WARNING! PLEASE READ BEFORE VIEWING THE CONTENTS OF THIS STORY: It has been brought to my attention that this literature is in dire need of a rating change. I believe my fiction qualifies for the rated R status. This is a list of attributes my composition has in it. If it offends you in any way possible, please search for another story that's more to your liking.
Includes these events/pairings/emotions:
Seto Kaiba stars as the lead character, who is not a mentally strong or very stable figure within these chapters (he has a cutter's self-esteem, for example). He deals with many traumatic issues and is placed in very dangerous situations. Not only that, but, since he sells his body to make money, he does wear make-up and some extremely tight-fitting, body-defining attire.
Prostitution, abusive violence, foul language, explicit sexual content (namely oral sex), and attempted rape occur at some point and time. Fetishes (like cutting and bondage) are mentioned, but not described in graphic detail.
Highly emotional scenes take place, ones that are specifically of the Angst/Horror genre.
Yaoi (which will appear in upcoming chapters and a possible sequel) is very blatantly used. There shall be one boy/boy couple in this fic, however; I refuse to reveal that element at the start of the literature. This is due to the fact that I want the pair to be a surprise for my readers, perhaps even an extra incentive to finish viewing my work.
As you may have already guessed from the title, this is a fan fic based off of the lyrics to "Unwell", music by the popular band Matchbox Twenty.
How to Read This Fic:
/Statements that are all in the bold-type font and italicized and within back slashes represent song lyrics. /
/Statements, which appear italicized and within backslashes, are the thoughts of the main character, Seto Kaiba. /
Words that are simply italicized in paragraphs or in a character's dialogue are meant to be emphasized when seen.
Author's Note on Reviews:
Now that I have made you fully aware of what may happen along the way, I do hope you read my documents well and be so kind as to make a review for me to see. I write literature so I can become better at it, and only the readers of the fan fiction world can assist me with such a dream. As always, I appreciate constructive criticism more than slanderous remarks or vile come-backs. For some reason or another, if you are dissatisfied with my work, I encourage you to at least tell me what I could improve on. Reviews are always welcomed by me, but only if they are more than unintelligent ghetto rants.
Author's Note On Using This Story on Other Web Pages -or- for Inspired Doujinshi:
If you are interested in using this fiction for another site, this is my e-mail address:
shattered_sanctuary@hotmail.com
I only ask that you (the web master/mistress) send me the address to your site so I can visit once and a while. Seeing my work showcased in other domains across the Internet makes me happy. ^_^
From One Artist to Another:
Other than write poetry and works of fiction, I also draw quite a bit. For this particular composition, I have illustrated fan art for my portfolio. Contact me by using the e-mail address listed above if you would like me to send you my fan art.
And in Closing:
As I've stated before, please find another story to engross yourself in if you find this one too disturbing to read. Honestly, I found this literature very hard to write and edit myself, so I understand if any fan fiction readers find great difficulty in perusing my writing. For those of you that believe you can brave the facets of my fiction, you are more than welcome to continue on to the actual story.
Thank-you!
~Shinigami Sweeti
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Chapter One: Just Another Day…
/All day, staring at the ceiling, making friends with shadows on my wall. /
Sapphire eyes glared at the ceiling, forcing themselves not to blink. They hated engaging in actions that were degrading, so positively unsophisticated that they barely felt human. The owner of the dull blue orbs dismissed these feelings of bitterness; for he knew what he was doing was necessary for survival.
/I have to do this.../ the dark-haired boy mumbled to himself, still trying to convince himself that his lifestyle was somehow justifiable, /He depends on me for everything. I can't let him down, so this is the only option I have left.../
And yet another side of his mind vocalized its opinion, the half of his brain that condemned him for all of his seemingly good intentions:
/He's going to find out what you're up to. / the voice warned him, possessing a stern and harsh tone. /Once he does, he'll loathe you, despise you…/
"No!" cried the tall male, squeezing his eyes shut. Gripping his head with shaky hands, he let the mascara he held plummet to the carpet below.
He wasn't sure what hit the floor first: his make-up applicator, the frail flesh and bone of his knees, or his very own heart. Everything about him was so disgusting, repulsive, just absolutely sickening that he couldn't even tolerate himself. Stifling a sob, the adolescent with brown tresses reflected on his nocturnal behavior. Night after night, he found himself in the same place, on the same identical street corner he had grown peculiarly accustomed to. The routine never varied that much, since his profession dictated to him that this was all he was capable of. All he had to do was stand around and look pretty, flashing some stranger a seductive grin or passing his limbs over his frame to make himself appear more enticing. Potential customers loved seeing some submissive little vixen like him, and they paid top dollar to people like the cobalt-eyed male who could market themselves well. That's what his grisly consumers expected, to throw a small bit of change at him for the purpose of having their way with him. Usually, that included anything from mild bondage to extreme cutting, depending on the mood of his consumers. Absentmindedly, the sapphire-eyed boy ran his fingertips over the abrasion on his arm. This one was just a surface wound, a small love nip given to him by a frequent patron of his. Realistically, there were much worse lacerations on his back and sides, so a few moderate scratches close to his wrist didn't bother him as much as the others did. Even the deepest wounds on his skin were mere scrapes, scars that could be seen with the naked eye and touched by clothes or other individuals. And then there was the other kind of injuries, the types of gashes that weren't created by the amateur use of a weapon, but by the conduct of another human being. His unseen pain was not only produced from those he provided services for, but from himself, too. After all, he was the one who put himself in such compromising positions, who dragged himself out into the dark hours of the morning to fill up space in some lonely man's bed. Who else did he have to blame beside himself?
