A/N: Hey everyone. I'm back again with the next chapter of my evil, sadistic, and messed up fic. Sorry about not updating sooner, but I been busy with school and work (damn job). That, plus I forgot that I hadn't posted the third chapter yet; I thought I did so a few days ago (you know when you think about doing something for a really long time that you think you actually did it?).
But anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed; it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Please keep reviewing or else I'll feel unloved and I won't update for a while (mostly cuz I'll think that no one is reading this so I'll feel less motivated to work on the next chapter).
Now, for the warnings. If you have any problems with rape, torture, bad things happening to Hisoka, or the use of a prayer to write about those things, then don't worry cuz there's only some bad language and not so evil things happening to Hisoka in this chapter. Besides, if you did have a problem with any of those things, then you wouldn't have read the first two chapters.
Disclaimer: Don't own, so don't sue. Despite the fact that I do have a job, I have no money so all you will get is a crappy laptop and my tears.
Chapter 3: If I Should Die Before I Wake
I feel the soft graze of reality as it tries to pull me away from my slumber. With my eyes fluttering and my body twitching, I try to push away at the reality I wish to escape. I want to flee from my living nightmare, to free myself from a world in which I am terrorized by pain and fear. I will give anything to remain in blissful nothingness for even a second longer; however, fate and life have always been cruel to me, so why should now be any different?
It isn't long before my mind is wretched from sweet unconsciousness and thrust into a reality full of chaos, pain and torment. My eyes shoot open and I thrash about the bed, wanting to jump out of my skin in order to alleviate some of this pain. I let out a blood curdling scream as all the pain coursing through my body finally catches up with my brain filling me with the sensation of being burnt alive.
Within a few minute I am joined by my personal doctor and two nurses. I barely notice as the two petite women try to hold me down while the doctor prepares another injection to give to me. I would have easily forgotten about him if it wasn't for the fact that I could feel the prickling sensation of a needle being stuck in my arm. Even though that feeling isn't very noticeable over the rest of the pain that I'm feeling, it's a different sensation from this all-consuming feeling of being encompassed by flames.
Unfortunately, everyone in the room knows that this injection will do nothing for me except quiet my screams some. Within minutes, what I feel is still intense, but it's a little more bearable. So while I'm a little quiet, the nurses strap me to the bed and place a wet cloth over my forehead and eyes to help with my fever. But no matter what they do, I know that it's in vain, for my body has already built up a tolerance to every medication I have ever been given. The nurses and doctor know that it's just a matter of time before my screams and wails resume and I will be left to pray for a quick death.
With my eyes covered, I can only hear the three people in the room with me as they check my vital signs, attach me to some random machines and take note of my reactions to the sedative I was given earlier. I can just barely hear them speaking to each other about my condition; their voices are in a hushed tone so to keep my uninformed. But apparently, I only slept for less than three hours, and despite the fact that that is nothing more that a quick nap to most people, it's the most I've slept at one time in nearly a month. Usually the pain I feel is too great for me to sleep; even when my body feels as if it's about to shut down, slumber still usually escapes me.
Despite the success of the sedative I received earlier, it was a near lethal dose, leaving the doctor stumped about whether or not to give me another shot of it anytime soon. But by now he should be used to giving me almost fatal injections just to keep me from remaining in completely mind-numbing pain. For the past couple of months my doctor and parents have worried that my death would be caused not by my illness but instead the medication. I think I'm the only person in history who not only built up a complete tolerance to morphine, and it doesn't even make me high or dependent; how crazy it that?
And now the doctor is at a complete loss about what to do with me now. He knows that the dose of the sedative he gave me earlier was far too large for him to safely give me anything else for almost another day but he couldn't just leave me in such pain for several more hours. So now, he has to sit here with me to make sure that I in fact won't die from what he has already given me, even though I'd have no problem with that option. Considering all the pain that I have been in for as long as I have been, death is a welcomed alternative. After three years of this, why should I be denied the refuge found only in death?
