REI:
I watched him from the doorway, unsure of whether or not he was aware of my presence. He moved fluidly, with speed that surpassed any I had seen. He looked to be exceptionally good, though I had no idea what he was doing. I couldn't guess how difficult the kata was, or how perfectly he executed it. But from the look of frustration on his face as he came to a standstill, I guessed that it was not as perfect as he had hoped it would be.
Suddenly, he turned and stared straight at me. I nearly jumped in surprise. "You need somethin'?" he asked.
I crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself. "Uh, no, I..." I stammered. I hadn't thought of what I would say to him. "I was just... just watching you."
He watched me for a moment with that ice-cold gaze that I had come to recognize. I considered turning and running away. But then, the tiniest hint of a smile flickered across his features. I smiled back, nervously.
"You study martial arts?"
I shook my head. "My father did," I explained.
He smiled faintly. "Yeah, I know."
"How do you know?" I questioned, slightly confused.
"He learned under my sensei, remember?"
I considered that. "Yes, I guess he did," I smiled. "He stopped shortly after Yoshi, er Splinter, fled to the states."
"How long did he train?"
"Only about two years."
He nodded slowly. "He didn't keep it up?" I shook my head. "Why not?"
I shrugged. "He doesn't speak of it much. He was quite torn by your sensei's excommunication from the clan. He often said he believed it was a plot against him. That Yoshi-sama never would have done such a thing."
"Yeah, it was," he nodded.
I smiled. "Though I still do not know what he did," I pressed, hoping that maybe Raphael would explain things that my father always found too difficult to speak about.
He cocked his head slightly to the side. "He never told you?"
"No. It bothered him too much."
He seemed to consider that for a few moments. "Well," he finally mumbled, "Leo could probably tell this story better than I can. But I'll give it a shot. You recognize the name Oroku Saki?"
I shook my head. "Saki was Yoshi's student," he explained. "And he was really good. He wanted to remove Yoshi so he could take his place as leader of the foot clan. So one day, when they had a master sensei come to the ryu, he planted a knife and made it look like Saki was going to try and kill the guy. So he was excommunicated, and came to the US."
"Is that when the foot clan... turned bad?"
He nodded. "Yeah. With Saki in control." He walked to a corner of the room and and retrieved a water bottle. "You all still have a problem with the foot over there?" he questioned. "I figured they'd be pretty much gone, since Saki's in the US now. Well... sometimes. Or off in another dimension."
I considered that for a moment. "I know nothing about the foot, really. But I do know that they're still around. They operate as hired assassins."
He sighed. "Figures."
I studied him for a moment. "Do all four of you practice ninjutsu?" I questioned.
He froze, and tensed at the question. I wasn't sure why, but I immediately wanted to retract my words. "No," he finally answered. "We all used to, but... things have really changed in the past few months."
"How?"
He shrugged, an attempt to end the conversation. "Mike doesn't practice with us anymore. It's a long story. You eat lunch yet?"
If that wasn't an obvious invitation to shut up, I wasn't sure what was.
RAPHAEL:
"Leo, you have got to be kidding me!" I cried. "I gotta live with this girl and I can't talk to her?"
He sighed. "Look, Raph, I'm not saying I agree with him. I'm just saying..."
"What, did he come to you?" I demanded. "Did he come to you and tell you to talk to me? Seriously?"
He dropped his head, a mix of frustration and exhaustion. "Raphael, this is a lot for him to deal with..."
"Don't you think I know that?" I shot back.
"And I think we need to just give him some time to get settled in," he continued, ignoring me.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "Leo?" He looked up. "This is ridiculous."
He sighed. "I know you..."
"No, just wait," I interrupted. "Just wait. Let me finish." He shut up and watched me with a patient but patronizing look on his face. "First of all, I know he's going through a lot. But so is she, and if she wants to talk, I'm not gonna tell her to shut up and go away. I didn't go looking for her, she came to me. And I wasn't touching her or breathing her air or anything else that might be dangerous, okay? We were talking. And I don't see what his problem is."
Leo's eyes dropped. "He doesn't want you making a move on her, Raph. That's all."
