Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Mirrors and Time ❯ His Own Private Hell ( Chapter 1 )

Shuichi Shindou reclined on the couch as he watched his cartoons. “Bang bang! Ow! You got me, you wabbit! What! gasp, Ketchup!” went the social conditioning box (My dear little euphemism for my BELOVED television). Shuichi was getting tired as it was getting to be midnight. He gave a big yawn. He wondered, when will Yuki come home?

Shuichi made a faint attempt to pull up his olive carpenter pants with the drawstring. His boxers still shown, however, but he gave up and went to scratch his naked torso. He gave another horrendous yawn as he stared at the clock with teary eyes. He wiped his eyes with his fists as the clock went TICK TOCK. TICK TOCK. TICK TOCK. The clock seemed so far away as he grew tired. He began to think insane thoughts as he drifted into the limbo between sleep and consciousness. Yuki is a giant pink elephant. If he's an elephant, that means he can make tacos, which I will use to create a home for my belly button. . .All this seemed so rational as he fell asleep. And if I have a home for my belly button, Yuki will be home tomorrow, won't he?

About 20 miles from the couch, Yuki was still at the bar, drinking. At this rate, I won't be able to drive home. . . He didn't really care, though. He chose to drown his troubles in liquor, as were the rest of the people in the smoky, dank vicinity. He plopped his head down and spread his fingers in his yellow hair. He stared at the clock. TICK TOCK TICK TOCK. Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form off my door. . .! he mused randomly to himself. Seemingly randomly, however. He grabbed the bowl of peanuts and munched on it (The bowl, that is. . . ()). Quoth the raven, “Nevermore!”

The next day, Shuichi woke up with his hair in his eyes. He swept his bangs to the side, giving him a femme look for the moment. He looked up at the clock. 9:46 AM. What a wonderful time to wake up. He found his shirt underneath the couch, and he slipped it on as he walked to the kitchen. On his way, he turned off the morning news, which was telling the world that there will be rain today. Shuichi made a bowl of Trix and wandered off in the house looking for signs of Yuki. When he was done finding out the one he cared about most never came home, he was disappointed, not to mention angry. Yuki never came home. He set down his half-eaten Trix and sat on the nearest chair in the family room. He put his head in his hands and began to think. Oh, God, what did I do to deserve this! But he wasn't going to cry. No, that Shuichi had to grow up, right? That Shuichi was still there, though. I am mature! He wanted to believe that not crying would make him mature in Yuki's eyes. Shuichi went to the foyer and he whipped on his shoes and jacket with an intensity and anger that would frighten dogs. As he stormed out the door, he accidentally let a tear slip.

Yuki woke up in the middle of a hotel room. His pants were on the lamp and his underwear was on his head. His shirt had vomit stains on it. Yuki felt the headache coming on. As disgusted at himself as he was, he knew he had to fix himself up at least a bit before he saw. . .him. Shuichi. . . He knew Shuichi would be disgusted at the sight of him as he was now. The more he thought about it, the angrier at himself he got. He pulled off his shirt and gathered his ruined clothes in the trash bin next to the bed. He then picked up some matches and a pack of cigarettes from his bedside table. He placed the metal bin outside on the balcony and struck a match. He kissed the fire before he threw it in, burning his lips. He watched it burn, and when it was done he looked up at the sky. A wind blew, whirling his hair about. He took his hand off his hip and lit a cigarette. What the hell am I doing burning clothes while being naked in public? Meh, whatever; it's not like I wasn't this low. As he was finishing his cigarette, he heard a door open. The balcony next to him, unfortunately, now had a middle-aged woman in curlers who made it very obvious that she felt she came out at the wrong time. He gave her a quick glare and went inside to take a shower. Shuichi was right. I'm a good for nothing. . . Just as he stepped in the shower, the rain began.

(Please note: I do not support public indecency, people; don't do that when you're in a hotel anywhere! ()!)

Shuichi walked into the rainy day and into the city park. This place always provided Shu-kun with a tremendous amount of Zen-factor and solace. But not today. Today it felt rushed and high on adrenaline. Since Shuichi didn't bother to get an umbrella, he was getting soaked. The water seeped into his shoes and made his feet extremely uncomfortable. Shuichi found a bench and took them off. He chucked his socks into the trash bin; they had holes in them anyways. As he sat there, he observed the rushed businessmen, the women running with the newspaper canopies, the amount of people who never really stopped to truly enjoy the beauty and symbolism of the rainfall. Shuichi spread his arms across the benches shoulders and squinted up at the sky. I wish Yuki were here to enjoy this weather. Shuichi's hair had flattened out all over his face and head. He slicked his hair back with a sweep of his hand. He didn't want to think of Yuki, no; Yuki had abandoned him. Shuichi gave a morning yawn, which let water down his throat, which made him get into a fit of coughing. The tears rolled down his cheeks as he slid into a hunched position. He clutched his stomach as he looked at the ground. His brain was yelling at him, contradicting everything he wanted to do. Perhaps some coffee would perk me up. (No; you know that only Yuki can.) He got up, put on his wet sneakers, and walked to the other side of the park with a sense of false serenity. Zen, my everlasting. (Yuki, my lover. . .) He got out the opposite side of the park that he came in. He had a quicker pace as he walked into the heavily trafficked road. Ten fifty, still this busy. (Yuki, oh God, where are you!) Oh, the people are all so late; what's this world coming to? He laughed empty-heartedly as he pushed open the door to his favorite café. But no one had noticed the tears; there was too much rain.