Because my parents don't want that to happen. I'm not sure if they want me to live in order to avoid the embarrassment or because they may actually care about me. But considering the way they treated me as a child, I can't bring myself to believe that they actually love me or even wanted me to be born. Almost everyday of my life I was able to hear or feel exactly how much my mother loathed my existence and wished that I was never born. Even now, she doesn't visit me or make any motherly gesture or action to make me think she has changed.
As for my father, he would probably only miss me as his little fuck-toy. Ever since I was nine years old, my father would come down to my cold, dark prison and demand some sort of 'favor' from me at least once a week. At first it was just a hand job that eventually progressed into oral sex until my father finally raped me, deflowering his only son at the tender age of eleven. No matter how much I cried, whined, squirmed and begged, in the end the only thing my father ever cared about was his own perverted satisfaction.
The funny thing is, when I was discovered that fateful morning when I was thirteen outside in the cold – alone, broken and bleeding amongst the sakuras – many of the servants suspected my father was the perpetrator. That theory lasted only for a few minutes before the body of a dead woman was discovered not too far from me, having suffered a fatal stab wound to her chest. During that time there had been a string of murders in my town that my father was never a suspect for and he would have had no reason to commit such crimes. So it was suspected that the murder was also my assailant. However, I almost wish that my father was the one who left me out there to freeze on the blood and dew soaked grass like some useless woodland creature, but alas, I was violated by yet another. At least if my father had been the one to attack me that night, I might not be here suffering in as much pain as I am now.
I know that my reasoning may sound flawed, but the idea of having my father rape me every single night until I can finally move as far away from this place as possible is a far better alternative to what I am feeling now. It's like choosing between two evils; the feeling of being impaled and ripped in half by my father's invading cock or feeling as if I'm being flayed alive with a burning hot, rusty spoon. Not a pleasant choice.
The only good that has come out of my condition is that I haven't been raped by my father since before I was attacked. When my symptoms first started to manifest, father stayed as far away from me as possible for fear of also becoming infected. But it's not as if what I have is some normal disease that can be easily spread. Even so, I don't care what he thinks. He can believe that I'm possessed by Satan himself and I couldn't care less as long as he stays away from me. And his absence is one of the few luxuries fate has given me.
Now if only fate would be kind enough to allow my doctors to discover a cure or at least a treatment to my conditions and I will be forever grateful. I don't want to be in any more pain and I want all of this to end. Even if there is no cure or treatment, then I wish that fate and this doctor will be kind enough to let me die.
I grind my teeth as I feel the effects of the medication I was just given weaken and I know it will be a matter of seconds before I am once again screaming at the top of my lungs and thrashing about the bed once again. Well, I may not be able to move about the bed too much since I have been strapped down for both my protecting and the safety of the three people who are still in the room.
One of the nurses must have noticed that I'm grinding my teeth for I feel a tightly rolled piece of cloth placed in my mouth. It's not a gag, but instead it's there to keep me from damaging my teeth and, as an added bonus, mute some of my screams. We have been through these motions so often that I no longer feel the urge to object, even if I did have the strength to talk to anyone at the moment.
She says something to me, but I don't hear her soft words; all I can hear is the sound of my heart pound in my ears and I begin to lightly tug at my restraints. This pain is once again spreading throughout my body covering my flesh with invisible flames. I moan around the cloth in my mouth and squeeze my shielded eyes tightly shut as everything hits me like a speeding freight train. My moans become muffled screams and my tugging becomes forceful pulling as I once again thrash about the bed. The restraints are doing their job of limiting my movements but it's also causing me more damage. I can just barely feel my skin being bruised and ripped by the rough leather as it cuts into my flesh, my mind too focused on the other feelings engulfing me.
The nurses know that I'm only doing myself more harm so they move to hold me down. The cloth that was over my eyes slides off my face, but my eyes are still unseeing and blinded by this red hot pain. I want to yell at the two nurses because their emotions are assaulting my unshielded mind but the cloth prevents me. I want to yell at the doctor and tell him to give me another injection of anything that will ease my suffering, even if it's just for a few minutes, but even if I could say anything, he wouldn't want to risk killing me by accident.
"There's nothing more we can do for him now so just leave him," I hear my doctor tell the two nurses who are trying to hold me down. They are hesitant about leaving me like this and although I will be glad when they release me, I can't believe that this doctor will just leave me like this without even trying to do anything else. But then again, he's given up all hope of me ever pulling though and is only doing this because my parents are paying him so much.
