!" he barked, throwing his protective shield into use. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Who did then?"

I tugged my hands out of his. Scowling, I told him what he wanted to hear: the truth. "I ran into my sisters on the street today."

"Eh...?"

"They did this to you?"

"They've always been a little vicious," I nodded. "Didn't you know?"

Shizuo shook his head, incredulous. "How can two little girls-"

"You're talking about a very specific pair of teens," I reminded him.

"They wouldn't really-"

"They've done worse."

"Why couldn't you just say so from the start?"

Running my left-hand fingers over the bruising around my right wrist, I furrowed my eyebrows. These minor injuries were nothing compared to getting my ass kicked by Shizuo in the past... just more annoying, I suppose. Not to mention the other people who had cut, hit, stabbed, sliced, and bruised me... the most painful of which was always the bruising of my ego as the eyes of the world glared at me in disgust for my sins.

"Damn it, flea. If you're telling the truth you have to answer me."

Not being in the mood to talk, I shot him a "back off" glare. My migraine hadn't calmed down since I walked through the door, and his constant interrogations made me feel worse. "Because I didn't want to see them, okay?" I clutched my shirt directly over my heart. Feeling the slow beat beneath my palm, I swore I felt it aching at the recent memory... or was it quivering in fear? "Better yet... I didn't want them to see me... like this..."

I rolled over, into the couch, trying my best to bury myself in the cushions, and I would have been perfectly satisfied to hide there for the rest of my life if I could ever achieve some level of invisibility. However, the moment I slipped out onto the streets of Ikebukuro, I could feel all eyes on me. Watching me... judging me... killing me... Maybe I was just an easy target. To think there was a time when I could literally dodge a bullet...

Shizuo placed a strong hand on my upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You'd have to see them eventually..."

Disagree.

"No... not like this..." I breathed. "They saw straight through me."

Shizuo huffed. "That's not exactly difficult, considering you don't eat."

"That's not funny," I shot, curling my body into a smaller sized ball.

"Izaya... I can see a prefect outline of your bones through that shirt. Your spine... your ribs... your shoulders... And your pants look huge."

"These are your pants."

Shizuo paused for a moment, allowing his irritation to settle. "...Tch. Of course they are. Why are you wearing my clothes when you barely fit into your own?"

"Shizu-chan's are more comfortable," I stated an obvious fact.

"Ugh... We need to stop changing the subject," he told me, choosing to ignore my statement.

I rolled onto my back and stared at him with contemplative eyes. This conversation... I didn't want to have it. Again. My quest for anything but an ordinary life was turning into a repetitive cycle, all of which could have been avoided if I had died like I was supposed to.

Another flash from the past zipped through my memory, duplicating the feeling of nausea I felt when the alcohol dissolved the trail mix of pills.

"I know you hate to talk about your feelings," he read me like a book, putting him in no mood to deal with my avoidance issues. "You've been good about honesty lately, too, but if you keep it up this way, you're gonna end up committed. And come on. Is that what you want?"

"No..."

"Better me than a psychiatrist, right?"

"Hardly. You're just as pushy."

A tiny smile tweaked at the left corner of his mouth. "It's good that you're leaving the apartment."

What was that crap about switching subjects?

"...but...?"

"But it isn't enough."

"I knew it."

Shizuo glowered, quickly becoming fed up with my rotten attitude. "You still have two weeks here."

"I realize this. What's your point?"

"If you keep up this moody bullshit, I'm going to lose it."

"Sorry..."

"For once in your life, how difficult would it be for you to compromise, Izaya? You're being impossible."

Oh. So he noticed? Would he soon notice that I wasn't in the mood for his lectures? That these pathetic "pep-talks" were weak, and did nothing to change me? That it made me physically sick to my stomach to discuss my "feelings" with him? Because every time I told him how I felt about anything, I felt this unworldly gravitational pull towards him, like a rope was tied around my waist, and he was reeling me in each time he learned something new about me. I hated it. As long as we continued like this, my head only became fuzzier.

Jumbled thoughts aren't good for a manic depressive. We get confused, resulting in mental breakdowns rather than any real success in one direction or another. I'd like to be high or low; not walking the line in between the two.

Shizuo didn't understand.

"It's not enough to just get out. Taking a walk isn't going to fix you."

"You don't know that," I retorted.

"Don't I? Who had to come home because he was feeling 'sick'?"

"Tch... this isn't my home."

Shizuo tightened his fists. I probably deserved to have some sense knocked into me. Part of me hoped he'd do it. I even considered encouraging him to; yet, he showed restraint, choosing to breathe for a moment instead. How was it so easy for him to hold back? After all those years running me into an alleyway to beat me into the pavement, how could he resist reverting back to that same animalistic rage?

"You know what I mean. You're sick because you're not eating."

"I'm sick because I'm a bit of a mental case." I smoothly corrected him, accepting my psychological issues as an unchangeable feature of my personality.

His angry demeanor suddenly dissipated, reverting to somewhat of a childish, tranquil calm. His hurricane eyes bore into mine, searching desperately for absent hope. "You still want to die, don't you...? Even after..."