I glared at him. "Well you don't have to worry about that, okay? I'm not interested in her, alright? So tell him that. And tell him to lay the hell off."
I spun around and walked out of the room, my blood boiling.
JESSICA:
The knock on the window was not entirely unexpected, but it would have been pretty dramatic had my roommate been here. "What are you doing here, Raph?" I asked. "You can't just keep showing up unannounced. Sooner or later, you're gonna come invite yourself into my living room and come face to face with someone other than me."
"You alone?" he asked, already inside my apartment.
"Yes," I sighed. "My roommate is spending the night at her boyfriend's."
"Mmm," he answered, taking my hands. "Then I guess there's no problem, is there?"
"Not this time. But one of these..."
His lips closed over mine, cutting me off, and he pulled me close. I crinkled my nose as he closed the kiss. "You taste like beer," I informed him.
He laughed. "Sorry."
I inspected him carefully. "You drunk?"
"No," he answered, shaking his head.
I eyed him suspiciously and he shot me a pathetic look, as if he couldn't believe I'd question his honesty. Saying nothing, he leaned into me and kissed my neck. "That by choice or did you run out of money?" I asked.
"Mmm," he moaned into my neck. "Choice."
"Why?" I prodded, a little surprised. When he went out to drink, he didn't usually come back until he was drunk off his ass, out of money, or forced to leave because it was past last call.
He licked my skin, and kissed. I felt my muscles relax, and the annoyance faded. He returned to face me. His dark eyes danced with lust. "Because I know you don't like it when I'm smashed."
I laughed quietly. "You're sloppy when you're smashed," I explained.
He pulled me to him and held me tightly. "I love you, baby," he whispered. I closed my eyes, and let him work.
MICHAELAGELO:
This is getting old, I can't break these chains that I hold... My body's growing cold, there's nothing left of this mind or my soul...
I watched the flame. Shadows danced over the ink sketch in front of me. A year ago, it would've looked different than it did now. I considered that as I turned the tip of the pen over and over in the fire, watching the plastic burn and the ink sizzle. No, I would've sketched it just the same way. But I would've seen it differently.
Addiction needs a pacifier... The buzz of this poison is taking me higher... And this will fall away... This will fall away...
I stared down at the eyes staring back at me. Why did I do this? Why did I fucking torture myself like this? The answer was easy. Why not? I had nothing better to do.
Sudden anger overwhelmed me and I threw the pen against the wall. The candle tipped, and I watched wax spill onto the formica top of the desk. Fire caught the tip of the paper and quickly blazed. I watched it in quiet fascination.
"Jesus, Mike!"
I spun around, startled. The chair clattered to the floor. In a flash, Leo was standing over me. He had a towel in his hands, and my brain caught up with my eyes to realize that he'd picked it up off the floor. He put the fire out and spun to me. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped. "Trying to kill us all?"
You're getting closer to pushing me off of life's little ledge...
I hung my head. "Sorry," I whispered.
"Sorry?" he cried. "Geez, Mike, what's wrong with you?" He calmed down quickly, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He turned and hit the power button on the CD player, and the music abruptly stopped, leaving us in silence. I tensed. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking back at me.
I nodded slightly. I could feel his eyes burning into me as I stared at the floor. His hand went to my shoulder. "You sure?"
"I'm fine," I whispered.
He sighed and his hand dropped. "Be more careful, Mike. Please? I don't..."
He stopped. I glanced up and saw him staring down at the sketch. It was half burned, but still identifiable. I wanted to grab it away from him, but I couldn't move. He turned his head away. "God, Mike."
His voice was faint, as if he were choking. In one quick movement, I grabbed the paper and crinkled it into a ball. I crossed my arms, holding the ball as tightly as I could. Leo didn't move. Finally, he looked back at me, tears in his eyes. "Why, Mike?" he choked. "Why do you do this?"
"I'm sorry," I whispered, dropping my eyes.
"No," he protested. "No, Mike, I... I just wanna know why. Why do you...?"
He tried to find something to say. He couldn't. After a moment of tense silence, he left.
RAPHAEL:
"Rise and shine, sleepyhead."
I groaned and shielded my eyes from the sudden blast of white sunlight in my eyes. "Ease off, Jess, it ain't even noon yet."
