Caught in the Rain
By: Minuiko
AAARGH!! You know, I'm planning to write a whole lot of angst in this chapter. And thanks a whole lot to Zeila for saying my angst was good and for creating a account just to review. huggles... I'm kinda feeling sorry for Mitarai-chan, though . . .
Chapter Three: Somebody, Just Kill Me
Hagiri's POV
I was at the police station. Just do the math—cops are coming after us, Toguro and I are "fighting," and I just happen to fit some weird description that Mitarai gave them. Naturally, Toguro ran away. Strong as he was, it would be messy, landing in the wanted profiles.
They were giving me creepy looks. A guard was looking nervously at the door, but the interrogators weren't in the least bit frightened. After all, they had disposed of my handgun and sniper rifle. "So you're the one they call Sniper . . . Why did you attack this boy?"
"I didn't."
Oh, if I had, I wouldn't be here. Trust me. He'd be dead before he could even say a word. And beating a person up by hand was not only messy, but vulgar. So was stabbing. I preferred a shot to the heart. But the cops weren't buying it. How many purple-eyed, blacked haired punks did you find around town? Well, man, I could find at least one other than me. Him. Oh yeah, I think I knew who Mitarai was describing. But they wouldn't believe me.
Then again, I don't think I fancy going to Juvi.
"Hold on, I'll prove it."
They looked skeptical. "How? The only source we've got is the kid, and he doesn't look like he'll be responding anytime soon. We've had our best interrogators try. He won't talk."
Assholes, you don't just go up to a wounded person and go, "Hey, kid, who attacked you?" How the fuck was he supposed to open up? Desperate as it was, I had to try one more time. Well, alright, not desperate enough to get on my knees and beg, but enough to reason. "Give me two weeks, I'll get him to talk. It wasn't me."
They looked suspiciously at me. "How do we know you won't beat him to submission or something?"
I was trying not to growl. "One week then. Go ahead, put cameras on the door, I don't care. I won't try to run."
Because I can't. And because I made a vow . . . never to run away. They seemed satisfied, however."Five days. We'll give you five days to do it. If not, well, you are going to jail."
No trial? No witnesses? Going to J.H. all on circumstantial evidence. Well, screw that. Even if it kills me to be nice, I'll get Mitarai to tell the truth. I didn't do it. If I had, I wouldn't have Sensui trying to kill me. I wouldn't have been caught. Not me.
Mitarai's POV
It was still cold. They had me stationed in an isolated room in the hospital, with no windows. Apparently, they had the impression that I was suicidal. Can't say I blamed them . . . I was now strong enough to talk, even though it was just a day after the accident had occurred. But my recent outburst . . . remembering it was . . . somehow . . . strange. I couldn't believe it was me talking at first, now that I was calm. But it was true, it was true, all of it . . . I hated them, I hated them . . .
(Flashback):
/"Oh, Mitarai, what did they do to you?"
I didn't get up, but inside I was shaking with humiliation and anger. Couldn't she see anything? Why did she have to state the obvious? Why didn't she do anything to help him before the accident? Why did she ignore me? You never noticed me before, so stop trying . . . yeah . . . stop trying to act all innocent on me!
Mother just kept going. "I can't believe it, I just can't. My only son . . ."
My left eye was twitching. I was starting to get pissed off, really pissed. You bitch! I hate you! I hate all of you! This is why humans didn't deserve to live! This is why-why . . . I hate you . . .
I couldn't take it when she held my hand in a more or less motherly way. "Stop it!"
I want it all to end. You're all hurting me, so why try to be nice? Inside your souls, you know how rotten you really are. You know how disgusting we are! I want it to end! It hurt to talk. I sat up, my hand on my chest. I was nearly coughing up blood, and I tried hard not to wince at the pain. My blood was still spilling, even through all the bandages, through everything. My sheets were stained with it, but I didn't care. All of my wounds, must of them near the gut, were burning up. I felt a wave of nausea overcome me, but I started talking anyways. "You-you don't care. You never did. When I came home, you never even acknowledged me. You never noticed how my clothes were always muddy; you never noticed that I was covered with bruises, both old and new. And you claim to care?! You claim that you can't believe it?!"
I swallowed. My mother started to talk, but I stopped her. "I'm sick of it. Every night I cry myself to sleep, but do you hear? I don't think so. I hate you! I'm sick of it, I'm sick of all of it! I want it to end, I just want it-to end . . ."
I nearly fainted with exhaustion, but I couldn't. I had to see her reaction. She was shaking, though with fear, anger, realization, I didn't know. "And the fire. That fire. Do you remember?! Do you remember the first thing you said to me?! 'Did you start it'? 'Fuck it, doesn't she care about me at all?' Yeah. That's what I was thinking. And now I know. You don't! You don't care! You could just—"
She slapped me. And ran out of the room, sobbing. I was telling the truth, all of my feelings, everything. She just—hit me, her 'only son,' who had just got beaten up. This sums it all up. She didn't give a damn. All she cared about was her own image, her own reputation. Not mine. No one but herself.
I literally collapsed onto the bed, wincing, and nearly in tears myself, because I still harbored some amount of feeling for her, my biological mother, but-but . . . after all she did. It was true, what I said, every word. She just didn't care. And it was infuriating to see her acting like she did after all those years of neglect.
A doctor was over me. "Boy, can you tell us more about your attacker?" His mouth was twitching, as though he was about to smile. Well, damn you, too! You could just die, with the rest of us . . . humans . . . "Seeing as you're strong enough to give that enlightening speech to you mother there, poor woman."