Yuki stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his lower section. He wiped a circle in the mirror and peered at his image. He moved in close and glared at the under-eye circles he had. The more Yuki looked at himself the more disgusted he was. He snatched the hair dryer and smashed the mirror into bits with it, letting them fall into the sink. He looked at what he had done, and he breathed heavily. His hand bled from the shards that got on it, but he didn't care. He dropped the bloody hairdryer on the floor with limp arms. He stared down at his hands. My hands! Oh, God, my hands are not clean! His mind was screaming at him but he chose to ignore it. He clutched his head and hair and he began yelling hysterically. He slammed up against the adjacent wall and slid down. He was silent, but breathing heavily. He looked at his hands again. His breathing began to get more regular, and he began to extract the glass bits from his hand. The injury isn't too bad; I'll still be able to use it. He thought. He got up and wrapped his hand in a washcloth. As he gave it a good knot, he looked at the shards. Now he could see more of him; more Yukis. He glared at them, only this time it was with a sense of regret and repression. He stormed out of the bathroom. He stopped suddenly just outside of the bathroom. My God, what am I doing? He looked at his hands again, how the washcloth on his right hand had gotten bloody. He looked at them with such a repressed, angry sadness.But the tears wouldn't come. He couldn't cry; just get more and more angry and frustrated and disgusted and. . . He glanced around the room with a sudden crooked eyebrow, wondering how he would get dressed. He finally realized something. . . .I have no choice. I need to face him eventually. He sat down on his hotel bed, and he looked at the clock. 11 o'clock and TICK TOCK TICK TOCK! Yuki lit a cigarette, sighed, and picked up the phone.

Shuichi gazed at the store windows as he sat in the far nook of the café. He sipped his French vanilla cappuccino. It was as if his eyes were glazed over. He felt emotionless; he had spent too much on Yuki as it was. He was cold, even though the room was temperate. Suddenly, his crotch seemed to be vibrating. A Linkin Park jingle came from his pocket. “I don't know what's worth fighting for, or why I have to scream. . .” Shuichi picked it up before the song tore at his heart too much. “Hello?”

Yuki was beat up just by the sound of his voice. He had been crying; it's so obvious. Yuki was on the verge of letting it all flow out himself.“Er. . .Shuichi? I'm at the Yorkton hotel. . .and. . .I need a favor.” Yuki had to force the words out of his mouth; he was too ashamed of himself to speak to Shuichi.

Shuichi already knew who it was the moment he heard breathing on the other line. Shuichi wanted to yell, he wanted to scream, but he couldn't. His brain made him smile. “Yuki! Hey! Where are you? . . .A favor? Sure! What is it?” He replied, far too happily. What am I doing! Shuichi was beyond anger, sadness, and pain. He was below that, into the state of hysteric happiness.

Oh, God, Shuichi, what are you doing! Yuki's heart was torn up by that cheery voice. He knew Shuichi was unhappy, of COURSE he was. But why, why is he being so nice to him! “I need to be picked up and. . .a new set of clothes. . .” Yuki put his head in his hand. He could barely choke out the words. He began sobbing. “Um. . .Shuichi? hic Shuichi, are you listening? hic . . .Shuichi. . .I need. . .hic, sniff Shuichi. . .I. . .” The other line was silent. He began crying hysterically. “Shuichi. . .I. . .need your help!” He could barely say it. Yuki dropped his cigarette on his wet towel, putting it out. He kept sobbing there, with his head in his hand, hiding his eyes. He collapsed on the bed into a sort of loose fetal position, and his tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

Shuichi gazed at the table blankly. “. . .Okay. . .I'll be there shortly. . .What's your room number?”

“Shuichi, you're not listening! Are you listening! Shuichi!”

“I'm listening.” Shuichi said he was listening, but he wasn't really listening. “What's your room number?”

“sniff 217. . .”

“Okay. I'll be there in an hour.”

Shuichi flipped the phone off and stuck it in his pocket. He took a deep breath and chugged the rest of his coffee. Oh, dear God. . .Yuki. . .what's happened to you? He sighed and got up.

