So, here's Chapter 2. I'm quite proud of this chapter, but that's up to you guys. Do you think it's good? I want to know. So review me, or flame me! And so, I must warn you that i don't own Digimon, and i'm totally in love with season4, and is it wrong that it made me shed a little tear at the end? Move over, season 3! You're my least favorite, now! That's not saying much, cuz i love digimon! Anyways, it gets sorta yaoi-ish in this chapter. So... don't read it if your sorta squeamish. On to the story! Don't forget to review and evaluate me! Boku wa daisuki na "reviews" desu ne!

To Wait, Perchance to Know.

Daisuke.

Waiting. All my life, I've been waiting. For what, you ask? I don't know. Honestly, I don't know what I've been waiting for. 'There's always a reason for some action, as there is a problem to every solution,' I've always said. I've always been keen on these self-imposed mantras that boost my self-confidence. That's what got me through those long days, healing my wounds on the cold linoleum of the bathroom floor.

'Cuts always heal, but bruises last forever.' True. All my cuts are gone, but whenever I would take my hand to my fragile arm, the pain resonates through the flesh, to the bone. That punch to the chest. Everyday, I feel it. Every night, I dream about it. It's always the same dream. I hope to fill in the blanks that reality has provided with some obscure actions, thus creating a bizarre fantasy, just like the mad libs of my tarnished youth, but that's not the case. It's always the same dream. I wish I could call it a nightmare. But I can't. There's something about it. I can't.

I remember that day all too well. How can I not? It was the first day of sophomore year in my new high school. Not too long ago. It's only been a year. Night after night, the details get more warped, of course, against my favor. But I do know that I just moved with my mom to an apartment to another facet of Tokyo. My parents got divorced last summer. They just couldn't hold it together.

I woke up, and it was raining. A heavy rain, expected to last throughout the day, said the weatherman. I always dreaded hearing his voice while I ate my typical bowl of cheerios. It would be that, or the thunderous crackling of my mom, disciplining her insubordinate subordinates over the phone. But, I would drown both of them out with the gulping of the cereal-encrusted milk, which was part of an incomplete breakfast. I felt pretty fly, in my green blazer and white long-sleeved shirt, not tucked in, of course, and my good ol' green dunks and my matching gray slacks. I was out the door, backpack slung over my shoulders, when my mom gave her kiss and her general greeting of concern half-assed.

I slammed the door behind me pretty hard. I had to make sure I was still alive, living a nightmare. It didn't matter anymore. I would have preferred to not exist at all. So, I stumbled down the stairs, hoping for that proverbial banana peel. That would be a pretty shitty way to die, ne? I rather die with honor. Something I know I don't have. Well, I made it safely down the stairs, and the rain got heavier. Heavy, like my heart.

I wasn't ready to conquer the world. But I had to. I had to, alone. Don't get me wrong, though. I like being alone. That's the only time I could be myself. Whenever I'm with my mom, I would have to be the rock. I would have to be strong for her. She relied on me to get through the rough times. Through the mental abuse of my dad, the physical torture of her work, and all the shit Yamato pulled. I realized that I was still standing at the door, hoping for something. I realized that my spirit was fragile and unwilling. My body was weak and feeble. My heart, nonexistent. I realized I was hoping for relief. I realized I was waiting for my day. The day I could be free. I realized I was waiting for nothing.

I realized I was late. I always knew time never liked me. So, I ran, and ran, and ran. I don't know why, though. It's not like I wanted to go to school. But, where else would I go? Home? I didn't feel like stepping on the shards of a broken life. I might as well go to school. But, one thing I can't stand is unpunctuality, on my part. So, I made it between the creaking gates of the school. The eerie ebony bars that would be suited more for cattle. These bars that both San Quentin and Sing-Sing would envy evoked a feeling of safety. The same safety that I felt being with my father. My father, with his fists.

