Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Pistol-whipped ❯ The Obligations to the Heart ( Chapter 3 )

So Sigma was cheap.

 

Alexander surveyed his `apartment' with distaste. The walls were cracked, the lights barely worked, the TV was fucked, the kitchen smelled weird. He could hear swearing and breaking bottles through his bedroom window, drunken fistfights, he surmised. His bed emitted a curious sound when he sat on it, and the water that came from the shower ran brown for a few seconds. Interesting.

 

As long as it has a phone.

 

He dusted the out dated thing and got it ringing after the painstaking task of dialing area codes and access numbers. He sat on a wooden stool by the receiver. His fist was clenching anxiously in his lap, and the noises outside seemed to fade away. There was only that faint ray of moonlight that skimmed across the torn up couch in his `living room' and highlighted his figure hunched over on the creaky stool. His eye began to twitch, a nervous reaction he had had for as long as he could remember. It was his right eye, the weaker one, which would always crack under pressure.

 

And still the phone rang.

 

He began to tap his heel on the wooden floor, but stopped abruptly when the floor boards creaked and groaned a bit beneath him. Sweat broke out onto his brow, a droplet ran from his temple, caressed the curve of his cheek, and lined its way along his jaw. His heart had sped up a little; his breathing had become hard to control, the air in the musty apartment was heavy in his lungs. His fucking eye wouldn't stop twitching. And then the ringing cut off. Replaced by a few noises on the other end, followed by a shuffling sound, then breathing. Then;

 

“Hello?” At the sound of her voice, his eye went into overdrive and he fought the stuttering sensation that had seized his mouth.

 

“Jennifer-” Cut off with a hack saw.

 

“You.” Acid ran through the phone lines and seeped into his ear. It burned.

 

“Jen, baby,” automatic pleading mode went into effect.

 

“Shut up.” He winced. It was worse than he expected.

 

“Listen-”

 

“I don't want to hear it.” Simple as that.

 

“Just listen!”

 

“You listen!” He braced himself, his eyes screwed shut and the fist in his lap tightened. “How could you!? I know we talked about it- but you just left!”

 

“I had to leave,” he remained as calm as he could, he had no right to get angry at her “It's my job, baby.”

 

“Don't call me that,” ...okay, so `baby' didn't have its usual charming effects tonight “I told you I didn't want you to go.”

 

“Jen, I didn't have a choice.”

 

“You didn't even try!”

 

His face contorted on the other side of the line, on the other side of the world, “Are you shitting me?! Do you know how much trouble I went through-?!”

 

“Obviously not enough,” some of his anger slipped away at the broken quality of her voice, “Alexander...” He voice had softened. A good sign.

 

He tried to mimic her tone, hoped it would calm her down, “Jenny,” then he heard the telltale intake of breath, and braced himself again.

 

“What were you thinking!? What if something bad happens...what if I never see you again..!?”

 

“I'm sorry-”

 

“You didn't even say goodbye” her voice broke, the floodgates opened, she wasn't sobbing, just crying softly, letting the tears fall in a trickle rather than a torrent. Somehow, this was worse.

 

Shit. Fix this, Alex.

 

He had gone to her as soon as he had gotten this assignment. The official call from Japan that had sealed his fate. He told her about it, his girlfriend of four years, had almost broken out the tears himself when she started crying. They discussed it, but she made it clear that she didn't want him to go. He didn't even know how long he would be gone. Two months? Twelve? But it didn't matter. He didn't have a choice. It was something he needed to do, his obligation toward his country coming before his obligations toward his heart. He left that night, after some furious sex, while she was asleep. He hadn't said goodbye, had given her the impression that he was in fact staying, that he had chosen her over...well, America. Big mistake, but he knew how to make it right.

 

He said “I love you,” and then there was silence.

 

Score.

 

It always worked a charm. But he definitely didn't say it often. It was his secret weapon, his most powerful form of ammunition. To talk about `feelings', to talk about `love'. When he said `I love you', he didn't just say it; he poured it from his soul, made it a confession worth his life. And in response, her eyes would soften, her cheeks would flush, and her lips would part before she said it in return. And it was happening right now on the other line; he could almost see it. She would tell him `I love you', he would apologize again, and, in true sex goddess fashion, she would initiate some steamy phone sex. All the more reason to love her. She was beyond sexy, dark brown hair and striking pale green eyes, paired with a body sent gift-wrapped from angels. And on top of that, she was loving, caring, and forgiving. Wishful thinking.