Giving in to the hurt tone of his voice, I sat up, apologetically twisting my toothpick arms around him. I hated myself even more for resting my head on his shoulder. Why did he have to be so warm... so comfortable and warm?

"You didn't want the twins to see you..." He put the pieces together. His strong voice was breaking from the weight of my misery. I was stressing him out more than ever. "Because you wanted their last memory of you to be a good one... You didn't want them to know your pain until you were gone..."

I actually found myself amazed by the way he figured me out. "I'm sorry... Shizu-chan..."

Hanging his head, he whispered, "The first day we met, we had a death match through the streets of this city. The first day you moved in, you fell apart in my arms... As much as we've changed..."

I picked up where he trailed off. "As much as we've changed, I'm not changing at all."

"I don't know what I can do to fix you..."

"You've done all that you can, Shizu-chan. The next thirteen days are on me..."

"Tch... That doesn't reassure me when you choose to be so stubborn, Flea. I told you we'd take 'us' slow. I'm sticking to my end of the bargain... so..."

"I'm trying..."

"You have to try harder. Look at yourself, will you?"

"I don't want to..."

"Why not?"

"Because I despise what I see," I admitted, doing exactly as I resented doing. "And I don't think any amount of effort is going to change it."

Shizuo glared at me like I was telling a sick joke. But hey. From my point of view, my entire life consisted of a series of wretched pranks. I should write a book. I'll call it "What Not to Teach Your Kids." Better yet, my mother can write it... not that she taught me any of it.

"You can't say that if you don't put in the effort..." Shizuo scolded me.

For whatever reason, I took the comment offensively, suddenly feeling a pent up desire to make a point strong enough to shoot him down. I let go of him, scowling as I leaned back into the couch. "Tell me where to start and I'll put in all the effort you want."

He was too quick for my cynicism today. "You could make a great start by coming to lunch with me."

"Fine!"

"And you're not faking this 'woe is me I'm so sick' crap tomorrow. I won't let you."

"I wasn't faking it." I narrowed my eyes, praying for lasers to shoot into his stupid brain.

"Oh, I don't think you were," he shrugged.

"So what are you accusing me of."

"Not accusing you of anything. I just have you figured out is all."

"Horse shit," I growled.

"We'll see."

Within my own mind, I was throwing curses at him. How was I so transparent? I wasn't used to this. People had never been able to figure me out. I was a well of secrets to be told. So how did Shizuo always know? It was almost as if he locked his eyes on mine to use me as his crystal ball. My future choices were made clear to him by powers unknown.

"Give me my reason," I demanded, making an effort to break this growing tension between us. His eyes were looking particularly hungry. I couldn't stand it anymore.

He tilted his head to one side, raking those expressive spheres down my body. Being that I'm not food, I wasn't a fan of the predatory stare. Come on, Shizu-chan.

My soul was withering away. My muscles had atrophied. And my heart was splitting each time I came across a familiar face. Yet he stayed glued to me, doused in wanton desire that made me cringe.

"Seventeen," he spoke with a rough, sultry inflection, making my cheeks go hot. "There are so many things I'd like to do to you that-"

"SHUT UP, PERVERT!" I yelled, stretching my arms out in front of me to push him away. If looks could kill, there'd be a bullet hole between his eyes. "Forget I asked."

Frustrated, I relocated to the bedroom, making sure to slam the door, where I buried myself in pillows and sheets and pretended to fall asleep.

I didn't want Shizuo's words of lust echoing in my mind. I had enough of his so-called "love" already at war with my self-loathing sending my brain into a frenzied panic. Hell, I wasn't even sure of my own feelings for him. Besides, was that even flirting? I mean, damn. I suppose I had to give him credit for skill; however, his timing was horrible.

And... and... I... Well... I...

I didn't want to acknowledge the weight lifted off my heart as each word poured out of his mouth. I didn't want to notice the playful smirk. Or the sly gleam in his eyes. I definitely didn't want to feel his light touch tickling my skin, erasing the muscle tension everywhere his fingers went...

I didn't want to recognize that he wasn't being "that" way at all... when, in reality, I knew he was only trying to make me feel loved...

Reason seventeen wasn't meant to be a reason to live... It was meant to be a pick-me-up to peel my thoughts away from my anguish... Unfortunately for us both, the innocent attempt failed, pissing me off instead. It was this brand of frustration making me wish I could be numb; injected with Novocain for the rest of my life, or loaded with brain-dissolving drugs to prevent these raging wars with myself.

Still unclear on the status of our relationship, I began to float somewhere in between dreams and reality when the door opened with a light creak. Too tired to open my eyes, my heart began to race when Shizuo gently pushed my hair out of my eyes. I could feel the apology in his touch. Even better, I could feel the sincerity when he pushed his soft lips to the spot just above my eyebrow.

"The real reason for today..." he whispered. I couldn't tell if he knew I was awake. "I wouldn't know the first thing about living in a world without you in it."

Don't you feel loved? Don't you feel loved?

Don't you feel so much better now?