Author's Note: I do not own Bleach. STILL need a Beta to edit my grammar and formatting cos that shit is fucking annoying. I can't edit for shit. Please PM me if you are willing to help me!

Now, ON WITH THE SHOW!

A few days later…

"Get your ass outta here! LEAVE!" The bar owner screamed while throwing the partly unconscious body out in the back alley.

Ichigo was thrown right smack into the dumpster. Lucky for him, he wasn't thrown into the bin itself but he was thrown on the side of it, causing a huge dent on the metal. The impact was definitely strong but his drunken-mindedness caused him to subconsciously ignore the pain. The pain was numbed, non-existent.

He stood up slowly and immediately while laughing.
Laughing at the owner,
laughing at the pub,
laughing at the dumpster,
laughing at the world.
laughing at his very pitiful being,
laughing at the fact that he was loser.
laughing because he lost everything.

Ha.

He limped off the alley to who-the-fuck-knows where.

"$45.60. Cash or credit?"

Cash. Throwing the $50 note to the cashier on the table, he picked up the six-pack beers and the brown bag full of other mixes of hard liquors. He needed to lose himself. He didn't bother getting the change.

Leaving the store, he limped to his apartment. Ichigo was practically dragging his body back to the damn building. It was his luck that the apartment was really near the liquor store.

People passed by. People looked. There were still quite a number of people despite the fact that it was already dark out. What time is it? He continued his walk home and ignored the looks passers-by give him.

Shit. What the-? He stumbled.

The bottles and the pack of beers dropped to the ground. Thankfully, none broke or rolled away. He was on the pavement, kneeling. Something tripped him. He couldn't really feel his feet because of his thick-soled boots and the fuzziness in his brain. Still on the ground, his brain suddenly started to throb. His blood circulation weak because of not eating any solids for a few days.

"Oh my- Are you okay?"

A woman neared him, collecting the bottles and putting them in front of him. He could hear the clicking of her heels on the cement. He was partially annoyed because it added to his throbbing ache. He could feel her arms on him, trying to help him up. Her hands so small yet able to hold him up. Her sweet smelling hair near his nose.
He stood up slowly and finally opened his eyes as the ache temporarily stopped.

Orange locks so long and pretty. Eyes so brown and warm.

Mom? Mommy? He grabbed her shoulders. Shaking her slightly, gripping her coat.

A sight he missed so much. Eight years. He wanted to cry.

She giggled. "I'm not your mother. I'm Matsumoto."

His eyes focused. He stood up fully and shakily. He looked down at this imposter. Her orange hair wasn't the same shade and wasn't as curly. Her eyes were darker than hers, dimmer.

"Oh. Uh. Sorry."

"Don't worry. Here's your stuff. You shouldn't drink so much, you know. Have a safe trip."

She said as she walked away to the opposite direction. He grabbed the items to his chest, the pain in his head suddenly growing stronger. He needed to numb it. Now.

Ichigo stumbled to the nearest alley, tearing open the pack of beers. Dirty or not, he didn't give a fuck. He walked towards a stack of empty crates and threw the remaining stuff on it. Sitting down on the ground, Ichigo opened up a can and began chugging it down. Bliss. His parched throat soothed by liquid gold. The headache no longer there. The best medicine was always alcohol. Finishing up the can, he flung it behind his head. No one was in the alley, or so he thought.

"Motherfucking shit. Who threw this?"

Snapping his head to the left over the particularly huge crate, Ichigo saw a man in between a woman's parted legs. He was deep inside the woman and apparently Ichigo interrupted them in the middle of their fornication. She was bent in half, her hands on the brick wall. Her skirt upturned and her panties on the black tar. His hand grabbing her tits and the other tangled in her hair. The man, on the other hand, was shoved inside her. He was a thug, definitely. With the studded fugly ass black leather jacket and white embroided skull on his back, his cargo pants on the floor.

Ichigo could only stare at them groggily. Ichigo didn't notice them when he went to the crates. Most probably because of the frenzy for alcohol. His mouth was agape and he just continued to drink from the can. His brain wasn't functioning so he just continued to drink. He was too out of it. He really didn't give a shit if she was murdered really.

He didn't react even when the man was screaming profanities at him. He couldn't hear anything. Just blurred figures. He couldn't care less that the man was heading towards him.

Next thing he knew, there was a boot in his face.

And another. Another in his stomach.

Ichigo slumped to the floor. Rolled to the side to avoid the onslaught but it kept coming. Pain, again. This time it hurt like fuck. Not like the numbing head pain, more like broken bones and bruised skin.

Ichigo screamed. Stop it. Stop.

He tried to pull himself forward but the man stomped on him. Then he heard breaking glass.

The thug had found the bottles of liquor he bought and grabbed one. He slammed it on the crate, breaking it into half. The top half in his hand; broken with sharp edges, dangerous enough to stab and bleed. The man stabbed his arm near the shoulder, he could feel the glass piercing the area. The driving motion behind the thrust embedded a few pieces inside. Blood was spurting out profusely somehow an artery was cut. The blood soaking the sleeve of his inner shirt.

Ichigo closed his eyes, waiting for another stab.

Praying for it to hit his heart so that he could just die faster. His consciousness fading due to the blood loss. Everything hurt. His eyes were shut but he could still hear some of the events still happening. He slowed down his breathing, trying hard to calm his breath before his timely death.

Listen.

The thug's panting. And his angered yelling. Like a hooligan or a gorilla. Leather material rustling. Heavy steps. Uncoordinated. Slow.

Breaking of another bottle. His heavy steps coming closer.

Quick steps.

Was there someone running? Rustling cloth. Bodies being hit.

Pained yelling?

Thump. Someone fell to the ground with a pained grunt.

The fuck-?

Who?

...

Ichigo never found out.