Warnings: General warnings can be found in chapter one. Specific warnings for this chapter: Mentions of self harm, suicide and suicidal thoughts, child abuse and violence. Sensitive readers are advised to skip this chapter!
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"Aww, don't worry about me, Shinra-kun~" Izaya sing-sang as he got into the clothes Celty had had the good enough sense of planning to bring with them when they picked up Izaya three days earlier. "I'm just fine and dandy! I can take care of myself, no probs."
"Izaya-kun," Shinra sighed for the umpteenth time. "Three days ago you almost died from an overdose of benzodiazepines – that you're not even supposed to be in possession of, by the way – which you swallowed down with half a bottle of booze! And now you try to tell me you're fine? I don't think so, Izaya-kun. I don't think you're fine at all. If you would at least tell me what's wrong, then maybe I can help you?"
The informant merely laughed at him and gave him one of those infuriating pats on the head, before making his way towards the door. Celty tried to stop him on the way; fingers rapidly typing at her PDA.
Izaya! You can't leave like this! You're not well!
"I'm fine, Celty," Izaya giggled. "You're both so anxious to keep me here, I'm starting to think you looove~ me."
This is not funny! How do we know you won't try to kill yourself again as soon as you're out of here? Huh?!
"Why would I wanna kill myself when I'm having so much fun, hm? Later, Celty!"
He made his way past her and exited the flat.
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"Shizuo, what do you think about this one?" Naomi waved a light blue summer dress in front of him, pulling the protozoan out of his thoughts. He looked at it, and sighed inwardly. Naomi looked great in whatever she put on. And, really, didn't she already show him that dress like ten minutes ago? Or was that another? In his eyes they all looked pretty much the same.
Kami, have mercy, he thought to himself.
"It looks very good," he said. "That colour looks very good on you."
Naomi beamed.
"Thank you! I'm just worried it'll be, you know, too revealing. Hm, I think I'll have to try it on."
Shizuo nodded and she disappeared into a small booth, and emerged soon after wearing the blue dress and a frown. The blonde looked her over. The dress came down to her knees, had some sort of little sleeve-like thing going on and didn't give away too much cleavage. He just couldn't see what she meant with the whole "too revealing" bit, but he had a hunch it was just something she said to get back up. Why, oh why, did women always need a second, third – hell, forty-eighth – opinion on every garment that went into their closets? If they liked it and it fit, wasn't that all that mattered?
"You look beautiful in it," he said, nonetheless. "I don't think it's revealing. It looks, dunno, classy."
Naomi giggled and kissed him.
"Then I think I will buy it. It will be good for the lunch with Mum and Dad on Sunday. Which reminds me; we need to get you a more relaxed outfit too."
"Oh okay." Then he froze sligthly. Wait! The what and the what now?
His confusion must have shown, because his girlfriend laughed affectionately as she disappeared into the booth again.
"You'd forgotten, hadn't you?" He could hear her smile. "It's okay, I know you've had a rough week."
"I-I'm sorry, Naomi," he said, feeling rather stupid.
"I told you, it's okay." She was laughing again. "Come on, let me take this to the check out, then we'll have some lunch. How about that?"
The prospect of food lightened the blonde's mood considerably, and he let himself be led by the hand to the check out.
They went to a small noodle restaurant Naomi loved, and Shizuo was amazed yet again about how much food that small woman was capable of gobbling down. It never stuck, either. No matter what she ate, she remained a fascinating blend of slim and curvy. She giggled cutely when one of the noodle flicked Shizuo on the nose and he muttered a curse as he chewed it down. Cute. Yeah, almost everything Naomi did was either sweet, adorable or cute. From her giggling to the way she drooled slightly on his shoulder when she fell asleep in his arms. He had yet to see the slightest sign of temper from her, and he wasn't really sure how to handle that. It made him twice as scared of his own anger; to accidentally get her caught in the way of it without meaning to. At least she listened when he told her to run away when he felt the wrath boiling in his blood, but it didn't feel like she actually understood the severity of it. To him it seemed mostly as if she regarded his temper issues as a mother would her beloved problem-child. Like he was just throwing a tantrum. Like it was just an act. Like he wasn't that dangerous at all. Like... like his hands had never snapped the neck of a person. Like he had never taken a life.
It made him angry.
But most of all, it made him tired and sad.
Because Heiwajima Shizuo knew he would be the one to destroy what they had. One of these days, he was going to blow up at something and she was going to get caught in the crossfire. One of these days, he was going to hurt her. One of these days, he was going to lose her.
It was really only the questions of when, where, and how.
