Chapter Four: Alice In Wonderland
"Hey you!" the bus driver yelled, his voice cutting through the somber chatting of his passengers, "Ya comin' or just hangin' out?"
Appearing to be disinterested by the man's words, the shadowy figure stood quietly.
"Ya could at least answer me, ya know!" the vehicle's operator shouted.
He was offended by the lackluster response, but didn't dare reveal that much to the person on the pavement. For all he knew, the unresponsive individual could be a drug addict tripping out. Or at least a substance abuser looking for another high. Crack heads like that were so common in this part of town these days, the walking dead who dragged themselves through the streets at night with wide, vacant eyes, harassing every bystander in sight for a possible joint or two.
"Well," the adult called out into the night, "there's still a few seats left on this ride if ya want one." Squinting at the dark shape, he searched for any sign of movement, some sort of detectable motion that would tell him that he wasn't wasting his breath. "C'mon, man, I don't have all the time in the world right now. I got an ass load of people to pick up and drop off yet, so don't make my job any harder than it already is."
Remaining silent, the black form showed no indication of leaving.
Slightly bothered by the eerie stillness, the bus driver started to shut the door of the massive Greyhound. "Can't stay here and wait until hell freezes over for you to make a decision. Like they say, 'I've got places to go and people to see,' if ya know what I mean." As he revved up the engine to take off, he added, "Hope you're not waitin' 'round for another bus to come through. I'm the only one left out here, doin' the last runnin' of the evenin', so it's either my way or the highway--"
Before the glass blind could close, a pair of white boots boarded the platform of stairs. He surveyed the showy merchandise, accessories that he decided were very appealing, all except for the lengthy heels scraping the steps. The shoes looked like they had white stilts attached to them for stiletto height, something that was supposed to make the footgear look sexy, but instead gave them a very lethal appearance.
/Aw…shit! / the driver cursed to himself, regretting the fact that he talked some lion tamer into using public transportation. /Tell me that I didn't pick up some drugged out freak just now! I thought that they weren't even listenin' to me talk to them! Why me? How come I get all the weird asses on my route? Why do I always come across all the child molesters here--/
Emerging from the darkness of the metropolis, a young boy shuffled onto the transit, listless and completely out of touch with reality. He kept his head arched between his shoulders and avoided eye contact at all costs, staring at the floor beneath his feet blankly. His attire, an expensive combination of onyx and pearl leather, was badly mangled and torn in awkward locations. How the ornate outfit was holding together on the adolescent's skin was a complete mystery to the man, for he half-expected the skimpy pieces to unravel at any given moment.
"Um, you can just go ahead an' find yourself a seat back there." the driver said, gesturing behind himself with an outstretched thumb. "It ain't the Ritz, but it's better than runnin' in to some crazy bastard out there."
Tensing at the last statement he heard, the teenage street orphan balled a limb up into a tight fist.
"Hey, I didn't mean anythin' by it." the adult said softly, hoping that he could get the child to relax. "Just settle down and get ya a place to sit. I'll take care of everythin' else for ya--"
Lifting his line of sight, the adolescent gazed at the driver with large sapphire orbs, an action that took the older male by surprise. Holding out his trembling fist, the brown-haired boy opened his limb, revealing a stack of twenty-dollar bills. Astounded by the large amount of cash, the man gaped at the pile of money, commanding himself over and over again not to let a line of drool seep through his teeth. Never in his life had he been offered that much dough by his supervisor, let alone his wife when they had split up seven years ago.
/So where does a kid like this get that kinda money? / he asked himself, raking his fingers through his disheveled tresses. /How's he able to rack up change like that and hand it to me without even battin' an eye? This boy's either very rich, insane, or--/
Slowly, the older male examined the teenager's exterior again, searching for a rhyme or reason to the quantity of currency in the child's possession. He saw the clothes clinging for dear life on the teenager's body, studied the costume jewelry hanging on the skinny arms and legs, all while trying not to show any emotion when he happened upon an array of scars and cuts. Quickly looking away from the clusters of gashes, he raised his eyes to the boy's face. That was the worst part of the whole get-up, the visage, which was littered with so many tear streaks and bruises that the features resembled a preschooler's version of a roadmap. Those major marks of self-destruction were hidden under layers of foundation and sparkly colors, but they were still there, plain as day to the driver. How many times had he seen some over-dressed billboard like this kid walking down the street, advertising their bodies like a ghetto hotel room? That's when it hit the man--this wasn't some abandoned urchin looking for a room to stay in for the night. Glittery make-up on the face, flimsy garments, styled tresses, perfectly polished nails…this wasn't just any child, he was also a--
Disturbed by the realization he arrived at, the driver tore his eyes away from the alluring sum before him. "I can't accept that." he said, hating how he was turning down the cash he saw.
