For These Scars
~Chapter 7~
Written by: RinoaDestiny
King of Fighters, Kyo Kusanagi, Iori Yagami, and Saisyu Kusanagi belong to SNK
He stayed two more nights at the hotel, charging it to his credit card and used some of the money in his wallet for immediate needs once he got enough sleep. A shave, his hair cut and trimmed, and some food and drink so that his stomach no longer complained. Even with those, he had to be careful, since his healing sternum required controlled breathing, so he chose quick consumables. Feeling strange and out of sorts – the world in frenzy around him – he took the food back to his hotel room and ate there. He was never comfortable around a lot of people and after his ordeal, even less so.
He knew what he looked like – had lost weight – and his eyes felt heavy with everything being too bright, too close. So after his meals, he always slept some more. He wasn't used to this kind of indolence but his body needed it. Every time he woke up, his sheets were drenched with sweat. He spent some more money and got bottles of water. Doctor Yamashita had mentioned dehydration back when he was still a patient on hospital grounds. The last thing he wanted was to faint or become parched from lack of fluids.
So he drank his water – carefully, taking his time – and knew he had to go home. The hotel had served its purpose and was comfortable but he couldn't stay away forever. He had to return, to confront what had happened to him there several weeks ago and what it meant for him now.
A part of him shied away, afraid as to his future.
Iori ditched the water bottle in the wastebasket. There was a four o' clock train heading out in a couple hours. He had several prescriptions to fill, to carry back with him. Perhaps he'd do that after checking out. There was nothing else to preoccupy his time, except for the thoughts in his head.
He clamped down on those hard, unwilling to dwell upon them.
Not now. Never, if he had a choice but since when was he given what he desired?
Even that had been taken away.
He got up from the bed, stashed his keys, wallet, and phone in his pockets and left before that particular line of thought drove him to tears. Or any emotion for that matter. He didn't have time for that – for sentiment, for feelings of any kind.
He had to head home. That was all.
He fell asleep on the train, cradled by its smooth motion and quietness. When he awoke just in time to make his exit, he felt ill again. The heat surged through his veins, sweat beaded and dripped off his face, and his movements were tremulous. He barely made it past the station's turnstile before he had to move off to the side and sink down to the floor, arms and legs bunched up. His shirt plastered to the damp bandages wrapped around his burned torso and everything was aflame for several minutes, on and off, on and off.
Footsteps approached and a hand was on his shoulder. "Excuse me, sir. Are you all right?" One of the police, middle-aged with dark hair and the start of wrinkles at brow and eyes. "Do you need us to call an ambulance?"
He'd only left the hospital a few days ago. He didn't want to go back.
"I'll be fine," he mumbled, hearing the rasp in his voice. "Just give me…"
"Where do you live, sir? What is your name?"
He told the officer. The man looked at him – Iori wondered what he thought, seeing him like this if he was recognizable – and mentioned about taking a taxi to his place of residence. That the officer would take him there himself, if permission was granted from his superiors. Iori knew that his squad patrolled the station and that this was outside his given range of authority. There was pity in the other's voice and expression; Iori was too worn to care, even if he would've bristled at any other time.
He just wanted to get home and he couldn't even do that without help.
Bitter laughter arose in his throat and he held it back, aware of what would follow.
The officer left, foot traffic flowed past him, and he huddled tighter into himself, a fresh wave of heat leaving him dizzy. He tried to breathe in rhythm, to lull his body into a calmer state but the merciless burning within continued to spike. His strength was running on its last reserves and he just wanted to get home. Could he even do that?
Eventually, the officer returned, took one look at him, and helped him to his feet. He reeled, almost fell over, and if it wasn't for the man at his side, would have collided face-first into the hard tile floor. The world phased in and out around him, voices blurring and becoming only sound without meaning, and Iori panicked, aware he was about to lose consciousness.
He said something – wasn't sure what – and the world melted into nothing.
"Are you all right, Yagami-san? You fainted for a moment there."
He sat up, his entire body aching and sore – was he suffering another bout of fever? – and realized he was in a side room within the subway station. The officer was here – must've relocated him to avoid the curious stares and unnecessary attention his collapse would've drawn. Heat filled his face and he went red from shame. To be reduced to this…
"I'll still hail the taxi for you. Take you home."
He almost didn't comprehend the words. Caught the gist at the last second and nodded.
He dared not speak.
Not now. Not now.
The officer was true to his word. A taxi was hailed, he was gently guided inside (last reserves of strength running dry), and the officer got in the back seat with him and gave his address to the driver. The driver took off; he stared out the window, listless and the officer also fell silent. Iori watched the familiar surroundings go by, closed his eyes and tried not to think how he got here, to this point.
He felt pathetic. He was pathetic.
His old man was never able to fight again. What about living? Was he able to…do anything? Or was he treated like an invalid until the end of his days when the blood curse took him away? Was it even the blood curse that killed him?
He pushed away from that thought in fearful haste.
No. He wouldn't go there or contemplate that, because…
Part of his mind cried out for Kyo and he shut that down, too. He couldn't…
When he opened his eyes again – feeling like he'd lived two lifetimes – they were close to his apartment complex. The heat had gone down but the aftereffects remained. He reached for the keys in his pocket, felt his hand trembling, and waited. Waited until they arrived and the officer paid the driver, helped him out, and took him to his floor and before his door.
"Do you need any further assistance, Yagami-san?"
He shook his head, still not trusting himself to speak.
"If you do, just give us a call."
He didn't say anything. The officer clapped a hand on his shoulder, as if to reassure him – Iori had no idea what expression he wore – and then left, calling for his partner to come get him. He heard the officer go down the stairs and only then did he put the key into the lock and turn.
The tumbler fell. The lock clicked.
He was home but he felt like a stranger now.
Stranger to everything he once knew. Stranger to all that was past, that was now dead.
Iori took a breath – not too deep, not too shallow – and pushed the door open. Stepped past the threshold – the apartment was dark – closed the door behind him (the click bringing back awful memories) and removed his shoes. Turned the lights on, saw where Saisyu rendered him helpless, turning him into this – what he was now.
He didn't make it past the entranceway. Didn't even make three steps.
He wanted Kyo. He wanted someone here.
Kyo wasn't here. Would never be again. That hurt. Immensely.
And there was nothing he could do about it but laugh in bitter anguish. When the laughter turned into tears, he wasn't even aware of the change. There was just pain and unending. It would never stop. Not for him.
He wasn't that lucky.