The nurses do release me, to my relief, but they also try to talk the doctor into trying another medication to quiet me. But no matter how much they plead with him, it all falls on deaf ears and he walks out of the room, leaving me with two scared, reluctant nurses.
"I'll go talk to his parents," I hear one of the nurses say as she runs out of the room. The other nurse can only stand at the foot of my bed and look at me as I eventually quiet down some. Not because the pain is easing but because I'm once again loosing my voice from all of this screaming. I'm no longing thrashing about the bed like a demon-possessed child but I am still pulling harshly at the restraints, causing the rough leather to continue biting into my soft, abused flesh, drawing blood.
My vision comes back into focus and I look up at the ceiling, trying to calm myself down and focus on anything other than the pain. I have to try to block out everything my body is feeling if I plan on making it through another few hours without any sort of medication.
"Ano…," the nurse says as she moves closer to me, gaining my attention. She looks so scared right now, having been left alone with a demon child afflicted with some sort of illness that no one has ever heard of. I stare at her hard, making her even more frightened, but I need to remain focused on something. She inches her way over to me and I follow her every move. She's now standing a few inches away from my left hand, her eyes focused on the bruised appendage. She winces slightly and takes a step back as I let out a high pitched whimper and arch my back off of the bed. My actions aren't just the result of physical pain, but also mental pain as I feel the emotions of two certain people as they enter the room.
The nurse jumps slightly as she hears my father's voice asking her what she's doing to me. I don't know why he's accusing the poor woman of doing anything to me when he's the one guilty of far greater sins. When I do calm down some and my body once again comes to rest on the bed, I look over at my parents as well as the doctor and nurse who left out the room a few moments ago. The nurses explain my situation to my parents while the doctor tries to defend his position of not being able to do anything else for me.
After a few more minutes of arguing, my mother orders the doctor to give me another inject of the sedative he used earlier. The doctor explains that the dose of the sedative was near-lethal and that administering it again so soon may kill me.
"Almost everything you give him is 'near-lethal' and he's still alive. Just give it to him, Sensei; not like there's anything to lose, now is there?" My mother's words are curt but sharp. She's tired of being able to hear my screams and wails through the padded walls and probably just wants to shut me up so she can get some rest. Plus, she hates having to be asked to come down here by the nurses so if this will shut them up, she'll agree with them.
My father on the other hand seems a little worried about the prospect of me dying so he doesn't agree with mother and the nurses. He asks what will happen if I don't receive the injection but my doctors that's he's unsure.
"It's possible that the pain may send him into shock or cause several other complications but I can't be sure. We usually give him something to deal with the pain but the last painkiller we gave him was ineffective so he must have already built up a tolerance to it. There's nothing else we can give him that we haven't already tried unless you want me to give him cocaine or something of that nature."
"If it will help, then try it," my father says as he moves out of the room, not wanting to remain here for a second longer. I guess the absolute sterility of the room makes him feel uncomfortable or he doesn't want to be in the same room with me if I'm not busy sucking him off. Either way, this does nothing but give my mother the chance to tell the doctor to ignore her husband and give me the sedative.
The doctor says nothing as he silently walks over to the cabinet where he keeps all of the medications and takes out a small vile filled with a clear liquid. He reaches down into a draw to pull out a syringe and begins to process of filling it with a necessary amount.
"Is that how much you gave him earlier," mother asks him. His back is to her and he turns around to walk towards me, not even bothering to answer her question until he comes to a stop just a few inches from my restrained arm.
"This is actually a little more than what I gave him earlier. Hisoka-sama's body has probably already begun to build up a tolerance to this so I have to give him a higher dose. Don't worry; it isn't too much of a difference."
"You act as if I care about whether or not it will hurt him; as long as he's quiet I'm satisfied." The doctor and both nurses turn to look at my cold-hearted mother, unable to believe that she said such a thing about my well-being but I'm used to it; my life never mattered much to her before so why should it now.
