I Do Not Own Durarara!, just the story.
Warning: Language, mentions of rape.
Chapter 3: Cold Hands
BANG
Shizuo slammed his fist onto a wall causing a small crater to form from the impact.
"Dammit!"
"Why did I have to save his sorry ass?!"
BANG
Another fist greeted the wall with an even bigger crater.
Even in a big city like Ikebukuro, Shinjuku, anywhere, nothing could get the ex-bartender from over thinking about a certain 'pest' from his thoughts. He couldn't get the flea out, couldn't get Izaya out his head as usual, but...
those eyes, that wavering voice, that frightened expression...
"No..."
"Get off of me... stop...!"
"I don't want this... stop..."
Those words wouldn't stop ramming into his brain like a hammer repeatedly smashing a nail- but the flea-
The flea.
Izaya Orihara was pleading from under the Fotissimo of Ikebukuro. Shit, that wasn't supposed to happen- he was a pest who would never show emotion but malice like the supposed God he was. He looked so scared, so vulnerable, it pissed Shizuo off. Where was the flea he knew? What happened? Those words that refused to stop mocking him kept hammering his brain to no end like a mantra.
"Damn flea-! Why must you always get in my way?"
He growled slamming his fist against the battered wall, his heart aching and anger rising. His heart ached because he couldn't kill the flea, ached because he saved the flea, ached because he couldn't comfort the shivering mess. Ached because the flea looked so vulnerable that anyone could have took advantage of him.
"...Please stop..."
It was a surprising image that sent Shizuo into a heart ached frenzy of fury, rapidly his heart beat against his ribcage that it might have drove him to bust down the weakened wall.
Scarlet streams seeped from his bruised knuckles and crunched rock chipping from his flesh- His breathing was raspy and he slammed his bruised fists onto the walls again.
"What the hell has gotten into you, Izaya?"
...
"Don't tell me..."
"You think you're better than everyone else, boy?"
"No, I am everything but special. I am just someone who only loves his humans." He said smiling.
"Stop fucking with us Orihara! You're just a damned piece of trash who only spills shit!" He reached out a bulky arm and yanked the hair of the raven.
'...Stop...'
Hands reaching all over, roaming.
"Maybe you should get fucked instead?" The voice grew a malicious tone greeted with a grin. Teeth dirty, yellow, misplaced in every row. Disgusting.
'Please stop...!'
They raided him. Each touch giving him goosebumps and making his hairs stand on end.
"You're getting what you deserve, you piece of shit!"
'Stop!'
Laughing. Those cold hands gripping and tugging at his arms and legs, shirt and pants.
'No..'
So much pain.
"Not so almighty now, hah?"
'No... it hurts...'
Bruised hips, markings that would scar his pure and soft skin for eternites to come.
'NO!'
Laughing, painful bruises, blood, men. Men all around, laughing, mocking, teasing him.
...Fluids.
The taste, the feeling; bitter and disgusting. Why wouldn't they leave him alone?
'Stupid cunt'
'Nothing but a good fuck'
'Slut'
'Bitch'
'Violated'
He looked all around his arms, legs, chest, the words written and stained onto his skin with black and blue ink. Even if the bruises healed and never showed any longer, they would always be there forever, for he was marked.
"We're not do be yet, bitch!" The hands tugged even harder, pulling him across the ground and pinning him down.
'Anything but that- no... no!'
'What did I do to deserve this?'
The hands now feeling all over him, freezing his entire body. He couldn't move. He was frozen. Frozen by the cursed hands of men who have defiled such a beautiful soul like the demons they are.
'Leave me alone! Stop! NO!'
It pushed in with no grace or patience, forced against his will.
"You see this? Look at this punk ass bitch crying! Ha!"
'You're nothing but dirt'
"NOOOO!" A blood curdling shriek erupted from the lips of the tormented raven. Breathing was rapid and eyes of crimson dilated around the room, empty and welcomed with the dark setting of the night. Cold sweat had drenched his shirt along with his damp bangs and the covers slipping off his pale legs. Izaya breathed and huffed trying to take in the area he was in- home, safe, away from those animals.
"...Bastards, making a fool out of me." He said as his eyelids became heavy and closed. With an exhausted sigh that had erupted from his lips, he fell back onto his pillow. He reached an arm to his drenched forehead and flicked off the cold sweat. It was cold, cold as usual and cold as it always had been since that day the horrid acts impacted him. The nightmare has always haunted him to no end and would always approach in an unwelcomed way.
Ugly. Such an ugly past indeed. Orihara Izaya only wished to love his humans and they love him back, even if they never loved him and treated him lower than garbage, he will always love them back. Even if they committed acts of sin and wrongs, he would always love them in the most best way he could. It's what a God did- but that same thought had crossed multiple times...
Was he really a God...?
He turned to his side and sat up to glance over at his clock, '3:27 AM' emitted from it in a big red light. The sweat was making it worse and made him feel dirtier than he already was. Izaya stretched his legs from out of his bed and began to waltz over to the bathroom upstairs. He turned the nozzle and water spilled from under the faucet, the water splashing inside the tub choed through the bathroom. He stripped shirt before pants, setting foot into the tub of water. Izaya sank into the heated water that relaxed him and made him feel a little fresh from the sweat that encoded his body but...
He Would Never Be Clean Again, for they have defiled and marked him as impure and dirty. No matter how hard he scrubbed, even if his pale white skin burned a red rash from scrubbing too hard, he could never be clean as he was. He sank further into the water, dampening his hair until the water's level stopped at the tip of his chin.
"That brute should have let things be..."