I ran through the desolated field. I ran across the dark, soaking asphalt. I ran across the empty hallway. Cold. So cold. And then, it happened. I stumbled. I fell from grace, into the arms of my cold fate. I slipped. On a piece of something. I hope it wasn't a banana peel. And all I could hear was the haunting laughter of him, who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

There were just two of them. They looked the same to me. Green blazers, gray trousers, white shirts. One had steel-shaded hair with eyes to match. His pale skin and his spiteful grin with his cherubic looks made him seem like a fallen angel.

No. He was the grim specter of death, ready to take a swing with his scythe, stained with the blood of his countless victims and my fallen comrades. From the minute I saw him, I knew. My demise, Takeshi Kobayashi. And next to him, there was Daisuke Motomiya, a refreshing undertone of light to his compatriot's darkness. His bronze skin, kissed by the sun's refined rays. His burgundy hair, and those eyes, that pierce my memory. His eyes, full of grace. Please, watch over me now, and at the hour of my death.

"Well… What do we have here? Man, this fag. Look, Dai… A fresh fag, on his knees!" My Takeshi spoke. His footsteps, a sound all too familiar, grew stronger and stronger. I wish I could have shut down, at that moment. I knew what was coming, though. A part of me yearned for it. It brought about a sense of comfort. A part of me died. A part of me did nothing. I began to sob, uncontrollably, and my head was hung down in perpetual shame. I was just there, hoping, or ever perhaps waiting, for my guardian angel to come, and save me.

"Aww… Is the baby fag fuckin' crying? Well, what the fuck are you crying for, fag?" Takeshi uttered in a false sense of compassion. Daisuke did nothing.

"Maybe the fag is crying for a reason… Maybe he wants something… What do you think, Dai?" Again, Daisuke said nothing. My Daisuke said nothing. My knees began to tremble, as his weight pushed against me. Then, Daisuke, with such benevolent force, held me, as Takeshi began rolling with punches and kicks I couldn't feel. I didn't know how to feel them anymore.

"Come on, Dai! I know this fag wants it bad!" Takeshi barked. And my Daisuke reluctantly followed. They dragged me to the nearby boys' bathroom, and he continued with his futile kicks and punches. One to the back of the head. One to the arm. One to what little self-assurance I had left in me. Takeshi pushed me to the wall, and kicked me, and I stumbled to the ground in bearable pain.

Now I was on my knees. I couldn't see anymore, for the swelling of my eyes was too much. With blood and tears, I wept. While I was down, I could see Daisuke's suede shoes, as he picked me up again. For one moment, I was at peace, in his arms. Only to be pushed against the wall, and he punched me. He punched me in the face. In the arm. In the chest. That was the first punch I felt in a long time. It was the last punch that I would never forget.

After his horrendous scourging, the comfort of silence sank through my bones. But the aching was far from over. They began to observe what they did to me from across the bathroom, like how an artist eyes the glory of the masterpiece he created. Then, they headed towards me. Those eyes, Takeshi's eyes, drunk with perverted lust. He pulled out his switchblade from his pocket. And followed suit with his threat. Thinking back, I found it odd that I feared the switchblade at that moment, when I've always embraced it, with open arms. Maybe I wanted that. I didn't know then, and I still don't know now.

"Do I have to use this, or are you going to be a good little boy?" Takeshi roared, again in a fictitious, comforting tone, unlike Daisuke. His eyes. His eyes were not like that at all. I couldn't utter words, if I wanted to. My bleeding jaws were wired shut by the kicks and punches. Then, they both grew closer. And closer.

Daisuke was the one picked me up from the ground once again, the one who unbuckled my belt, and the one who pulled my pants and boxers to my ankles. Takeshi was the one who shoved me back, causing me to fall for the umpteenth time. And right then and there, on that cold, rainy, autumn day in September, as the oak leaves fell on the soaked, dark asphalt, and the birds chirped with glee outside the window in gratitude, as the sun peaked through the clouds and shined light through that greasy bathroom window, Takeshi Kobayashi, with such bestial, malicious intent, raped me. Daisuke Motomiya… had his way with me. That day, no one heard me shout. That day, no one noticed me shouting for attention, or pleading for help. That day, no one heard Takeshi's blatantly profane catcalls. That day, no one heard Daisuke's silence.

