Chapter Four: Frustration

Like any night in my life, this one wasn't gonna yield anything to be desired, as far as my personal preferences were concerned. When the silence had lulled both our minds to listlessness and when the rain had upgraded to what now looked like a fucking typhoon, my head veered out of my control as it started to protract itself toward my stepbrother's face. He, on the other hand, showed me an unmistakable look of confusion. If someone was to ask why he appeared to be abashed, the answer would be as plain as fucking daylight. Why, this didn't look like anything less than a prelude to a fucking kiss, for fuck's sake. But, thankfully, my firm hold on my wits, if I had any to start with, nerved me to an amazing self-control. Thus said, my actions altogether were postponed, to which he knitted his brows. Honestly, I didn't know how confused I was until too fucking late! So, distraught once more, frantic even, I walked past him, our sides colliding. I might have bumped on him with enough force to dislocate his shoulder but, for all I knew, I had to fucking rid my head of this shit. And to succeed in that, safe distance must be kept between us.

In the days that followed, Ichigo and I barely looked at each other, much less exchanged a freakin' word. In this stage of utter awkwardness, I realized my plans of breaking my parents' marriage was very likely to fall into utter failure, partly because I was too preoccupied with a number of things. Hence for the meantime I decided to play, as best as I could, the role my mother was plunking me into.

"Grimmy, didn't I ask you to tie up that loose metal wire sticking out of the fence? Someone might get hurt with that." Mother was telling me.

Dr. Kurosaki had been doing double overtime for three straight days now, leaving the next oldest man in the family, me, to perform the heavier chores around the house. For my part, I did obey a few of those, while some I just ignored. And this last one was one of those I had opted to ignore. But, being the bastard that I was, more than ignoring this bidding, I chose to lie about it.

"I fixed that shit already. Go check it yourself." I informed her. If she found out I had duped her, she could ask Ichigo to clean up after me once he arrived home from his stupid soccer practice.

"Where do you think you're going? Haven't you just arrived from training?"

"Have to fetch some math reviewers from my pal. I'll be back in a jiffy." Without awaiting her permission, I pulled on my hoodie over my head, put on a pair of shades, and stuffed two packets of condoms in my jeans, completing a look of some very suspicious character.

The clock had struck eight thirty in the evening when I managed to pitch myself on the sidewalk, on my way to my math teacher's apartment for some fucking. But my short walk would soon become deplorable because, as soon as I reached the second corner, a vehicle zoomed past me. Through its lightly tinted windows I discerned two faces; Ichigo Kurosaki's and Ginjo Kugo's. The car was a Mazda Miata, a two-seater sports utility vehicle. With Kugo smiling like a devil on the driver's seat, they looked as though they'd just alighted from a whole damn lot of fun. As my current attire rendered me anonymous, there was not the slightest chance that my stepbrother would recognize the random pedestrian that was me, although I wished the opposite was possible… what was he doing allowing that fucker to drive him home? Surely, they were schoolmates, but that fucking quarterback was a senior while my stepbrother was a freshman… like I cared.

Once there, I only had to knock once to be pulled inside. The sight of her instantly disconcerted me, attractive though she was and wearing next to nothing.

"I'm glad you came." She started.

I slid off my excess garments and dropped them on the table, as if in slow motion, as if delaying my movements would salvage me from this sorry situation. In the process, she grew impatient. While it was conceivable that I was doomed to an hour or so of this indiscretion, I knew I really didn't have any other option but to get through with this as fast as possible. But, allowing myself to be drawn into the bedroom, I soared off to some higher awareness. When faced with this crushing oppression, like some situation in which a woman was forcing you to abandon your clothes and to do her in the most sadistic fashion a teenager could pull off, one was bound to have enough. And I had had enough. Apart from that, something I had seen earlier had been boggling me shitless, and that was the final straw.

"What's wrong, Grimmjow?"

What's wrong, she asked, when nothing in sight was going right. Hell, I wasn't even sure whether an insult had not been intended in that fucking question.

"What's wrong? How about I enumerate all that's right rather than what's wrong, in which case we get to save ninety percent of my spit? I'm done with this and fuck all of it." I started to re-close my fly, after which I darted to the door.

"Does this mean you'd rather fail your math?"

Her lips were curling now, enhancing her sex appeal as she sat there on her dirty bed, trying to seduce the devil that was me. Well, people like Starrk and those dumbass cheerleaders had been receiving failed marks all their high school life, but none of them had to go through the same shit I was going through, so what the hell was I afraid of?

"Isn't that fucking obvious? I'm off, cunt." I didn't intend my contempt to manifest itself to that extent but, apparently, I wasn't done yet. Apparently, my hand was reaching for my side pocket to eventually fish a couple of packets of condoms. Surprising even myself, I hurled the despicable objects at her face.

"You bastard!" She gasped.

"I am that, figuratively and literally. Ciao, bitch-whore."

Within thirty minutes of arriving, my feet were once again heaved onto the pavement outside. My mobile phone then started to vibrate. Conceiving no urgency in whatever matter which might possibly require my immediate presence, I ignored it. My sense of complacency for having finally ditched the bitch, however, was soon to evaporate, for here was another vibration from the bloody phone, announcing a message which read;

Where the hell r u? Szayel's got into an accident!

The sender was Ichigo, but that hardly mattered. It also didn't matter that I wasn't, after all, free from all human tension even for the fucking meantime. What mattered was my little brother. Just what sort of accident was it? Frantic, I skirted through the streets, my legs surpassing whatever pressure it had ever known in the past. My mind was racing, my chest burning, but none of these disposed me any better to interpreting the matter at hand.