 

“I hate you.”

 

The connection cut off. Then there was silence.

 

The stress of his situation came back full-force, everything unraveled in his mind like police tape, and he was in that pink room again, the smells, the cries from the parents all too real. He furrowed his brows and leaned his face into his palm, hunching over more on the stool. He tried to fight off the incoming migraine, felt the telltale ache behind his eye, but it came anyway. The periodic beeping tone coming from the phone spurred it on. It spread, made his head throb painfully, made him nauseous and made the dingy room spin around him. He held the phone tightly to his ear still, begging for the girl he needed the most, his pain-killer, his scented candle, she was the perfect cure. He spoke into the speaker, more to himself than to anyone that could have heard him.

 

“Jen...”

 

His head throbbed more and he felt like ripping his eye out. Moisture dampened his dark eyelashes. His hand slid to his hair, grasped a good chunk in a tight fist and pulled hard, anything to alleviate the pain. He curled up even more; it stopped the sickness in his stomach, but made the ache in his brain even worse. He fought the urge to succumb to self-pity and cry. He had to steel his jaw, eliminate his emotions, like a good soldier, like a proper adult.

 

“I love you so much” his voice broke despite his best efforts and his hand pulled harder at the ash coloured hair.

 

He was stuck in Japan, in a shit box apartment, looking for some fucked up rapist. There was no way out, no escape from the things he had to see, the things a teenager should never see. He was alone, without any friend or source of comfort, and he didn't have his Jennifer. He snapped like a twig, splinters flinging in every direction, as if God was a child in a playground, twisting and tearing at the broken bit of wood. He had hands planted firmly above his head, keeping the weight of the world form crushing him. They jarred, broke, and the world came roaring down. Sniffles graduated to sobs that echoed in the empty place.

 

He cried.

 

 

*

 

 

Harsh sobs, heavy breathing. Black and white images of blurred bodies flashed, then the distant echo of a scream. He was trapped, trapped in this demented world and he couldn't get out. Hands, icy, rotten hands surged from the ground at his feet and seized his ankles. He tried to yell, to call for help, but no sound would come from his constricted throat. He was trapped. The hands pulled him down, urging him to become apart of their world, and he surrendered, with no-one there to save him. He sunk deeper and deeper into the grey earth, and a splash of colour appeared on the black and white palette before his eyes.

 

Red.

 

Ryunosuke snapped awake in bed, lying in sheets dampened by his own sweat. He stayed there for a moment, perfectly still, as the last of his dream faded from his memory. His heart began to beat at its usual speed, his breathing calmed down. He was at peace, staring at the ceiling of his simple room.

 

Icy hands clawed at his arms from either side of the bed.

 

He shot up, all notions of getting back to sleep out the open balcony window to his right. He noticed the blue hue of morning settling in and turned to check the time on the digital clock by his bed. Time for school. He sat hunched over in a tangle of sheets for a while, keeping his mind blank. Don't think. The dream hadn't disturbed him as much as you'd imagine.

 

He'd had it every night for the past six years.

 

He went to move and was cut short by a cord around his neck. The black cable from his earphones was tangled around him, the headpiece somewhere under the mass of sheets. He had fallen asleep and forgot to take it off. The usual.

 

He heard his neighbor's waking noises through her open window as well; he could hear her clearly mostly because of the close proximity of their rooms, and his acute sense of hearing. He always heard her yawn, sigh, even moan a little. He heard the shuffle of her sheets every morning, the soft sound of her feet meeting polished wooden floor. He would hear her clothes shuffle as she stretched, heard them fall to the floor in a heap as she undressed. The sounds of her morning routine calmed him, got him ready for the day and in the mood to get ready for school himself. But he didn't consider his good hearing a gift at all. Because? Because.

 

He heard her cry herself to sleep every night.

 

It wouldn't bother him so much if he didn't hear muffled versions of his name in the whole process. But he did. She would sob, sometimes, say his name in a cry so pained the heavens themselves winced with sympathy. He knew she loved him; not just a schoolgirl crush, a full-blown, I-would-die-for-you love. She would spend the rest of her life loving him, and he could show nothing of the sort toward her in return. She could never understand; he was no good for her.

 

Maybe that was why he was seized by icy claws every morning, and dreamt of dead bodies at night.

