Words I Hate [prologue]

[deadgiveaway]

Title: Words I Hate
Rating: NC-17
Content/Warnings: Drugs, death, fluff, maybe lots of Reita POV.
Summary: The past is just a story... right?
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys and none of this is real or profitable.
Notes: I started this fic back when the GazettE had just hit about seven years, so there will be references to what was known back then, like PSC staff whose names we knew at the time. As the prologue itself has a major character death, it deals with a lot of heavy topics, but I try to maintain a little comedy and lighter elements. I've gone back and edited, and now have a figurative giant pile of a story and am curious to see if any DWers would appreciate the work. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Have you ever simply lie in the bathtub, free of mind, daydreaming about nothing, the stress of the world melted away? Watching, listening, and feeling nothing but the bubbles exposed to the air, popping slowly against your knees above water. Your heartbeat, so strong you can feel it in your brain, your breathing slow and relaxed. The dead silence around you like a blanket of silk, no hum of industrial equipment or the city streets full of strangers and cars, clogging your senses. A thousand of those peaceful nights might be the price.

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For the first time in a while, the clutter in Reita's flat had reduced to a noticeable degree. He'd spent the last eight years with his old friend Aoi, his ex, when things changed for the worst possible. Drug problems, a trauma exposed yet disregarded, and a lot of rotten thoughts better left unspoken. But the damage had been done anyway; Aoi was dead. Even though it'd been several months, and Reita had tried to keep everyone away, his sanity was dying off, and the two people who still talked to him wouldn't let him be. They were annoyingly, but fortunately persistent - to the point that Reita started cleaning up. The needles had left their marks on his soul, taking away bits and pieces of what once was his pure existence. Reita had spent more time in his own world than the real one, distracting himself from his responsibilities, and his own needs. Aoi had watched and done nothing, just kept pushing him to try things, never realized he was killing Reita. Two years since the death of GazettE, and they might as well have been in the gutters. Reita's skin was as thin and pale as any addict's, his bones so close to the world outside his flesh, he could feel the smallest of them as if they were unnaturally placed when he moved.

 

Reita dug through the trash lying around his living room. It was ashes, pudding cups, cellophane junk food packaging, and remnants of clothing torn to rags. Crumpled leather bags took up space, dropped off by the two who still chased him further into the rabbit hole. They were filled with the most innocent looking items he had, as if there were secrets he had kept all this time. He still imagined even the fans knew an unpleasant amount of details. When Aoi was still alive, they'd go out together and there'd be a stranger or two who'd seem to almost recognize him. He'd get awkward stares if he went out alone, and he was somewhat afraid to wear the strap, even when he was sitting on the couch as Aoi was out doing what he did. Reita had made a friend or two along the way to his wonderland, to his peace. But every time he managed to quit a route, he tended to piss off a few people. Junkies never lasted, so he stayed with Aoi, because he was of a rare breed. 

 

The blond's heart jumped when he saw a photo of Aoi he hadn't burned. It was sitting under the coffee table, still in a frame, a spider web crack in the glass obscuring most of the photo. He grabbed it and leaned against the bag by the entertainment center, forgetting about the time he had left...

 

The rain beat against the windows, cold seeping in through the holes in the old house; any insulation was severely lackluster. Reita called for Aoi for the umpteenth time since he'd gotten home and and his stomach tried to eat itself, as his brain tried to swirl in his skull. From what memory remained, he'd had a fifth of Vodka, blotter, and a fat blunt to relax the anxiety induced tension in his mind. The silence was quickly starting to drive him insane, and what little sound he could hear came from his own breathing and the TV in the master bedroom. He abandoned the groceries on the counter and headed in that direction. There on the bed lay Aoi with his eyes closed, leaning against the headboard with some bland documentary blaring from the set. A plastic bowl of oranges sat next to him, spotted with blood. Without thinking, Reita moved over to sit next to Aoi, checked his pulse - it was faded, but still there - and leaned against him. The bowl fell off when Reita caused the bed to dip, and he paid no mind. Instead of worrying about the matters at hand, Reita's mind wandered off into the TV. 

 

After a moment, Aoi mumbled something, and Reita's trance died. It was then that he realized he'd had far too much in a night. His stomach began gnawing at itself again. He wasn't hungry, just sick; but his insides were churning faster than he could think of a fix. They'd run out of everything by now - for what other reason would Aoi ignore him? At the sight of blood, adrenaline shot through him like fire, but only for mere seconds before he was numb to it. He looked over Aoi's still form, checked his pulse again, and it was just as before. Reita softly kissed him before he went to turn off the TV, and on his way back to the bed, he noticed the knife in Aoi's right hand. By now, Reita felt odd about the scene before him, but couldn't quite pinpoint it. In his thoroughly cross faded haze, everything was normal, but there was a sense of urgency in the back of his mind, screaming for his attention, trying to order him into doing something, but it was lost before it affected his conscious thoughts. He moved to the nightstand, his left hand hovered above the phone, and he then forgot what he was doing.

After a few minutes, Reita was shifting around under the covers, having pulled Aoi under with him. 

 

The next morning had been an awful blur of blood, scoldings and countless failed escape attempts. Kai had beaten him, and it wasn't his intention, but Reita knew the brunet had bottled things up during the band's existence. He knew the whole situation was bad and no one could take all of the blame. Uruha did nothing to stop the drummer's rage, distracting himself with a bottle of his own, which fueled Ruki's agonized screaming. Reita wanted more than anything to take back the last two years, to take back his entire life. This situation was the reason he stayed in the flat alone, and the reason he hated the two of them for eventually turning around, asking forgiveness. Reita felt guilty for breathing, had always felt that way, but when GazettE had been alive, it was a distraction, and the only thing aside from drugs that had ever worked. 

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A/N: So, going back and reading this is already giving me things to work on... jumping right into the ugly parts of the plot. I was a little anxious to post this so while I have done editing, believe me, I've noticed some things. But, I promise there's no more awful death scenes, and Aoi is not going to be fully absent. There's dream sequences especially that paint things in a different light. I'll probably update once a week, depending on how far ahead I get and what you guys think. If you don't hate me already. D; I promise I don't intend to make the boys all selfish buttholes. <3