/But…I have to do this! / he argued with himself, biting down hard on his lower lip. /Stocks in my corporation have been falling! Our economy's in a recession, so I can't afford the life of luxury I want for my sibling anymore! My company's going broke, what else can I do? /
Clawing the chair next to his vanity table, he dragged himself off the ground. Swallowing back mixed emotions, the dark-haired teen caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
"Shit!" he cursed, taking in his disheveled appearance. "My first appointment is at twelve, and I look like I've been having a screw fest for most of the day!" Hastily rummaging through his cosmetics case, the blue-eyed male scoured his belongings for a hair utensil. "Damnit, I had it a minute ago! What did I do with it?!"
Tossing some eye shadow and lipstick aside, he scraped the bottom of the silk bag. Frowning in frustration, he nearly tore open a Velcro compartment on the purse and stuck his hand inside. Slender fingertips searched the confines of the tiny area, hoping to retrieve at least some sort of grooming appliance fit for styling. When the object of his desire was clearly missing from its typical place, he let the sequined accessory drop from his palms. Containers of gaudy make-up spilled onto his rugs, staining the expensive merchandise with almost every color of the rainbow. Casting a weary gaze towards a bottle of nail polish seeping into his antique mats, the cobalt-eyed adolescent sighed.
"Oh, well. It's not like any of the bastards care what I look like." said the tall teen, exhaling miserably. "They just want to see what I can do for them. None of them actually care for me."
Bending at the waist, he recovered a cracked tube of lip-gloss. Dipping an index finger in the sticky solution, he painted the length of his mouth with the substance. Taking a nearby tissue, he fixed a streak of eyeliner as he smacked his lips together. Finally deciding that he was finished with his face, he backed up from the counter he was at. Critical orbs of his scanned his frame, double-checking to see that every single strand of hair was perfectly sculpted, along with having the best-suited attire to lure newcomers in with. Glossy brown tresses of his were pulled into a ponytail, the strings of the rubber band adorned with glitter of royal blue. A tight-fitting halter-top grasped his toned structure, exposing his back and mid-section. Hugging the span of his hips was a pair of body defining shorts, the black leather material nearly cutting off his circulation. Completing the streetwalker attire was a set of shiny white boots, the heels of the shoes emulating the fashion of stiletto pumps. Worse than the whole revealing get-up was his visage, which had such dark rouge on the eyes and cheeks that he resembled a--
Striding towards his bedroom door, he raised a hand to turn out the lights. He could still see his reflection in the mirror, returning his gaze of self-detestation and guilt. Terrible remorse slashed at his soul, sorrow so horrible that he had to turn his attention elsewhere to save him from being consumed by it. He was someone that was rumored to be cold and cruel, yet no one knew he was the polar opposite of those traits. To his peers, he was nothing but an arrogant businessman who devoured his competition. As for his standard clientele…they were the animals that demolished him, leaving the dark-haired boy with a sense of worthlessness he would never be able to conquer.
"The truth is I don't really care for myself, either." whispered the sapphire-eyed teen, his watery vision falling to the floor. "I don't have a reason to."
Flicking the switch off with his ready fingers, the tall male entered the corridor outside his living space. The world of dreams was calling to him, wearing on his lids like miniature weights. Longing for the warmth and comfort of his mattress and matching sheets, he leaned against an open wall.
/All night, hearing voices telling me that I should get some sleep/
/So tired…/ he murmured to himself, his statements lifeless and hardly audible, /I can't remember the last time I got a full night's rest. /
Feeling his eyes droop shut, he quickly patted himself on the cheek with a trembling palm. Turning his head sharply from side to side, he molded his body into a more rigid pose. Sleep, like many other constructive activities, would have to be put on hold for now. Besides, his employers were waiting for him to tend to their needs. How would he explain to his customers that he accidentally drifted into silent slumber while standing in a hallway?
/Because tomorrow might be good for something…/
Pasting a plastic smile on his visage, the male with brown tresses thought to himself, /Tomorrow's another day…maybe it'll be good for something. Maybe when I come home, I'll arrive just in time to greet my brother when he wakes up. /
/Hold on…/
Absorbed in the simple fantasy of seeing his relative smile at him in the morning, the sapphire-eyed teen found the strength to escort himself through the hall. Of course this would be another night of brutal "lovemaking" and fetish pleasing, but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. At the crack of dawn, when his sick shift was over, he promised himself that he would return to his cherished mansion. He would come running back home, just to collapse by his brother's bed and hold him in his arms.
/Feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown, and I don't know why. /