 

Arai Naomi had had boyfriends over the years, but none of them were serious. He knew it, too; he would watch the relationship progress from afar, knowing it was doomed to a young end. He would be there for her, with a comforting hand on her shoulder, tell her that no man was worth her tears. And it was true. No man was worth her precious tears.

 

And the man that was would never make her cry.

 

Ryunosuke was not worthy of Naomi. Simple as that. She was the ultimate purity, had an endless kindness and would always, always, put others before herself. She was the best friend anyone could hope to have, and continued to love him through his never-ending flaws. She was the ultimate purity, and had a body of ultimate sin. He sat in his bed, mouth watering now at the thought of her form, his mood going from appreciative of her beautiful spirit to starving for her luscious body. The sheets on his lap rose with the stiffening of his cock, the hard length making a prominent lump.

 

He would often end up like this in the morning, too.

 

He would often imagine himself jumping the short distance to her balcony and spearing her form to her ridiculously comfortable bed. She was always surprised, her gorgeous green eyes going wide. Her long black hair spilled around her head and her hands would creep up to play with his unruly locks. Her heavy, generous breasts would heave under his chest and her thick nipples would harden with arousal. He shuddered, his hand creeping under the layer of sheets to grasp his dick in a tight reign. The morning fogginess cleared from his mind in an instant and pre-cum oozed thickly from his tip. He swallowed hard and hung his head; eyes clenched shut in worship, the scene unfolding before him as if it were for real. He had a good imagination.

 

She would gasp, her pretty little mouth open, her pretty pink lips parted. She'd say his name. She'd wrap her arms around him, grateful beyond all comprehension that her dreams were coming true. She'd accept him without delay, without question. She'd surrender completely, let him have his way.

 

And that was what made it so fucking painful.

 

He was free at any time to jump into her room and have his fill. He would ravage her, do things he'd never dare do with any of the other girls he'd been with, and she would love it. Her voice, so innocent and naïve would transform into desperate moans, groans, whimpers. He could fuck her sideways, backwards, right in front of her fucking parents if he wanted to. And she would love it.

 

His hand fisted the base of his manhood, the small patch of pubic hair tickling his skin. He began pumping as his imaginary self began sucking a rosy nipple, palming her free breast, just able to fit the full globe in his hand. They weren't the biggest breasts he'd ever seen, might even be considered only a little larger than the average size. But fuck him dead if they weren't the most succulent sight on the fucking planet. Round, full, and from past accidental experiences, so god damn soft. His fist worked harder, squeezed harder, until his hand was almost committing assault on himself. He was at the peak of self-gratification, his hands imagining the feel of her tight ass heavy in his grasp.

 

His stomach coiled and he threw his head back, his mouth open and eyes closed as he let out a silent scream to the heavens, thanking them and begging them for the Venus they had created. His brows furrowed and he whimpered, balls tightening as they pumped him through with seed. Lights exploded behind his closed eyelids, Naomi's broken version of his name wailing from her lips in his pleasure driven mind.

 

“Ryu?”

 

He snapped forward, pulling his hand from his sticky cock like it burned him. Naomi's voice came from her balcony; she was leaning against the railing, looking into his room. She could see his feet under the sheets, but her vision was cut off by the wall, thank god. He swallowed the saliva that was dripping from his mouth, looked around for something to wipe the ejaculation from his hand with. He panicked, called back to her before he was ready.

 

“Y-Yeah?” It came out broken and pitiful-sounding.

 

“Are you ok?” He heard her concern, and tried to shift further back on his bed to cut off her view of him more, “What are you doing?”

 

What are you doing?

 

What are you doing!?

 

“Uhh...” this was stupid. Nagara Ryunosuke was always calm, cool and collected. He had never been speechless before in his life! What are you doing?

 

Blowing my load into your hot mouth, holding your head still so you take all of it down your fucking throat.

 

“Whatever; get ready for school, lazy bum” Naomi walked back into her room, rolling her eyes at her flustered friend. Little did she know, ne? “I'm going to leave without you if you don't hurry up.”

 

He did care about the girl, considered her his best friend, and so he wanted to protect her. She wasn't going to leave. She would wait hours if that's what it took him. She would miss all of her lessons; fall back on important study, all for him. She would run away from home, never see her parents again; it didn't matter, as long as it was for him. He put so much effort into showing her he just wasn't worth it.

 

Naomi loved him, so deeply, with all her heart.

 

And all he wanted to do was fuck her brains out.

