2966
Bura-sama
Monday.10.15.01
Wednesday.11.21.01
Disclaimer: Digimon belongs in no way to me. I'm making no profit from this sicko story. Really, I'm not. I don't own the characters, I'm merely using them for my sick and twisted fantasies, and no infringement is intended.
Warnings: This is a Takari (Takeru X Hikari); Takato (Takeru X Yamato); Hikeru (Hikari X Takeru); and Yamakeru (Yamato X Takeru). This fic features both heterosexual and homosexual situations, rape, incest, suicide, and mild lime scenes. You have been warned, and any damage this fic might do to your mental stability is strictly your own fault.
Notes: Italics mean flashback.
Glass Doll
chapter two
"Don't you ever do that to me again!" Takeru shouted as he shut the door behind his older brother. Yamato looked at him oddly, a mask of offended innocence all over his wet face. He shrugged out of his raincoat and slipped his shoes off by the door. Takeru took the coat and hung it on the doorknob behind him. "Don't you ever knock?"
"I did knock," Yamato said calmly and looked back to his brother, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," The word was out much too quickly. He continued to look at him. "Okay, okay. It's Hikari. We've had a little fight." He looked back to the kitchen, desperate for a change of subject. "Would you like some tea?"
Yamato walked into the kitchen, "I'll make some." Takeru sat down at the table and waited for his brother to continue. "What did you fight about?"
It wasn't prying, Takeru reminded himself. His brother just wanted to make sure he was okay. "The usual. She doesn't feel loved enough." He took a deep breath, allowing himself to watch his brother as he started to heat the water. "And I don't think I helped things by telling her that I loved someone else."
Yamato didn't miss a beat, "Does this other person know you how you feel?"
Takeru stared meaningfully at his brother's back. The effect was missed as Yamato started going through the cabinets, looking for the tea. "Yes, he does." Yamato grew quiet as he heard him rise from the chair and slowly approach. Then, Takeru's arms were around Yamato's shoulders, and his mouth was slightly brushing against his brother's neck. "You know I'll always love you." He could feel his heartbeat, beating right next to his ear. So soft... so warm... His love was right next to him, so still... so unresisting...
The contact was broken as Yamato jerked away from the stove and the steaming pot of tea fell to the floor. He was holding his hand, obviously in pain. Takeru was by his side in seconds, turning off the stove and leading his brother to the bathroom. He turned on the cold water, and let his brother submerge his burned hand.
---
Yamato has such soft hands, Takeru thought as he gently applied some Aloe Vera to his burn. He avoided his brother's gaze -- or perhaps it was the other way around. As he continued to touch that smooth, beautiful skin, Takeru could feel himself loosing all rational thought. "I can kiss it and make it better..." He leaned forward, and pressed a tender kiss against his brother's arm. Yamato didn't move. He didn't breathe. He moved forward for another kiss...
"Takeru, did you fix supper already?" They had both somehow missed the opening of the door. Takeru jerked away and turned around to see his mother coming around the corner. He could only hope that he wasn't blushing. His mother stopped upon seeing her two children together. "Oh, Yamato. What are you doing here?" She set down an armload of papers and then looked to the broken teapot on the floor. "What happened here?"
"Yamato was making some tea when the stove burned him and he dropped everything," Takeru replied, so innocent... so seemingly unknowing...
"I've got to get home. I just came by to see Takeru..." He walked past his brother and put on his coat and shoes. He gave one last look at Takeru, and then walked out the door.
"Yamato... will you kiss me?" An icy silence. The older boy wasn't going to reply. "Please, Yamato... please kiss me."
"Takeru, I won't do it." Determined to stand firm. Determined not to break.
"Yamato. Yamato, I want to be with you..." Desperately pleading to be touched just once.
"Takeru, it's not right. I'm not going to hurt you. Don't make me do it, Takeru." The final words before the innocent angel began to cry.
Takeru ignored his mother and went straight to his room, locking the door behind him.
---
Takeru stared at the board, the numbers blurring together and fading out as he shut his eyes. He was too tired to be in school, too tired to ignore his problems. Hikari was sitting next to him, taking notes and solving another fun math problem. She hadn't spoken to him all week. Takeru closed his eyes and felt his head slip down until he was resting against his desk. Sleep would have been so welcome, so wanted...
"I'm pregnant."
Takeru blinked a few times, trying to focus on who was talking. Hikari. He hadn't heard her right. He was praying he hadn't heard her correctly. "Wha...?"
She turned to him slightly, and brought a hand down to her unnoticeable abdomen. "We're going to have a baby, Takeru."
Now wide awake, he simply stared at her. He couldn't seem to speak, "...Baby?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing, he didn't want to believe what he was hearing. The bell rang to leave class. Hikari still sat in her desk, her eyes never leaving the book in front of her. He could see tears rolling down her eyes. He ordered his exhausted body to get out of the desk and go to Hikari.