The bed shifted as she straddled me and pried the sai out of my fingers. "Why do you do this?" she asked.
"Do what?" I slurred, trying to open my eyes.
"Sleep with your weapons."
"Mmm," I moaned as I realized how sore I was. "Habit."
"That makes me nervous, you know."
"Yeah, I know."
I heard a loud thud as she dropped the weapon to the floor. "I wish you wouldn't bring those damn things into my bed."
She continued, but I didn't hear her. I'd know about it if she were really upset. I was just pushing her buttons. It was a pet peeve of hers, and I knew it. She pinned me by my shoulders as I forced my eyes open. "Got it?"
"Yeah, sure," I mumbled, not entirely sure what I was agreeing to. I slipped my arms around her waist and pulled her down on top of me. "G'mornin' babe."
She kissed me and rested her head on my shoulder, her face against my neck. I stretched and recoiled, then glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. I sighed and closed my eyes. "Leo's gonna be pissed at me," I mumbled.
"Why'd you stay?"
I considered that for a moment. "I didn't mean to. Just fell asleep." I pulled away slightly and met her eyes. I smiled. "Guess you wore me out."
She grinned back and touched her finger to my lips. "There's a switch."
Right on cue, the familiar beeping from beside the bed. Jessica jerked away from me. "That damn thing kept me up half the night," she pouted, reaching down to grab it.
I grabbed her wrist. "No," I protested. "You don't wanna answer that."
"I'm not going to answer it. You are!"
She held out the handheld communicator. We'd been carrying them since we were 12, and I couldn't break the habit even if I wanted to. I sighed and took it from her, but didn't open it yet. It continued to beep insistently. "You gotta let me up," I informed her. And I gotta think of some kind of explanation as to where I've been all night.
She rolled off me and I sat up, reaching for my bandana on the bedside table. "You better hurry or they're gonna hang up," Jess advised.
"Now that would be a tragedy," I mumbled. She shot me a nasty glare and I smiled back. "I'm not that lucky, baby."
And I was right. I wasn't that lucky. I sighed as I pressed the button and the screen popped open. Surprisingly, I saw Donatello rather than Leo. "What's up?"
"Where the hell have you been, Raph? Leo's about to have kittens!"
I chuckled. "That's funny. I wanna see that."
He sighed. "Where are you? Are you okay?"
I was glad, at least, that Don was not nearly as excitable as my other brother was. "Yeah, I'm fine. I..." I hesitated, not sure how much I wanted to risk telling him. "I spent the night at a friend's. Sorry I didn't call but I got distracted."
"Uh huh," he mumbled.
I smiled. "Just know that I'm okay. I'll deal with Leo when I get home."
"Alright," he sighed. "But just... get home soon, okay? He's pacing around the lair yelling at everyone. And it's driving me up the wall."
I nodded. "Okay."
I closed the communicator and dropped it on my lap, pulling my legs in and crossing them. I yawned and hunched over, burying my head in my hands. I felt the bed shift and Jessica settled behind me, her hands on my shoulders. She dug her fingers into the tense muscles and massaged hard. I moaned slightly. "Feels good," I mumbled.
She leaned into me and kissed my neck. "Why're you so tense?"
I wasn't sure. The idea of confronting Leo the moment I stepped into the lair wasn't helping, but I knew it wasn't just that. I ran my hand up the outside of her thigh and under the nightshirt. But I stopped. I didn't want to be here for another two or three hours. "I gotta go," I sighed, pulling away from her. I turned on my knees and cupped her face in my hands. "I love you, baby."
"I love you, too."
I brought her close into a long, lingering kiss. Then pulled away. "I'll see you later."
"There's coffee if you want it," she called after me. I waved over my shoulder as I walked out of the room.
I was saved by Rei. She just happened to be in the living room when I came in, and Leo bit his tongue. I headed to my room, grateful for the silence but well aware that he'd probably be banging on my door in a few minutes.
I was stunned to find that my room wasn't empty. "Mike?" I asked. He spun around and dropped the book he was holding. I stared at him for a moment, not sure what I was going to say to him. I wasn't mad, really. But I was a little confused. "What are you doing?"