 

 

*

 

 

“Nagara-senpai,”

 

He turned slowly from the group of boys he had been talking to, with a raised eyebrow and his earphones slung around his slender neck. He acknowledged the young girl, one of his juniors on the student council, Yuuka, was it? She blushed when their eyes met and she averted her gaze nervously. She was actually talking to Nagara-kun! She had taken her glasses off and shortened her skirt some more just for this, regardless of the so-called rapist they had been warned about yesterday.

 

His friends were quiet, silently checking out their junior classmate and shooting daggers at their popular president “Nanda? Do you need help with something?” The girl blushed again. It wasn't cute anymore, just annoying.

 

“Th-there is a transfer student here,” she referred to the clipboard she had held tightly to her chest and handed it to her senior, “you need to show him around, he's going to be in your class.”

 

He flipped through the forms, various private policies and photographing permission papers. He flicked his eyes up at the girl who was still standing there, twiddling her thumbs. “Was there anything else?”

 

She seemed to have snapped from a daydream and noticed all of the older boys staring at her, turning into a tomato on the spot. “N-no!” She gave a flustered bow, staying bent over for a while, longer than usual, and Ryunosuke wondered idly if she was retarded. She rose and gave a curt nod, “Senpai”, and left, ignoring the many pairs of eyes that followed her. She didn't care if they weren't Nagara-kun's.

Once she was out of earshot, Kaji, a short boy with short hair, whistled low, “Not bad, ne? Nice and young,” Ryunosuke turned back to the group of boys and proceeded to tune out their chatter while he read the new student's files, “I'd be the rapist for her.”

 

“Yeah, she's pretty hot,” replied another one, “damn, Nagara, you're surrounded by beautiful girls all the time,” he continued, despite the obvious ignorance Ryunosuke was throwing at him, “I hear you nailed Mai!” The rest of the company broke out into congratulations and whooping sounds, trying to stir the adolescent who was seemingly deep in concentration.

 

The starting bell sounded, loud in the hallway they were grouped up in, indicating the rush of students that was about to come. The boys sighed and began to walk to class, not too far from where they were. Ryunosuke walked with them while he read, still not paying attention to their ramblings of his conquests. He set his earphones on his head to muffle some of their noise. However, something Kaji said pierced its way into his ear.

 

“Fucking God, she's the ripest fruit of all,” the boys groaned in unison, trying to put words to the unfathomable beauty of the girl they worshipped, “I want to pop that sweet cherry, and suck on it `till the end of time.”

 

Another groan, “If she was mine...” the boy looked up, as if to the heavens, “damn.”

 

“Stop being such a pussy, she ain't gonna fall for your sappy crap,” Kaji interjected again, “I'll bet she'd get so wet...nice and creamy...scream so loud...”

 

“Who?”

 

Ryunosuke had stopped walking, the others noticed, and stopped them dead in their tracks with a dark stare.

 

They were speechless, waiting for one another to take the fall. Most students now had made their way into the class, but the small pack of boys stood by the door, nailed to the spot. They fidgeted and stuttered, had genuinely thought his music had been on and that he couldn't have heard them. They fumbled for an excuse and he repeated the question, with a calm, calculated voice;

 

“Who?”

 

“Boys! In class, now, please.” The teacher hung his body out the door and the other boys retreated into the safety of the classroom, thankful for the interruption. Mr. Akagi addressed Ryunosuke, who was still standing at the door, “Nagara-kun, have you found the new student-?”

 

“Yo.”

 

A voice followed by footsteps sounded from further down the hallway and the teacher was cut short by the call. He turned around, still cutting off his student's view of its source. “Ah, welcome!” He turned back to the student body president, “You're excused from class to show him around, Nagara-kun.” Ryunosuke gave him a bow, still listening to the footsteps that drew nearer.

 

The teacher popped back into class, and the two boys locked eyes over the distance of the hallway. The reflections of both dark figures on the opposite ends stretched out across the polished surface of the floor, mutated and looming. Their eyes remained locked in a silent challenge, midnight clashing with midnight. The dark-haired boys stared each other down as the transfer student neared.

 

Ryunosuke prepared himself to bow at the newcomer when he approached, but was cut off by and outstretched hand. He took it, understanding the western custom of shaking hands. Their grip was firm.

 

“Nagara Ryunosuke.”

 

“Alexander Craft.”

 

 

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To be continued...