"Excuse me, students," the substitute teacher interrupted. "I need to lock up the classroom, so you need to leave." She awkwardly tapped her foot against the floor.
Takeru put his arms around Hikari, and gently guided her to the door. He picked up her books and led her into the hall. The tears weren't being restrained now, and they flowed freely from her eyes. "God, Takeru, what am I going to do?" He embraced her in his arms, and she buried her head in his chest. "What can I do... ?"
"We'll think about that later, Hikari. Let's get you home for now... We can talk about the baby --" He stopped talking as Hikari furiously started shaking her head and sobbing.
People in the halls were beginning to stare, so Takeru slowly began leading Hikari down to his locker. "Why don't you want to go home?" He asked carefully as he tenderly started to wipe away the tears from her eyes.
"I.. I told them about the baby." Her words were flat. Takeru could already tell where this was going. "I think they... I think that they just didn't want to accept it." Her sobs had almost stopped. Her gaze slipped down to the floor, unable to make eye contact with Takeru. "They threw me out. They told me that... they told me not to come back until I was a decent girl." She started crying again.
Takeru felt guilt and pity flood into him like poison. He tried to put on a brave smile, "I'm sure that they were just in shock -- they're just upset. Give them some to get used to the issue --"
Hikari didn't let him finish. "That's what I thought, too. I thought that if I just waited, then it would be okay. So I went to my room. My father came in a little later and threw a paper bag at me, telling me I didn't even deserve a suitcase. He threw it at me, Takeru. My father has never done something like that to me before." She paused to take a deep breath and rub her eyes. "What am I going to do, Takeru? Where am I going to stay?"
---
I've never really noticed how dusty my ceiling is... I should probably get around to cleaning that... Takeru stared up meaninglessly at the ceiling, imagining little designs into the paint blotches on the walls. If he was a more creative person, he'd call it imagination. Somehow, however, hallucinations seemed like a better word. He exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes.
"I have no where to go, Takeru." Hikari's words were blunt and full of guilt.
"Hikari, calm down." He would do anything to make her stop crying, anything to fix this mess. "We'll find you a place to stay."
"I don't have anyone, Takeru! Don't you understand?!" Her shoulders hunched down and her body trembled under suppressed sobs.
"What about Taichi? He would never turn his back on you." Spreading that sense of hope like a plague.
"I -- I could ask him, I guess. I don't think I have Sora's number, though..." One problem solved. A million more to go.
Takeru rolled off of the bed and stumbled to the bedroom door, careful not to trip over empty beer cans. He blinked almost groggily and walked over to the phone. He almost missed a few of the buttons, and mentally reminded himself not to drink before trying to operate complex machines. Not that the phone was complex, it was just really hard to see...
"... Sora Takenouchi speaking." Bright and cheery, always wanting to please. So damn happy.
Takeru snapped to attention, and focused on the person on the other end of the phone. "Hi, Sora. This is Takeru." Nice, Takeru. That didn't come out slurred enough. He concentrated on forming words, "Is Hikari there yet?"
Sora was always too happy, well... at least dedicated to being happy. He could almost see her smiling through the phone. "Yeah! She just got in!" Sex with Taichi must be really good for her.
"...Takeru?" Hikari's voice was softer than usual. Takeru wondered if she had been crying. He decided not to ask and open up that room of self-hate and arguing. "Takeru, thanks for calling me here."
"Are you doing okay?" It was a hollow, meaningless question.
"I'm hanging in there. Taichi and Sora are being really good to me."
"I'm glad to hear it." It sounded sincere, not drunken.
"Taichi was really mad at our parents. He wasn't this upset when they threw him out. I really didn't understand it then, I was just wanting someone to tell me everything would be okay again. No one ever said it." I know the feeling, Hikari, I know the feeling. "It was really good of them to take me in." She seemed so surprised by the fact, as if she believed that no one would ever want her.
"You didn't expect him to turn you down, did you?" Takeru mentally kicked himself. No more alcohol before talking to people. No more alcohol at all, a voice reminded him, wasn't that the promise you made to yourself?
"... No, but it is Sora's apartment." A long, painful pause. "Takeru, I need to go."
"Hikari, are you okay?" Genuine concern, not a lie. Never a lie, not anymore.
"Yeah, I just don't feel so good. Part of the whole pregnancy thing, I guess."
---
Flowers, flowers, everywhere; but not a one will grow. Takeru stared across the aisles and aisles of flowers, looking for the perfect one. The perfect one was the only one worthy of being bought. No one wanted the ones that weren't perfect. Just like no one wanted him, just like no one wanted Hikari. Well -- no one besides Taichi and himself. Self-pity was such a fun state-of-mind to play with.
Takeru's eyes stopped on the perfect flower. Velvet-soft pink petals, each one of the undamaged, the perfect shape and texture. The sweetest scent a flower could have, the loveliest long green stem. Takeru picked up the pink rose, and a small bunch of baby's breath. He took them to the clerk, and watched as he tenderly wrapped them together in tissue paper. Takeru found the best card the handed it to the clerk.