He shifted nervously and looked away. I sighed. My brother was afraid of eye contact. "Nothing."
I took a closer look at the book on the floor and saw that it was a photo album. I cocked my head to the side. "Y'okay?"
He nodded, his head bowed. "I... I'm sorry I... came in here. I tried to get ahold of you to ask you but you didn't answer."
I studied him. "It's okay. Not a big deal. What're you looking at?"
He afforded a glance around the room, but didn't answer. I saw tear stains on his cheeks, and I knew exactly what he'd been looking at. I stepped toward him and he flinched. "Hey, chill out, bro," I sighed as I picked up the album. I flipped through it briefly, and closed it before dropping it on the bed.
"You alright?" I questioned.
He didn't respond. I saw tears pool in his eyes and he cut his gaze away. "If you need anything, bro..." I started.
"I know, Raph," he interrupted, barely audible.
I rested a hand on his shoulder. "I mean that, Mike," I enforced. "Anything."
He nodded slightly, but kept his eyes down. There was a moment of silence, then he whispered something. But I didn't hear him. I was almost afraid to ask him what he'd said. For him to say anything on his own was amazing. I didn't want him to recoil.
"What?" I asked, deciding to chance it.
He was silent, and I sighed. Damn.
"We used to be best friends, Raphael," he finally whispered. I stared at him, shocked by his words. "You remember that? All the time we were growing up. And then..."
His voice trailed off, and he looked up. The tears had overflowed. For the first time in a long time, he looked me straight in the eye. "I know things change but..."
He clenched his arms over his plastron and shuddered slightly, looking away again. I was still dumbstruck. "Mike I..."
"Don't," he interrupted, turning away. "Just don't."
He started toward the door. "Michaelangelo, wait." He paused with his hand on the door handle, but didn't turn back. For a minute, I wasn't entirely sure what to say. "That's not..." I stammered, searching for words. I'd never been good at sentimental crap. But then, he hadn't been good at any conversation these past few months. If he was going to talk, he could be damn sure I was going to make every effort to keep him talking.
"I'm still here, Mike," I finally managed. "I mean, I know you changed when..." I caught myself before I said anything I'd regret. I was walking on thin ice, and I didn't want to fall through. "...it happened. But I didn't."
His eyes met mine again, and the intense sadness overwhelmed me. "Yes, Raphael," he whispered. "You did." He turned and pulled the door open. "We all did."
I didn't have a chance to protest before he walked out of the room.
MICHAELAGELO:
The walls drip with blood. It lines the floor, and pools around the bodies of someone's children. I see the frozen expression of fear, the thick sticky life dripping onto the sofa. Fingers spread, mouth open, screaming forever, and forever silenced by blood-lust and anger. Screaming my name, in fire and fury. Begging and pleading for her life. I look down at the weapons in my hands, and around at the death surrounding me, and collapse to the floor, tears mingling with the blood that covers my hands and my conscience.
I sat bolt upright, clasping my chest and struggling for air. I couldn't breathe. And I was shaking. Stop it! I screamed at myself. Just stop it! It was a fucking dream!
But the visions were real, and they wouldn't go away. I brought my knees to my forehead and clasped my arms around them, sobbing quietly. When the tears had been spent, I lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. But I couldn't sleep. Visions stung at the back of my eyes, and I grabbed my headphones in an attempt to block them out.
I never would've dreamed in a million years I'd see... so many mother fucking people who feel like me... Who share the same views and the same exact beliefs... It's like a fuckin' army marchin' in back of me...
Anger burned steadily in my chest, burning my eyes with hate-filled tears. I hated this. I hated everything about my life. Hated who I was, and what I'd seen.
So many lives I touch, so much anger aimed at no particular direction, just sprays and sprays...
I hated these memories that haunted me. The bitterness that had taken over my life. Walking dead. A skeleton of who I am. No. That's not who I am! I was not the person who washed myself in a blood-bath that night. I was not the one who destroyed my life.
Straight through your radio waves it plays and plays...
I didn't know who I was. But I knew who I was not. I was different. I had to be different. I couldn't be that person. I hated him.