The boy's hand came closer to the adult, pushing the heap of bills towards the driver. Underneath the void of emotions, the teen's visage was so overwhelmed with sorrow that the man wondered how the unstable thing could stand before him without falling to the ground in fits of tears. Reaching out to the shaky adolescent, the operator set his fingers on top of the money-wielding limb. Gradually, he folded the boy's hand, concealing the mound of wealth.
"Don't worry 'bout the charges, son." the driver informed his new rider, patting the young teen's skin while offering him a smile. "It's on the house."
Though the expression on the boy's face changed from impassive to quizzical, he remained motionless.
"That means you don't have to give me anythin' for the whole time you're with me, son."
/Talking to myself in public./
At last, the mute schoolboy's lips moved, forming his first phrase in the late hour. "It doesn't matter who I happen to be with, because I always give something up in the end." The caustic statement was intended for himself to hear more than the operator, for it was a vocalization that he thought he deserved to hear.
/I wish he would have just taken the money. / the brown-haired child muttered inaudibly to himself as he gazed off into space. /That way I wouldn't have to be reminded of how much I got short-changed from my last appointment. I guess he knows it's dirty money, though--/
/Dodging glances on the train./
Leaving the man to his vehicle steering, the blue-eyed boy sauntered over to a group of seats, all of which happened to be located in the very back of the bus. As he staggered down the aisle of the transit, he caught a glimpse of some passengers staring at him, shaking their heads, ducking down to whisper words to their friends that he was sure had something to do with his outward style.
/And I know, I know they've all been talking 'bout me./
"Do you see him?" a woman asked, nudging the male to her left. Though she spoke in a hushed voice, Kaiba could still hear every word she uttered. "That child over there?"
"You mean the drag queen?" the guy in the drab suit replied, loosening his tie. "What about him?"
"Don't you feel sorry for him?"
"Why should I?" inquired the male callously, rubbing his liberated neck. Office work had a tendency to bring out the worst in him sometimes. "I've got my own problems to deal with." Peering over at his secretary with a lazy eye, he questioned, "Don't you have anything else to worry about than some kid who needs to be put out of his misery?"
/I can hear them whisper./
Cringing at the acerbic dialogue, Seto pretended that he didn't hear any of the professional couple's remarks. He just kept on moving, dragging himself through the dimly lit walkway with his head hanging in total dejection. It wasn't long before he heard another conversation of harsh murmurs, horribly formed statements that rivaled the ones he had just eavesdropped on.
"Mommy, he looks funny!" a little girl giggled, tugging on her parent's shirt to get their attention.
Though it was a terrible mistake, the blue-eyed boy shifted his vision to the right. A mother and her daughter were sitting together, holding hands with their backs to the windows. The little pig-tailed child had bright green eyes, sparkling with a naturally mischievous nature. Relentlessly, she poked the calm adult adjacent to her, attempting to get her relative to notice her.
"You gotta see him!" she started to whine, pulling on Mommy Dearest's apparel with both hands now. "He looks like sister does!"
Gently removing her daughter's fingers from her outfit, Mommy whispered, "Stop being so loud. You know better than to talk about people like that."
"But he's so weird and--"
"Janette!" the woman chastised, looking a bit more ruffled each time she spoke. "Watch your language here!"
Sticking out her lower lip, the energetic adolescent began to pout. Crossing her arms in a huffy manner, she snapped darkly, "It's not my fault he looks so ugly."