"Would you like us to write a message, sir?" The answer was obvious, but he still had to ask. It was part of the job. Takeru nodded and handed the clerk a pen when the clerk couldn't find one. "What message would you like, sir?"
Takeru thought about it for a moment, then smiled sadly. "'Everything will be okay again.'"
---
You know you can't drink all of your problems away, a small voice reminded Takeru as he unlocked the door to the apartment he shared with his mother and walked inside. He shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. As he slipped his shoes off, he questioned the wisdom of getting drunk just hours before his mother was supposed to be home. He went to his room anyway. Passing the open math textbook, Takeru went to his closet and reached up to the top shelf.
Nothing was there. He moved to the right. No six-pack was there. He stood up on his toes and skimmed his hands across the top shelf. Nothing. With an almost disappointed sigh, he slammed the closet door and sank down to the floor. "Drunk the last can this morning." It was all but pointless to say so.
Digging through his pockets, Takeru counted his money and redid his math over and over again in his head. He had barely enough for a six-pack. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Still enough time to get the alcohol and get wasted before his mother came home.
"Yamato, why does Taichi laugh all the time?" Perhaps he was pushing the naiveté a little too hard.
"He's drunk, Takeru." He was almost reluctant to tell his little brother this. Too afraid he would think less of both of them.
"Are you drunk?" The question caused Yamato to jump back in surprise.
"I don't drink." A cold denial, almost believable.
"Oh." The unspoken question: Would you tell me if you did?
"Does Taichi get drunk a lot?" The 'innocent voice' was gone.
"Sometimes." Sometimes, occasionally, all the time.
"Why don't you drink with him?" Why don't you trust me enough to tell me you do?
"Drinking is bad for you, Takeru. Promise me you'll never do it." Don't be like me, Takeru. Be something better.
"I promise..." Liar.
The door creaked to a close behind him, and Takeru immediately wished he had brought his jacket. Harsh, cold wind howled against his face, and he hurried down the street. Blocks and street names blurred past him as he ran down the sidewalk. It seemed like forever, but he finally reached the liquor store.
---
Going home was out of the question. If his mother found out that he was drinking again, there was no way he'd ever be trusted again. Takeru looked down at the brown paper bag tucked under his arm. Rather than the six-pack, he had settled for the bottle of booze. There was less of it, but it packed one hell of a kick.
Instead of going home, Takeru took a different route and started walking to a different apartment. A different room, a different kitchen. It wasn't the home that he had defiled with his dirty love. It wasn't the hallway where he had first confessed his feelings -- feelings that had no right being confessed.
He caught sight of it in the distance, a tall gray building with shining glass windows and a little balcony space for the higher floors. He stepped inside the elevator, and pushed the button for the top floor. There were three apartments on top, and Takeru walked down the hall to the last one. Ishida. It was neatly written next to the door. Takeru brought his finger up to the wall and lightly traced the strokes. Ishida. He tried to open the door, and smiled when he saw it was locked. He squatted down next to the floor, and pushed the thin strip of metal under the door up with hard jerks. The spare key was sitting there. "Yamato, you are so predictable."
Standing up and stamping the metal back in place, Takeru unlocked the door and walked inside, locking the door behind him. He didn't turn the lights on, merely stood in the darkness. Even without the lights, he could see almost every outline. The moon was almost full, casting shadows on every surface. "Yamato, you are so predictable." He walked over to the kitchen counter, and tried to remember where everything was the last time he had been there. Choosing a spot next to an empty pizza box, he sat down on the counter and unwrapped his bottle. The bottle opener was cutting into his leg through his pocket, and Takeru took it out and popped open the bottle.
The alcohol tasted like acid, and burned his throat until it settled into a burning and churning pit in his stomach. He took another drink.
"Hikari, do you want to get married now?" It was asked so tenderly one might think he wanted to marry her. She knew better; she always knew better.
"I guess we better. I mean, I don't want our baby growing up and wondering why its parents have two different last names." He was glad he couldn't see her when she blushed. "Sorry."
"That's okay. I don't want him wondering either." A comforting arm around her shoulder. I understand.
"'Him?'" She was smiling. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her smile like that.
"... or her." It almost seemed to be okay again. Almost.
Takeru brought the bottle up to his lips again, savoring the pleasure he knew he'd soon get from the blissful forgetfulness of life. It was like poison -- burning and eating away at him until there was nothing. He swallowed another gulp.
"Drinking is bad for you, Takeru. Promise me you'll never do it." It went without saying: Don't you do enough bad stuff without drinking alcohol?
He took another drink.
"I promise." He almost believed himself.
The bottle was empty. It fell from his hands and dropped to the floor with a thud, and rolled across the cheap plastic tiled floor. At least some things in his life didn't break.
"Yamato, you are so predictable."
