Creative Master, Stage II
by Indira Neill
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Band/Pairing: Pierrot/Kirito, Jun, and Aiji in various combinations.
Comments: I now realize people have finals (silly highschool me doesn't
so um, yeah) But I actually want to wrap this one up and such. Thinking of
other ideas to follow. Also, the illness Jun has does exist, I have it, (but
I still have my voice, lucky me)
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Sometimes I wake up drowning.
Even now. It's been almost a year and I still wake up drowning. I can
still remember the blood. I never thought the human body could contain
so much blood. Everywhere in the apartment. Everywhere. And it belonged
to everyone. They tested every drop. Everyone's blood was found. Well,
except Takeo. They found my blood on the walls and carpet, Shinji's on the
sheets, Shinya's, Kohta's, god Kohta's.
Our harmless little masochistic game. We all got to play masochist and we
all got to play sadist. It was so fucking harmless. You never think about
how it hurts others who aren't actually playing. Kohta, he had nothing to
do with this. Nothing, and yet he died. Shinya killed him and then he
killed himself. I should call him fucking selfish but I can't. I was the selfish
one. I was the one who had to fall in love with two men. I realize now
how much I loved Shinji. Afterwards, when I realized how much I loved him,
I never got a chance to tell him face to face. After seeing Shinya's blood
stained apartment, I couldn't bear to tell anyone I loved.
It was a media circus afterwards. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, and to
make it worse everyone was harassing me, calling me. The worst, was
on Shinya's birthday, someone sent me a pig's heart. It was immature
and stupid and it hurt like hell. It's hard to imagine what it's like having
to tell complete strangers about your sexual habits, expeically when they
are far more then ordinary fare. But the investigation. God, that was the
most painful thing I have had to do in my entire life.
Six months, six months since I've seen Shinji. Funny, after going through all
the paperwork and questions and everything I can't call him Aiji anymore.
Aiji was just like Kirito. An interesting diversion to hide their true selves. During
Pierrot, I was less then myself while Shinya and Shinji were completely different
people. They created Kirito and Aiji.
I'm sick all the time now. I vomit nearly every day, so I can't sing at all anymore.
It hurts even to speek. Doctors say its stress. And there is nothing they can really
do to treat it. They keep taking me off foods. I don't drink soda or eat chocolate
or tomatoes or citrus or anything with a flavor really. Some days are better then
others. On those days nothing comes up when I gag. I just keep gagging. That's
why I don't go out anymore. People worry about me. Ask me if I'm ok, I don't
need their pity. I don't fucking need it. It's as if my whole body has betrayed me.
I don't know why anyone would be bulimic. It hurts so much. Some days I don't
eat because I don't want to gag. Sometimes I don't even have to eat for it to
start. I start choking on nothing and I can't stop. Choking on my own saliva.
Then there is little more that I can do then curl up in a ball and hope for it
to go away. For the convulsions in my stomach to stop. To be able to go through
a single day without waking up sick. But there's nothing they can do. I have
to cure this myself. There is nothing physically wrong with me they say.
But even so I'm vomiting up blood lately. God, I'm drowning in blood.
I should be thankful. Thankful I have the food to vomit up. Thankful that there
are doctors to tell me there is nothing they can do. I should be fucking thankful.
I should be thankful I get migranes and cannot see. I should be thankful I can
wake up each day to misery. I should be thankful I can remember that the
person I love is dead. I should be thankful for all the little things life has given
me.
Most days I sit around my dark apartment. Sometimes I watch tv or something.
I never listen to music. I still have my guitar. And those simple songs I wrote
but never showed to anyone. But I never look at them. I remember hearing,
after hide died Yoshiki stopped playing the drums. But he didn't give up on
music. I wish I could be that strong. I can't bear to even listen to the music of
others. Together, Pierrot, we could have done anything together. Shinya and
Shinji were so talented. Violently talented, more then I could ever hoped
to be. I looked at my songs once. About three months afterwards. They were
so childish, empty, superficial. Now I understand myself a little better. If I had
the will to write I could surpass my previous efforts instantly. Now that I don't
have the chance I finally understand music. I mean, I have the chance, but
I'm not ready to take on that much pain at once.
Takeo is really the only person I see now. Takeo was the only one not
invovled in this, but he's hurt. Perhaps more then I'll ever know he's hurt.
He comes by every once in awhile. To make sure I'm eating mostly. I tell him
it hurts to eat and its not worth it but he makes me. My sister comes too.
Not as often but she does come. She asks me if Takeo's been feeding me.
At least I know there are people who stil care about me. I know people
remeber me as more then Kirito's masochistic playtoy.
I wonder, why is masochism bad? What makes it 'bad'? People don't
talk about it. They don't use it as a conversation piece. I admit it's not
the best topic and all, but it still doesn't seem bad. I mean, why is it that
what they all wanted from me is to be Kirito's lover and they find out
its true and they back away, they scold me, they send me pigs' hearts?
Isn't this what the fangirls wanted from us? Its funny to think about. They
find out their fantasies are real and it scares them. Its fine in pen and ink.
But in flesh and blood it's digusting and flity. But when its just in their head's
its the greatest fucking thing in the world.
I still have the two little white scars. They healed every night but they'll
never go away now. Nor do I want them to go away. I know they're
still there because I asked Takeo. One day, I took off my shirt and
demanded Takeo look for my scars. I had to know if they were still there.
He told me they were and he looked like he was going to cry. I've never
seen Takeo cry before. He just stood there and held me. It felt nice, to
know he cared about me.
I'm not as fucking naive as I was back then. I'm still not quite sure of my
place in this world or if I even matter. But that's not the point. The point
is if I was gone I know Takeo would care, my sister would care, hell, my
parents would care. So does it really matter if I made an impact in this
world? Maybe not but people loved me so I impacted them. And as much
pain as I'm in I want to go on living. Shinya hurt me more then he ever thought
possible. And this wasn't a masochistic pain. It ripped my chest up as much
as Shinya did Kohta's. I know every fucking detail of the case. Fifty-eight
slash wounds on Kohta's chest, fifty-eight.
There really will be no concusion to this. Because even though we will all die
eventually there is no way to resolve this. We will carry the scars and blood
stains for the rest of our lives. And as much as we try to hide them, everyone
can see them. I see stains on my hands because I know I could have stopped
this. I know I could have saved someone. I hope I could have saved someone.
I'm not good for anything now. I'm just taking up space for the most part. Takeo
said I could move into his apartment. That would probally make things easier
for him. So he doesn't have to come all the way down here to see me. But then
agian the last thing I need right now is more media coverage. And the masochistic
playtoy moving in with the one member of the band still alive he hasn't slept with
might not come across very well. But then again, I'm getting worried about myself.
I've been getting more suicidal lately and I know that's not what I want. I know I
want to keep on living. Takeo could keep me form doing something stupid. Of
course, I don't smoke or drink anymore. The problems with me kind of rule those
out. They say its nerves but take away the few things I had to clam those nerves.
I've been laying in the bathtub for quite awhile now. Trying for the 50000th
time to wash the blood from my body. I sit there sometimes until my skin puckers
and I barely resemble a human but then again my mental state is far from
human. I feel like an animal sometimes. A confused scared animal. The water
is hot, nearly scalding even though I've been here for almost and hour. It's
still hot. It must have burned me when I first put it in. But I can't quite remember.
All I know is right now feel a little bit cleaner,
And I have no fear of drowning here.
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