When I reached Kurosaki Residence, only Yuzu was to be found. She evidently had been walking to and fro in the foyer, as if awaiting another emergency. She had been waiting for me.

"They're in the clinic. You can go there now." Was all she said, but the urgency in her tone was enough to dispatch me into utter panic.

Dr. Kurosaki's private clinic was attached to the house, but I hadn't been there before. Upon entering, I was greeted by three solemn faces; mother's, Ichigo's and Karin's.

"What the fuck happened to him?" I demanded.

"Dad has it all covered, but it looks serious for a child. He's out of danger anyway." Ichigo answered.

My composure paled, vanished, and reappeared, all within the span of time he spoke. But my crisis wasn't over yet, and its extension was soon revealed to me for my mother had stepped forward to enlighten me,

"He suffered concussions on his head which tore away a small portion of his scalp, scraping the surface of his skull. He bled profusely and wasn't even able to cry in pain. It was a good thing Ichigo had arrived from school to find him. All the same—"

"—What exactly happened?"

Ichigo and Karin exchanged nervous glances, and it was their manners rather than their sentiments that irritated me. If they wished to tell me something, they ought to blurt it right off and quit being a bunch of dodgy bastards who liked to leave me guessing shit after shit like some fucking fortune teller.

"He slipped off the garden and, as he fell, his head brushed against the sticking metal I asked you to clear yesterday." Mother explained bluntly, stressing the necessary parts with stern emphasis. Sure enough, her words went through me like a fucking serrated knife.

Flabbergasted and lost for words, I allowed my shoulders to drop and my teeth to clench in agitation. Suddenly I fancied I was up against something menacing and haunting, against which I needed allies. Indeed guilt was grinding me down to sheer vulnerability. After all the anxiety, the world was kind enough to tell me this was all my fault. To further that, all this inner turmoil was nothing compared to what I had brought upon my brother and my mother. Finally I resorted to profess my guilt openly, if only to do good rather than harm,

"C—can I at least see him?" Shakily I muttered.

"Certainly, but you can't enter because Dr. Kurosaki is stitching his head. You may take a peek through the window."

I sprinted across the waiting area, my guilt never departing. Ignorant of whatever else was going on around me, I watched the procedure intently. My brother, as he lay there, appeared to be under the influence of a sedative, therefore he probably was no longer under any serious pain. But what arrested me most was Dr, Kurosaki. He appeared to be thoroughly absorbed, and although I couldn't see the rest of his face due to the face mask he was wearing, I could tell he was performing the task with what earnestness doctors were endowed with in order to save lives. And he was securing my brother's life. It was this that led me to repeat, contemplate, and contradict myself for all the offense I had been planning to pull on him. Suddenly I was disgusted with myself, so much that I couldn't take this anymore. Hence, slowly, with heavy steps, I exited the premises, leaving no word of apology to my mother and my stepsiblings.

I wanted to disappear.

All there was to feel was barrenness. Instead of remorse and the need to seek penance, anger again was overtaking me. This time, the anger was directed to myself and to no one else. And for all that, it still wasn't enough, so then maybe beating myself up would do for a start. So beat myself I did; as soon as I reached my room I faced the fucking wall and started banging my goddamned forehead against it, with what force was required to crush a human skull. Too bad the partition was made of some fucking weak gypsum board and plaster stuffing, but I didn't fucking mind. Hell, I'd make myself bleed anytime and anywhere I wanted, because I needed the fucking pain!

And then, suddenly in the midst of this frenzy, a pair of hands from behind grabbed me by the shoulders. Distracted and physically drained as I was, I was tossed down on the carpet defenselessly, so that I had to scramble on my feet to retrieve balance. Again, it was Ichigo who was eroding my fucking peace.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He asked, his eyes narrowing, therefore leaving his expression to its accustomed fearsomeness. It was the first time I saw him this angry.

"Leave me the fuck alone."

"To do what? Dismantle the whole attic? I must say your immaturity far exceeds my expectations."

Upon that remark, anger, pain, and guilt ran a swift course over me. Also, images of him and Kugo riding a Mazda Miata were swimming around my imagination for some sick reason. And so as what my current temper dictated, I charged at him, against my better judgments, and on the carpet we rolled, with me gaining the upper hand. But he had both his hands on the collars of my shirt, while I was heaved on top of him, my fist raised as if to serve as a warning.

"Don't get cocky, prick." I hissed. Really, I could stuff my fists in his mouth and still I'd feel a certain legitimacy to my violence. After all, he had trespassed against my comfort, besides having come in without fucking permission.

"If you're gonna punch me, then fucking do it before anyone catches us in this position."

That amplified my fury. Perhaps the ferocity I was exercising at the moment was enough to upset any man alive. But Ichigo remained calm, his breathing regular at least in pace, his face not even crimsoning. All at once my posture slackened, perhaps against my will, allowing my weight not to fall full blast on him. For whatever fucking reason, it dawned on me that I didn't want him hurt. I couldn't tell what else I was feeling at the moment, and yet there I was, hoping that by some means or the other this nearness would not reach its end… just why? Slowly, I was slipping off my wits. And just as slowly, like something mechanical, my face was descending closer to his.

I intended to beat him into a bloody pulp. Instead, I ended up kissing him, for real.

TBC