AFFECTED
Chapter 1: Enter
Raphael could almost feel the other side in front of him - a vague and dreamy limbo that was only ever visible in the wee hours of the morning. But still he waited. The light in the window still glowed steadily meaning that Brent was not home yet. So Raphael sat in the feeble light cast down over the generic alleyway. A quiet breeze brushed the back of his neck, creeping down into the crevice between his flesh and his shell. He shuddered…and scolded himself. A ninja was always in control. The thought was enough to cause a slight chuckle. He was far to drunk to even control his steps, let alone reactions. But Brent wasn't home yet, so none of that mattered. Brent was probably drinking, or maybe passed out in the bed of someone equally as desperate
What did it matter to Raphael? Escapism maybe, a surreal life that he could almost adopt as his own if he watched enough; memorised the routine? Perhaps there was a degree of such desire embedded in his actions, but to Raphael, it seemed to be the perfect cure for his loneliness. In a world where he had few friends, a barely livable life and not a single confidant Brent was a constant that would never judge him as long as he was never given the opportunity. But Raphael knew Brent, and he knew him well. He had followed him home one night after hearing his drunken and vague conversation on the far side of a near deserted bar. He was leaning into a woman wearing far too much mascara and sporting a gravity defying hairstyle; she was quick to leave.
"'Cos sometimes I just sit there in the traffic and think…you know…think, but then it hits me…a car hits me or something…a realisation, but then it leaves me and I'm alone again...cos you know, I only pay attention to stuff that is good stuff and bad stuff pays attention to me..just like you…you're bad stuff…go to my room.."
And since then he had followed and memorised all of his late night activities. There were times he wished to actually talk to Brent, to tell him that he was not as alone as he felt, but sobriety quelled the desire, reality delivering a painful reminder of Raphael's condition. Companionship without risk, but without the same warm comforts - but perhaps a cold comfort…actually, he was freezing.
Raphael spread his legs were spread wide to maintain his balance and keep his face meeting the cracked concrete of the alleyway. Monologues and dialogues raced through his head. He had gone out on the pretence of a walking meditation, although his mind was anything but clear. Irony had seemed to become his new life companion anyway. He imagined talking to Brent, telling him exactly what he was - Brent's imagined reaction varying with Raphael's mood. Whatever his delusions read, the reality was Brent would have woken up the next day doubting his own memory. That was the lighter side of Raphael's thoughts - the monologues ran to deeper and darker roots, as only drunken and lonely self-pity sessions can reach.
It was not that Raphael's brothers did not know of his new obsession, but most of the time they chose to ignore it; a selfish fear preventing its mention. Of course, that often changed in a heated argument when it became much easier to throw closeted faults into one another's face. But Donatello had quietly voiced a strong concern to Leonardo who had carefully explained that there was Nothing He Could Do. And while none of the brothers would talk of it, there was Nothing That Could Be Done.
So Raphael continued to spend his nights in the alleyway.