Until it stays stuck in your head for days and days...
The truth was painful.
I hated myself.
I stood and walked to the desk in the corner. The burned tabletop reminded me. That look in his my brother's eyes would haunt me. Just one more thing to add to the list. I shouldn't have let him see that sketch. I should've grabbed it right away. Should have. Would have. Didn't.
I sat down, grabbing a pen. For a minute, I scratched at the burnt tabletop. Then I stood, and walked back to my bed. Underneath the mattress, I grabbed a notebook, and a ziplock bag.
REI:
I walked past the room half asleep and on my way to the bathroom. I walked back, and noticed something strange. I stopped. "Mikey?"
There was no sound. I rested my hand on the doorknob, considering carefully. I didn't want to make him mad. "Michaelangelo?"
He said nothing. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe I was imagining it. I turned the knob slowly and cracked it open. The sweet smell washed around me, and I knew I wasn't going crazy. "What do you want?" he demanded.
Since it was perfectly obvious that he knew I was here, I went ahead and opened the door. "Mike, are you...?"
"Get outta here, Rei," he snapped. "I don't want you here."
His words stopped me, and I considered turning around and walking out. Why was I trying so hard, anyway? What was it about him that was so interesting to me? He obviously didn't want anything to do with me. Or maybe he did, but he certainly didn't trust me.
Maybe that's exactly what interested me about him. He didn't trust anyone. He was so... dark. But it was fake. It was so fake. Like a mask. Every so often, when he smiled, it was as if he'd forget who he was supposed to be, and be who he was. Why? Why did he have to be sad? What was he paying for, killing himself day after day? I'd never seen him any other way, but I knew it wasn't right. And I couldn't stand that forsaken look in his eyes. It was as if the world had forgotten about him.
The air was thick with a sweet smoke. "Good Lord, Mike," I mumbled, shutting the door behind me. "What are you doing?" I didn't really have to ask that. I knew.
He stood up so fast he knocked the chair over. "Leave, dammit!"
I didn't answer him, only walked over to the desk. "My god, Michaelangelo, where did you get this?" I whispered, picking up the bag.
"It's not mine."
I studied him for a moment. His eyes were clouded. I felt like I could cry. "Mikey, why are you doing this? Do your brothers know?"
I raised my hand to the side of his face, but he hit it away. Probably hard enough to make a bruise. He spun away from me and walked to the bed. "No," he snapped. "They don't know. And don't fucking tell them."
I looked back down at the bag and shuddered. I knew nothing about drugs, but this much marijuana could not have been cheap. Where did he get it? And why? An open notebook, scribbled with black ink, caught my eye.
Those bleeding, lifeless eyes are watching me
Now and forever crying tears of pain
I know that my hand made or left you slain
And from these memories I seek to flee
I live, though living dead have come to see
I'd die that you could somehow live again
Yet in my dreams forever you will reign
Through death and boundless realms you come to be.
You tell me that you love my child-like way
And smile as foolish antics fill the space
Between your soul and mine. And though the years
Will change me, you will never age a day
So let your smiling, crying, mourning face
Forever drench my heart in bloody tears
I stared at the paper, shocked. Not only by the words, but also by the neatness of it. There were hardly any changes or revisions. He couldn't have possibly written that off the top of his head...
"Mike..." I stammered, turning back to him. He was sitting in the center of his bed, rocking back and forth slightly. Tears were on his cheeks. I left the bag on the desk, but brought the notebook to him. I sat down, legs crossed, about a foot in front of him. He looked up, his distant, emotionless eyes darting impatiently. I held the notebook out to him, and he stared blankly at it for a moment.
"Did you write this?"
"Yes," he shot back.
I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Just... just now? Like... freewriting?"
He glared at me as he snatched the papers away. "Got a problem with that?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but for a moment, no sound came out. "No, it's..." I finally managed. "It's just that... it's good."
He watched my expression, his eyes distrustful. "I mean, it's... dark. But it's really good." Nothing. He didn't react. I swallowed hard and ran my fingers through my hair. "Do you, uh, write a lot of poetry?"
I bit my lip as he hesitated. Part of me was screaming to get out of here. But an ever-increasing part of me was begging to stay.