Yuki laid there, sobbing, knowing that it would take Shuichi an hour or so to get there. He's at his favorite café again. No doubt that he got there walking through the park. He thought. Yuki looked up at the clock. 11:21 AM and TICK TOCK TICK TOCK. The seconds were synchronized with his heart. Dammit, what am I! What the #$ happened to me! Shuichi. . . There was a mirror across the room from the bed. Yuki glance at it in his half-fetal position and really looked at himself. He grabbed the remote control with every intention of shattering the mirror. But he ended up throwing it like he was tossing it to the mirror, not at it. The mirror only wobbled, and it did not break. No, it didn't even have a scratch on it. Yuki stopped caring about mirrors for the moment and buried his head in the pillows and wailed. TICK TOCK. Nevermore!

Shuichi was done walking through the rainy park. Now he was home again, but he knew it wasn't home. It was a house that he slept in, day in and day out, with someone he wanted so desperately to find his own self. Yuki's self. The one he lost when he. . .I refuse to think about it. Shuichi thought.He stopped and looked at the apartment building as if someone he loved died there long ago. Shuichi sighed and went inside. Today, the three flights of steps that he had to climb to get to the apartment seemed like Mt. Everest. When he got to the summit, he opened the door to his very own hell. It was crisp and clean, but with a tight-gripped air that frightened him nowadays. The white on the walls often lied, and sometimes Shuichi thought seriously about getting red paint and painting everything red while Yuki was gone. Red. Deep, blood red. Satanic red. Then the walls wouldn't lie anymore. Shuichi thought.He walked down the hall and into Yuki's master bedroom. The room was huge, but certainly not in a royal way. There were no mirrors in there, not even in the bathroom. Shuichi went to the drawers and picked out red briefs and brown socks. Task number one for Yuki, done. He then went to the oak closet and walked in. Even though Shuichi has been living here for a year, this closet still seemed gigantic to him. He picked out a brown sports coat, a pink under shirt, deep brown pants, and those weird pink and brown shoes that brought the pieces all together. Oh, those shoes brought flashbacks of the great Yuki he once knew. ”Hey, Yuki, don't you think these shoes would tie that pink workshirt and that brown sports coat together?” Shuichi remembered the conversation too well. He grabbed a purple duffel bag from the closet shelf and threw the items into it. He took one last look at the stale room, and he was off.

Yuki knew he didn't want Shuichi to see him like this, a half-naked alcoholic who had broken the bathroom mirror because even he, himself, was disgusted at seeing his image. The face of Yuki carried more weight than even Yuki knew of. Yuki himself was like a time-bomb nowadays. He wanted to change, but he was so drawn to the alcohol and all of the bullshit like a man to his office job. Second-nature, really. Yuki wanted to get out of that bed so much, but he couldn't find the strength to do it. He just had an emotional crash for the first time in years, and after all that time had passed he certainly did not know what to do about it now. He looked at the digital clock. Even though it hasn't been ticking, he still felt the seconds deep beneath his skin. TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK. A reminder of. . .

Shuichi gazed up at the quaint hotel. Not five-star, as Yuki would usually choose. But, it was still a fairly nice hotel. He walked in and to the reception desk. The lady there was like a parrot. “How may I help you?” She squawked. Shuichi became nervous. “I was invited here by a man in 217. My name is Shuichi Shindou.” He said. She had a sense of recognition. “Ah, you mean the blonde Japanese man in 217? He was quite bizarre yesterday when he came in; wobbling like a piece of oriented rubber.” Shuichi became furious at this statement and replied indignantly, “Listen, lady, just call up Yuki on that little phone you have there or I'll make sure your job goes in the hole for poking fun at my lover.” The parrot lady's feathers were ruffled and her eyes were wide, oh, did they grow wider! She knew, however, that she did not want to say anything back for fear of messing up her job position. But, she didn't care that Shuichi had said that Yuki was his “lover.”; this society was universally bisexual (Huzzah! Peace at last!). She picked up the phone and called room 217.

The phone rang beside Yuki. The clock said 12:28 PM. TICKTOCK, RINGRING! That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. . . By now, his crying had stopped, but he still felt like he was disgusting. Yuki picked up the phone. “Hello?” He spoke in a quiet tone. “Good afternoon, sir, how are you today?” Squawked the parrot lady. “Good, get to the point.” Replied Yuki in his usual tone. The parrot lady was quickly beginning to dislike this couple. “Well, there's a man named Shuwee-chee Shin-dow here, asking to gain entrance into your suite.” Yuki sighed at her poor Japanese pronunciation, but now was not the time to be chastising Americans about crappy accents. “Okay, thank you, send him up, baka.” Yuki said. The parrot lady was confused. She said in a neutral tone, “Excuse me, sir, what was that last direction?” Yuki was laughing on his brain, but gave a grin to his mouth. “`Please,' it was.” He said. The parrot lady squawked an “of course” and sent up a guest pass with a Shuichi attached to it.