Then there was this whole situation with the Flea. He'd told Naomi of the news when she'd returned from the trip two weeks ago, but she had been confused as to why he was so upset about it. Wasn't it a good thing for Orihara-san to go and follow his dreams to wherever he was heading? Wasn't it a good thing for him to redeem himself in the eyes of others? And if Shizuo really hated him so much, shouldn't he be the first to bless his departure and wish him a swift and smooth journey? Those had been her exact words. She was always so eloquent.
Shizuo felt so strange then. Why couldn't she understand the severity of the situation? There was no guarantee the informant would actually leave, it could all be just another elaborate trick of his. There was no guarantee that the Flea wasn't planning something evil and potentially catastrophic. But mostly, mostly it made him hurt to see that she couldn't see that there was more to it than just the Flea upping and leaving. If Orihara Izaya left Tokyo, gone would be one of the pillars that made out Shizuo's entire world. Gone would be one of the few things that made some sort of twisted sense to him. Gone would be the only person perhaps more monstrous than himself. Gone would be the only person who could handle, and perhaps even tame, his anger.
Izaya leaving should make Shizuo feel like the winner, like the King. It should make him feel great and on top of the world.
It didn't.
It made him feel very small.
Very small, and very, very frail.
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Izaya entered his apartment, taking good care to lock the door properly behind him before he went upstairs and opened his closet door, shoved all the clothes out of the way so he could reach the small door behind it.
"Hello, Daddy," he said as the small memorial altar was revealed. The man in the picture didn't look much like his son. Orihara Shirou was a man of rough build, with a stern and disapproving look etched into his angled face. He had been a tall man, emanating an aura of authority and judgement.
Izaya looked like his mother, and sometimes – late at night when nothing could shield him from the memories – Izaya wondered if that was why Shirou had hated him so much.
The informant wiped the dust off the frame with his sleeve, and sat down cross-legged in front of it, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands.
"Imma go away soon, Daddy dearest," he said in a conversational tone, pausing, as if listening to someone speak. "I know you don't like it. I'm not asking for your approval." Another pause. "You see, this world is no fun anymore. No one loves me, and it so boring to with with them. You know, the humans. They don't understand, Daddy. They don't get it at all." Pause. "What do you mean, 'what don't they get?' Isn't it obvious? They think I can't feel. They think I'm not real. They think I'm sick in my head and can't feel anything – just hurt them. But they're wrong, Daddy. They're wrong!" He giggled, then sobbed. "I feel everything! Just like you wanted me to. Just like you designed me to do." He was crying now, clawing at his skin, biting his chapped lips to blood once more. "I hate you. Do you hear me, Shirou? I hate you!" He slammed the door the little shrine shut and screamed.
"I don't wanna feel anymore! I don't take your pain anymore! Do you hear me, humans? I don't want to help you anymore!"
Collapsing on the floor in a heap of cries and sobs, Izaya clawed gashes into his skin to try and let it all out, to let the hurt go somewhere else and leave him alone. It never did, but he couldn't stop.
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"Celty, dearest," Shinra poked her shoulder to get her attention. "Could you please see if you can find out anything about Izaya-kun's childhood?"
He deleted the files from almost everywhere, Shinra, Celty typed.
"They've got to be somewhere, perhaps in paper-form. Please, love. I think it's important."
You think he's like this because of his childhood?
"Yes. He doesn't fit in any diagnosis I've examined him for, apart from the PTSD, but that doesn't com close to explaining why he is the way he is. I think the PTSD is the key to understanding him. Something happened to him that broke him, and it must've happened early on in his life, for he was like this from the day I first met him."
Celty nodded and typed: It might take a few days. I will probably need help with this one.
Shinra sighed.
"I'm not sure we have days, love," he said, before exiting the room.
Celty immediately began typing away at two keyboards at once, trying to get a good start. If Shinra thought it was that bad, then it was probably worse still. Izaya's mind was unravelling at a frightening speed, and she couldn't help but feel a need to help him. The informant may have committed a lot of terrible deeds in his days, but no one deserved to go like this. No one. Orihara Izaya was probably the most intelligent person she'd ever met, and she hated the thought of him facing death a blabbering lunatic.
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/"It's 2:04 am. The subject is stable, and is so far showing no signs of negative response to the procedure. Heart rate and respiratory functions are performing at normal levels. Blood pressure slightly elevated, within normal levels post-procedure. EEG readings coming out as predicted."