/And it makes me thing there's something wrong with me/
Gritting her teeth, the parent shot a menacing look at her daughter, a sight so terrible that the child actually flinched. It was quite clear what would become of the young one if she couldn't contain herself in public. Pleased that her staged expression had the desired affect on her offspring, the adult glanced up in triumph, only to be struck by the sight of Seto's drawn features. Blushing in embarrassment, she shifted her gaze to the office workers he had passed, acting as if she were deeply fascinated by their weary faces. Honestly, she knew that Kaiba had been listening in on her disciplinary session with her youngster, but chose to dismiss the entire matter from her mind. She would be successful in forgetting the shameful insults that her child made, but he wouldn't. Those corrosive outbursts would follow him around forever, taunting him, teasing his brain, weighing on his conscience until he could break free from the shady snake he knew his existence to be.
/Out of all the hours thinking somehow--/
/They're all right, you know. / the devastating voice ridiculed, sounding as ruthless as ever. /Especially the girl, except you're more than just plain 'ugly'--/
Without objecting to the mocking accent, the blue-eyed boy fell into an open chair. Thankfully, he was in an isolated location on the transit, so he didn't have to suffer the humiliation of watching any nearby customers get up and leave because he was residing there. Bringing his legs up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around himself, felt a false sense of security, and lifted his eyes to the window he was by.
/--you're downright hideous. / the tone spat contemptuously, enjoying the power it had over the depressed teen. /Everyone thinks that, even little kids who don't know you. They're so disgusted by you that they treat you like a walking joke. /
"But I've never spoken to them!" the tall teen protested quietly, starting to dissociate from reality. "They've no reason to hate me!"
/You're such an idiot. / his head voice shot back with a ready supply of venom. /Only a childish moron would believe that someone like you could be liked. /
"No, it's not true…" moaned Seto, rocking back and forth in his seat. Though he hadn't noticed it, he had regressed back into his helpless self, a personality that betrayed behavior equivalent to a kindergartener's.
/Stop being such a stupid crybaby and face the facts. Nobody likes you, they sure as hell don't give a damn about you--/
"St-Stop it." begged the teen with dark tresses, on the verge of a psychological breakdown. "Don't--don't tell me--"
/--and they're never going to love you. Not now--/
"Shut up, just shut up already." pleaded the blue-eyed boy, feeling the nervous eyes of some of the travelers on him. The longer the people continued to leer at him, the more he felt like a reject of society.
/--and not ever. / his scornful conscience badgered, emphasizing Seto's failure at romance with a chorus of chanting. /Never. Do you hear me, you whiny bitch? Never. Never ever. Not now, and certainly not any time soon. Understand the concept yet? You will never, ever--/
"You don't know that!" whispered the tall teen, shutting his lids. At least he wouldn't have to evade the worried glances of the other riders now. "There's someone for everyone, there has to be!"
Cruel cackling reverberated inside of his head, forcing waves of shivers to crawl through his skin. /Is that what you really believe? / the cold accent jeered, very entertained by the response it received. /I see you need a small reminder of how people consider you as a person or object, whichever comes first. /
"No, not again!" cried Seto, wells of water burning beneath his lids. "I can't live through that again!"
Brutally, his mind was overwhelmed with conversations, bits and pieces of discussions he had just recently been slapped with. The painful dialogue of the secretary and her supervisor crept into his brain for starters--
/Don't you feel sorry for him? /
/You mean the drag queen? /
/Don't you have anything else to worry about than some kid who needs to be put out of his misery? /
--followed by the rude commentary of someone who couldn't have been older than five years old. For some reason, the cruel insults the child said about him stung worse than what the professional couple vocalized.
/Mommy, he looks funny! /
/He's so weird--/
/It's not my fault he looks so ugly! /
Even the phrases of his last client haunted him, destroying his senses with fear.