Oh, so you're with her? On her side, are you? I felt sick; grimacing, I now literally coughed up blood. A few doctors were concerned, looking over me, but to my mind's eye, the rest were mercilessly looking on, some with patronizing stares. Maybe it was just me, but they didn't look like they gave a damn either. "Damn it—"
I was coughing, and tears were definitely coming out, but . . . "Damn it, I want it all to end! Why don't you all just kill me, I hate you all!"
I was screaming something, I couldn't remember what. Something about killing, killing myself, ending it all, and all the while, I was just remembering Mr. Sensui. He wanted me dead. He wanted me dead . . . my mother probably did as well. My father and sister hardly counted, they were as bad as her. I had nothing to live for. Nothing. Please, just let it all end . . ./
(End Flashback)
I sat up in the bed, feeling the dull ache of the knife wounds. I was bitter and resentful, feeling sorry for myself . . . and god, how worthless my life was! Worthless. I should just let it slip away. Maybe if I'd never lived, then I'd never feel this pain. If I didn't exist, my mother would be happy. Mr. Sensui would be happy.
Mr. Sensui . . . I thought about him for the umpteenth time in the past twenty-four hours. Why, indeed, had he wanted me to suffer? Why did he want me dead? I'd told myself constantly that it wasn't my fault, it was the worlds', the harsh, bitter worlds', but still I wondered. I wondered how it would be like to live in a Utopian sort of world, but immediately got that thought out of my head. No daydreams for me. Mitarai Kiyoshi, the loser, the coward, the weakling . . .
And tennis. My tennis teacher had always told me how good I was, how much talent I had for the sport. I flexed my fingers experimentally, wincing; they still felt cold, raw, numb. I used to love tennis. I did. But now . . . now I didn't want to have anything to do with it. I would lose the championship in this state . . . and I certainly didn't want to cheat . . . Feeling thoroughly depressed, I just started to stare off into space, thinking of as little as possible.
Shuuichi's POV
I was inside the hospital when a tall, violet-eyed teenager who couldn't be more than a year older than me caught my eye. He looked like he couldn't care less if they were chaining him, which they were. Eyeing me, he merely inclined his head slightly but didn't make any other kind of reaction.
I moved to the rather young nurse at the front desk, panting slightly from running, as I asked, "Do you know which room Kiyoshi Mitarai is in?"
She was staring at me for a moment, blushing slightly (I hated it when girls did that), before shyly taking a few stacks of papers from underneath the desk. Her thick mint-green hair was tied back with a curious red ribbon, but it was her eyes that really got my attention. They were red. Like Hiei's. They were much gentler than Hiei's, but still, few people had that kind of eye-color.
I couldn't resist. "Are you related to Hiei Jaganshi?"
She seemed to have found Mitarai's paper, and put the entire stack back neatly before answering my question. Although she seemed innocent enough, her strange answer was thought-provoking. "My name is Yukina Koorime. I am searching for my twin brother. But I don't know who he is or what he looks like . . . is this Hiei him?"
"Ah, um, never mind."
Yukina smiled, in a gentle way that for some strange reason reminded me of Hiei. It was strange; the only kind of smile I had ever seen on my friend's face was a conceited sort of smirk. Then she placed her hand delicately on the paper. "Mitarai Kiyoshi, aged fourteen . . . he was currently removed from room S-5 to the isolated room on the fifth floor."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
I raced to the elevator and was about to push the button, when a hand reached out and gripped my shoulder. "Hey, no one's allowed in the kid's room except for me, at least not until the five days have passed."
It was the same black-haired, purple-eyed young man that was being chained up. The chains were still there, I observed. "Who are you?"
"Most people know me as Sniper . . ."
At my shocked expression, he grinned. ". . .but my proper name is Kaname Hagiri. I know, I'm a convicted murderer. But this one case is not my doing. And they don't believe me, not that I blame them . . . So I'm gonna prove those asses wrong. And therefore, I'm the only one allowed to speak with him."
Eyeing me one more time, he entered the elevator and shut the door behind him. I narrowed my eyes as though with suspicion, but inside me, I had this weird feeling. That Sniper—no, Hagiri, was telling the truth. That he wasn't as bad as the news made him out to be. That he was . . . human. Like the rest of us.
.:: Owari ::.
A/N: This was SO HARD to write! Especially Mitarai's POV! You know why?? Because it's freakin' hard to write angst when you're feeling all effervescent and Boton-ish. I'm still kinda cheery right now . . . xD
Dedicated to Zeila E because she's my online-buddy!! I've never met her . . . but she's really a nice person! Of course, she might also be like me. I'm all quiet and shy to people I don't know, and once they know me, I'm like—mean in a joking way, homicidal, insane, really really loud (I might be exaggerating a bit, no okay, a lot, but you get the point, right??), and basically, what I'm like online and there's no one to see me act that way. Then again, not many people are like me . . . well, she writes really good original stories!! And I HAVE talked to her on AIM . . . and-and . . . I'm rambling, aren't I?
Well, I updated. So review!!
PS: That does it . . . Sniper is SO OOC. But I'm too lazy to revise things, so, ja ne!
PPS: Tell me if I made any mistakes or if it's a crappy chapter . . . I wasn't writing with too much enthusiasm cuz I was so damn cheerful (why am I so chirpy?? I just got "Your and My Secret", vol. 1!! So damn hilarious . . .). haha.