Izaya slowly opened his eyes at the sound of a familiar, unemotional voice next to his bed. A man dressed in an attire of shirt, slacks and a white lab-coat was monitoring the various machines connected to- Oh God, they were connected to him! Izaya looked down and realised his thin, pre-pubescent frame was covered in IV-tubes – some clear, some bloodfilled – and electrodes monitoring his heart and brain activity. The rest of him was, as per usual, covered in either bruises, scabs, or bandages. He wanted to move, but his body felt so heavy, like he had stone for bones, and everything kept floating in and out of focus. A small attempt to move his arm to rub his eyes alerted him to the fact that he was strapped to the bed. Oh God, no! Oh God, oh God, oh God! He had no sooner realised this when pain flared through his entire body, making him cry out and whimper.
The older man turned to look at him, no emotions visible in his eyes other than a professional sort of curiosity. He raised a small recording instrument he was carrying, and as he started poking and prodding, and ohGodhowmuchthathurt, he said into the small mic:
"It's 2:11. The subject is waking up at a higher than average speed, as we anticipated. Basic motor-functions appear to be working normally, and the subjects pain-levels seems to be experienced as predicted. Injecting one point five millilitre of ten milligrams of Morphine, the usual dose. If all calculations are correct, the subject should be clear, coherent and physically pain-free within an hour. If the subject experiences further pain after this hour the process has been a success." He put the recorder away and looked the little boy in the eyes, dark brown against blood red. "Good afternoon, Izaya. Do you recognise me?"
Izaya swallowed.
"O-Orihara... Shirou." Speaking was hard; his mouth felt so very dry, and his throat hurt. "Father."
The man nodded.
"Your surgery seems to have been a success, boy. Soon you will be able to take the place God intended for you."
"My... place?"
"Mankind is wicked, child. Sinners and demons, all of them. But soon they will all have to face judgement at our hands. You will separate the weeds from the roses, Izaya. You will look into their hearts, and with your judgement you will save them."
The older Orihara's eyes shone with excitement, and Izaya shrunk in his bed. Daddy was so scary when he spoke like that! How could Izaya save anyone if he was such a worthless, filthy being as his father made him out to be? How could he save anyone else when he couldn't even save himself?/
Izaya sat straight up in his bed, awoken by the sound of his own scream. He scrambled out of bed as if was suddenly filled venomous snakes and ran for the stash of hard liquor in his kitchen. Outside, the sun was blazing, scorching anything not under the protection of whatever shade the trees provides, making people's shoes stick to the concrete and ice-cream to go runny almost before you opened it. With badly shaking hands, the informant managed to unscrew the lid of a bottle of something alcoholic – he didn't bother to check the label – and downed a third of the bottle in one go. If he could have such dreams, it means he wasn't nearly as drunk as he should be. What time was it, anyway? What day? Judging by the smell of both him and his clothes, he'd been sleeping for a while. God, he smelled like something had died on him! He should probably shower. Nah, later. He had to get drunk first. He had to get the memories of that man, those eyes, those hands, out of his head first. The end was in sight, but he had to get there first. He had to say goodbye to Shizuo before he could leave. Before he could disappear. Before he could finally die and not have to feel anything.
The truth was that Izaya had always know he'd die young. Born under a bad sign, hated by his only family, pushed out into a world he didn't understand, a world which looked upon him as a monster, with no one there to keep him on the straight and narrow. He'd been burning his candle both ways since the start, and he knew he'd die young and die messy if no one could come in, beat him into submission and save him from himself. But no one ever did. Because Izaya was a freak and a monster, and we all know that monsters feel no love, so they deserve no love.
A sob escaped him.
Even if someone (Shizuo), did come and save him from his imminent death now, he was too far gone. He couldn't even keep himself together for five minutes, the pain was so unbearable he almost couldn't breathe, and the eternal silence just seemed like such a blessing to him. He didn't want to fight anymore. He didn't want to drink, fuck and get high anymore. He no longer cared for salvation. He wanted this to end.
"I'm just gonna come say goodbye, Shizu-chan," he whispered. "Just gonna say bye-bye, and you're not gonna understand a thing, and then you'll be mad and chase me out... One last time. I just want to see all that power unleashed one last beautiful time..."
Yes. It really was time to go.
Slowly, painfully, he picked himself up from where he'd fallen to the floor and went to get ready. It was time to say goodbye to the only person who could ever have saved him.
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Phew! Finally! Another angst-ridden chapter, Khordie-style. I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but both my life and school decided to throw a madness parade around here for the last few months. But here it is! Like I promised.
So, yeah. Izaya is breaking even faster now. Shizuo is clueless and lost. Shinra and Celty are wearing their nerves on the outside from worry. Oh dear, how will this end? I know, but you don't.
Izaya's dad... Well, he really is a complete megalomaniac ass-hat, and yes, I was angry at him when I wrote him.
Hopefully I can cram out another chapter before the semester starts in September, but no guarantees as I am taking summer courses as well.
Thank you all for reading this!
Reviews?