The doctor turns his attention back to the task at hand and sticks the needle in my arm, filling my veins with this powerful sedative. He takes a step back and just looks down at me for a few seconds. We both know that it may take a while before I actually feel anything but he probably doesn't want to face my mother just yet.
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" With that said my mother walks out of the room and leaves me behind with the nurses and doctor. They are still dumbstruck that a woman could act so cold and apathetic about her only child. They must not have spent too much time around her if they haven't gotten used to the way she treats me. But then again, it is rather hard to accept; mothers generally give a damn about their children, especially their only child.
After a few minutes they are still standing around me, waiting for something to happen. Luckily, the sedative is beginning to kick in and I begin to feel sleepy while my pain feels so far away as if it isn't my own. I've always hated this detached feeling that comes from being sedated; it feels as if my body is no longer under my power and I have no control over the only thing in the world that is truly my own.
Soon, the entire room gets fuzzy and everything sounds as if I'm underwater. Nothing is as it should be and I know it'll only be a matter of minutes before I am once again embraced by sweet unconsciousness. Slumber is my only recluse and I never want to deny it but something is off. My breathing seems more forced as if my lungs aren't listening to my brain and have just decided to not fully fill themselves with oxygen. My heart also feels as if it's slowed down some, beating in a lazy pace that doesn't seem healthy.
And my heartbeat must be unhealthy for the heart monitoring machine that I'm attached to sets off an alarm letting the three people in the room know that my heart isn't beating as it should. But even the sound of the alarm doesn't bother me and it seems like it isn't real. Maybe its not. I was just given a sedative so it's very possible that I'm doing nothing more than dreaming about dying. It's not like it would be the first time that my desire for death has influenced my dreams.
But this isn't a dream. The doctor is standing above me with his hands on my shoulders and he shakes me to keep me awake. He even goes so far as to slap me across my face to keep me remaining in the clutches of reality. He knows that my heart is beating far too slowly and if I do fall asleep, there's no guarantee that I'll wake up again. But what's wrong with that? Why shouldn't I be granted the peace and freedom that only eternal slumber brings? Why can't he just leave me be?
Despite everything the doctor is doing, the nurses have no idea what to do. They both know that there's no way for me to fight the effects of a sedative and that I won't survive if I do fall asleep. But that doesn't stop the doctor from trying. He shakes me, slaps me and even tries to force my eyelids open with his fingers. He yells at one of the nurses to go get my parents again and I barely notice as one of the women runs out of the room. I barely heard the doctor but I can only guess that that's what he said.
His actions are annoying me but it isn't long before I no longer notice anything. It's as if my brain and body have completely shut off and are now refusing to let anyone arouse me. I can barely feel the hands on my shoulders trying to jostle me from my sleep. I don't care anymore; maybe death is a good thing. It's inevitable and it's not like anyone will miss me. The only thing that will happen is that it will blemish my parents' reputation and public image but that's for them to worry about, not me.
I can't fight it anymore (not like I was trying to fight it), and I finally slip into blissful unconsciousness. And if I should die before I wake…
Yay, chapter 3 is finally done. Took me long enough. But, please review and tell me what you think. I actually wanted to rewrite this chapter cuz I didn't think it was very good, so let me know if I should just try again. Don't let me post crap; I like my stories to be as good as possible.
The next chapter is "I Pray My Lord My Soul to Take" and it deals with a bunch of stuff. I actually haven't started on it yet but if I don't receive a bunch of reviews, I won't start on it for a while. The more reviews, the quicker I'll write and update. Please let me feel loved and wanted.
I'm not trying to be a bitch or anything, it's just that I'm one of the biggest procrastinators you will ever meet, and reviews are my motivation. They let me know that people are actually reading this story and not just clicking on it, reading part of the first chapter and then avoiding my story like the plague. And since the next chapter has been giving me so much trouble, I know that it is very possible for me to put off writing it for another month or so and I don't want to do that if I know people are reading and enjoying this fic. I'm just a slave to my reviews; if I'm asked to update soon, I'll update soon. If I'm asked to write a new story, I'll work on it sooner than if no one asks me to. That's just how I am. So please, don't be mad at me for asking for reviews; it's the only way I know I'll get off my lazy ass and write something.
– KuroiShinigami07