/You little snot-nosed brat! /
/When you're in my house, you do what I want. /
That's all he ever had the hope and promise of being, a trampled toy to get passed back and forth between the ravenous ravens of the city, an oversized sex machine for men older than the alleys to use and abuse--
/I reckon I gave you just about what you deserved. /
/--you little bitch. /
/I'll track you down and snap this pencil neck of yours. /
Threats never ceased to override his judgment and scare him to no logical end. They frightened Kaiba, actually terrorized him with radical notions and visions so sick that he had trouble keeping himself from being consumed by the statements. What if one of his consumers made good on their promise, followed him home, and had their way with him in his own house? Could there be a soul so twisted out there that they would kill him and fondle his brother over his dead body? That was by far his worst fear ever--getting assaulted at his mansion, being murdered, then having his fresh corpse serve as a bed for the pervert and his sibling. He could just see it now--the crying spells, blood, instruments of his demise, one dirty hand choking him while another molested Mokuba's innocent frame--it was all too real of a nightmare for him to imagine, much less experience first-hand. Listening to the sound of his shallow breathing, he felt the rhythmic voices pulse through his veins, forcing the inside of his brain to hear the savage music that was created.
/Mommy, he looks funny! /
/Don't you feel sorry for him? /
/It's not my fault he looks so ugly! /
/When you're in my house, you do what I want. /
/He's so weird--/
Swarming around him like an angry group of starved locusts, the demons in his head feasted on his fragile ego while growing even louder--
/--you little bitch. /
/Don't you have anything else to worry about than some kid who needs to be put out of his misery? /
/I reckon I gave you just about what you deserved. /
/You little snot-nosed brat! /
/I'll track you down and snap this pencil neck of yours. /
Without warning, he stuck his arm behind him, yanking on the yellow cord he held so hard that part of its wiring began to unravel. Heedless of the damage done to the bus, he jumped to his feet just as the vehicle came to a screeching halt. He hurried down the unfriendly aisle of passengers, making a beeline for the door of the Greyhound.
"I want out of here!" he cried, nearly tripping down the steps of the transit. "Let me out! I want out!"
As soon as the glass blind revealed a sliver of the outside world, he vanished into the darkness of the night. Shadows, all around him were those shady creatures of the streets, swallowing him whole, molding him into a wayward victim of the metropolis. Picking up his pace, he started to fly across the sidewalks, running so fast that he idly wondered if a car would come speeding down the road and hit him as he jaywalked. Municipal buildings, stores, and even some flashy churches whizzed by his line of sight as he sprinted through the downtown area, combining themselves to appear like a huge abstract oil painting. He didn't know where he was going, how to get there, or even clearly grasped what he was doing. All the Seto comprehended was the grave emotional trauma his voices imposed on him. Escape, he wanted so badly to run away from it all so he could have his life back, the existence that never knew pain or suffering, the lifestyle of the celebrated businessman who only had to worry about creating the latest PC upgrades.
Yearning to make new memories similar to that of his brother playing with him at a playground, the executive didn't even become aware of the fact that he had take a wrong turn. Stopping to catch his breath, Kaiba leaned against a brick surface, hauling great gusts of air in and out of his lungs.
"Uhnn…" moaned the tall teen in exhaustion, his legs throbbing from the sudden marathon. "I feel like hell."
"You look like it, too." a voice commented, chilling Seto to the bone. "Like a stray in an alleyway."
"Who's there?" asked the blue-eyed boy, desperately attempting to remain calm under the harrowing circumstances. "What do you want?"
"Just you, Princess." the cold tone replied, echoing through the heavily littered corridor. "Just you."
Swallowing a lump of anxiety down his throat, the teen threw out, "If it's cash you're after, you can have everything on me if you just leave me alone!"
"Can't do that."
"Why not?"
" 'Cuz it's not what I want…at least not from you." the accent answered simply.
His old nemesis paranoia was troubling him again, haunting him like an unwanted ghost. "What do you want?" asked Kaiba hesitantly, unable to mask the fear he felt any longer.
Instantaneously, someone seized him by the shoulders, pushing him backwards on the pavement. Before his mind was able to register any pain of the fall, he was flipped onto his back, nailed to the ground by two powerful palms, and slapped so fiercely that he was literally seeing stars.
"Don't zone out on me just yet, Kitten." his attacker purred into his ear, hot breath scalding his flesh. "I want you to enjoy whatever happens."
"Whaa--?" was all the tall teen could say, barely even conscious.
"Don't play coy with me, Baby."
"What--Who's there?"
"Alice." replied the aggressive person, tearing off the remainder of Seto's attire. Jerking the boy's legs apart, he positioned his anatomy over his playmate's passage. "And you're Wonderland. I want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes."
/ --I've lost my mind/