It seemed like forever. After they were done with me, like the piece of rubbish that I was, they pulled up their pants and buckled their belts, cleaned themselves up a little, and washed their hands, in an almost ceremonious way, opting themselves out of the situation. I was no longer in their hands. I was no longer in Daisuke's.

I managed to faintly cry, with what little energy and pride I had left, "Why…"

Then, they left. Takeshi swung the door open first, with a deviant smile of satisfaction in his face, mumbling to himself, but clear enough to hear. Daisuke hesitated, but he left me there on the floor. Lying on the floor, nearly dead and certainly brokenhearted.

I laid there for what seemed forever. My blood was splattered across the blue, grimy tiles of the bathroom floor. I laid there, face, inches from the urinals. My pants to my ankles, sobbing in shame. I hated myself. I hated how I didn't stand up for myself. I hated how I was aroused the whole time, and I still was, sobbing and crying. And I was still sprung. I hated how broken I was inside. I hated how he violated me. I hated him. But Daisuke… I hated how he left.

I managed to wash up a bit, struggling not to weep and snivel. I tried to wipe most of the blood from my face, and some of the semen that seeped from my ass. I stumbled out of the bathroom, and out of the empty hallway. I stumbled out of the school, and proceeded on my trek, homeward bound. My mom wouldn't be at home, so I thought it would be best to die in the comfort of the bathtub. I made the journey home, limping, trying to walk normally.

I got to the apartment after struggling up the 8 flights of stairs, and closed the door behind me and I shut my eyes. With a renewed breath, I steadfastly limped towards the washing machine that was down the hallway and across from my bedroom, and tossed all my clothes into it. All my feelings. All my pain. Spinning around in a gentle cycle.

Then, I slowly advanced towards the bathroom, naked, only to be stopped by a mirror that was at the end of the hallway. It was a mirror that went from floor to ceiling. I remembered everyday since we moved in; I would look at that mirror to build my self-confidence.

'Takeru… You could do it!' I would say.

'Takeru… Try to find what treasures the world has in store for you today!'

'Takeru… Please, think more positively!'

'Takeru… Don't kill yourself today.'

This time… I just looked, and I let my body do the talking. Even my own brain pitied me. I had bruises everywhere. But I saw, through the mirror, that I was dead. I got to the bathtub, and turned on the water. Hot. Boiling hot. I turned off the water when it overflowed, and the smoldering heat burned my toes. This wasn't going to be good, but it had to be done.

As I thought, the hot water scorched my bruises, and I yelled in throbbing pain. After that ordeal, I began to ease my agitated, jumbled mind. I only thought about what Takeshi said before Daisuke left.

"Why… What did I do to you?"

"You were born. That's why."

For the rest of the afternoon, I laid there, in that tub, way after the crimson water was drained, and I sobbed. Not for what happened, but for what didn't happen.

I never mentioned what happened, until now. I went to school the next day, and became an actor. I, the actor, worthy of a prestigious accolade, only awarded to those who fake existence. I went on with my second day of sophomore year, gracefully ignoring the pain. I began to make friends, enjoy my classes and laugh and sing and smile. But I would run, and find comfort in the darkness. I waited eagerly for every chance I got to curl up in the dark corner of my room, and cry and bleed. That's when I felt alive.

Perhaps, I am waiting. Waiting for something to wake me up. Waiting to die. Waiting to realize that I've been dead from day one. Waiting for him? Who knows. I'm just waiting, hoping, wanting. Waiting, to heal. Hoping, to see the boy that punched my chest and broke my heart. Wanting, to know if this was what one would call, 'love.'

The end. Poor Takeru. Remember, he lives for reviews! )

ek