"Yes," he finally whispered. "Sometimes."
I gave a small sigh of relief that he had answered me. "I... could never really get the hang of sonnets," I admitted, looking away. "Not that I didn't try." I laughed nervously. "Shakespeare was one of the main reasons I wanted to learn English."
"They taught you about him in school?" he assumed. He sounded cautious, but he was talking. That was a good sign.
I nodded. "Well they... His Romeo and Juliet is translated into Japanese. But it's obviously not near as good as it is in English."
After a moment of silence, he mumbled a response. But I couldn't hear it. "What did you say?"
He glanced up at me. "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?" he whispered faintly. "It is the east, and Juliet is the sun."
For a moment, I was shocked into silence. Then, I smiled. "Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon," I continued quietly, "Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid are far more fair than she."
He cut his eyes to the floor. "It is my lady, Oh it is my love, Oh that she knew she were."
"The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp."
"Her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright..."
"That birds would sing and think it were not night."
He didn't answer. The comfortable atmosphere that came of the "conversation" was gone. After a few long seconds, he looked back up. "You're good," he mumbled.
I smiled, slightly more at ease. "So are you." He said nothing and I shifted nervously. "Where did you study Shakespeare?"
He shrugged and stared down at the notebook in his lap. "Splinter made us. He was big on culture, both Japanese and American. And I liked it, so I..."
He didn't finish. "You what?" I pressed.
He shrugged. "I memorized some things."
"Like what?" I questioned. "Entire plays?"
He shrugged again, as if to say "no big deal." I stared at him, shocked. I never would've thought that of him. "Well, I... only memorized certain passages. Mostly from Romeo and Juliet and from Macbeth."
"She should have died hereafter," he recited. "There would've been a time for such a word."
I laughed quietly. "Goodness, is there anything you don't have memorized?"
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day." I studied him carefully, eager to see if he would, or could, continue. He probably could have, from the look in his eye. But he stopped, and shifted nervously as his eyes darted away.
A headache was forming behind my eyes from the thick, sweet air. "Hey, Mike?" He glanced back at me, questioning silently. "Why do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Drugs?"
He sighed and looked away. "Look, it's not like I'm shooting up or anything, okay? It's only..." His eyes met mine and locked there. He stopped mid-sentence, and the annoyed look faded to one of sadness and confusion. I watched silently as his eyes filled with tears. He dropped his head and stared down at the notebook in his lap. "I don't know," he whispered faintly. "I don't know why."
"Are you addicted?"
He shook his head.
"For real?" I pressed, disbelieving.
"I'm not," he assured.
"Then why... permanently damage your body like that?"
He was silent for a long time. "I guess it just... takes the pain away, you know? Even if it's just for a few minutes." He looked back up at me. "And it's worth it, Rei. It's worth whatever it's doing to my body."
I shook my head. "If it makes it all better, why do you write things like that," I nodded toward the notebook, "when you do it?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. He turned away. "It isn't that it's not there, Rei," he finally whispered. "It's that... it doesn't feel real."
I gave him a minute, if he wanted to say anything more. But he didn't speak. I stood up. My head was beginning to pound. "You should sleep," I informed him, glancing at the clock. "It's two in the morning."
I walked back over to the desk and rested my fingers lightly on the bag filled with death, considering my options. Finally, I turned back to him. "Don't do any more of this," I begged. "Please?"
He looked up, and there was a moment of silence. "Don't tell my brothers," he pleaded.
I swallowed hard. "We make a deal," I whispered. "You get rid of it and I won't tell."
The look on his face hardened. "You blackmailing me?" he demanded.
I shook my head. "I'm pleading with you. But if I can't convince you to stop, maybe they can."
He was silent, considering that. "I don't want them to know, Rei."
"Then throw it out."
"And how do I know... you won't tell?"
"How do I know if you actually do get rid of it, or just hide it in a better place?"
He looked away. There was a long silence. "I..." he finally stammered. "I'll take care of it. Just..." His eyes met mine. "Just don't say anything. Please."
"I'll promise if you will," I bargained.
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. I smiled faintly and started toward the door. "Good night, Michaelangelo."
"Night."