Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Kiss And Control ❯ Addict For Dramatics ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

: Don't Own. Don't Sue. ^3^v

I'm new to this.

[An Addict for Dramatics]

Yohji woke up to the sound of rain. Got to work late to the sound of rain. Was fired listening to the sound of rain hit against the glass window that read 'Atlantic Café' He was really falling into routine working there full-time, but his employer had decided that his punctuality, or lack there of, had come to the last straw.

Yohji gripped onto his umbrella tighter. He was really starting to hate rain. He didn't recall the weather man stating it would rain this heavily. It blanketed all of New York it seemed. But the artistic side of him knew that it was a nice day to stand under some sort of protection from the rain and photograph the beauty that the city could be. But at the moment he only had exactly under fifty dollars in his pocket and nothing at all in his bank account. Which made him a hundred percent bitter. Matters just worsened as his umbrella started falling apart.

"please not now. Last thing I need is to get sick." Yohji mumbled and tried fixing his umbrella and he tried not getting wet. But failed miserably. With a grunt he threw the umbrella and put up the hood to his flimsy jacket he continued walking, wrapping his long arms around his shoulders as a cold gust of wind blew. The rain soaked his clothes, and it made it harder for him to walk, his sight was blurred by the globs of water that fell from his hair, the weight of the strands falling over his eyes. With a sigh of relief Yohji finally arrived to the building in which he rented an apartment. He couldn't even walk up the steps he waddled up the steps instead. There were plenty of squirting and squelching sounds. The sounds made him grimace and he knew he was going to have a hard time drying the clothes, and a even harder time taking it off. He bit his lip as he stared down at his black jeans that were once baggy and were now sticking to his legs. Once he reached his floor he continued waddling to his apartment door. Yohji found it odd that it was harder to walk when he was inside then he was outside where the cause of his waddling was found.

When Yohji finally made it to his door there was a pink slip that could never be mistaken. Yohji closed his eyes tightly and sighed loudly as he ripped the paper off the door. Evicted.

Yohji was broke, fired ,and now he was homeless. With a sigh he searched for his keys. Well at least he had a day in the apartment until he was officially evicted. His clothes made wet sounds as he stumbled with his keys. He unlocked the door and walked into the seedy apartment. It was small, empty and cold. The only possession Yohji was proud of (read: has) were a portfolio of sketches and photographs, a small gym bag with clothes, toiletries and a camera. There was nothing more nothing less. The apartment was never in his possession. He'd never wish it to be.

In the kitchen the cupboards stored instant noodles. The stove a small pot in which he'd boil water. The refrigerator contained nothing but a half-gallon of milk. He slept on a futon on the floor that was his 'living room'. The shower room was three doors down from his apartment. It was the kind of apartments, In which showers should be shared. Key words: should be

Yohji stripped off his shirt and placed it on a broken, and beaten radiator. Soon followed his socks once his shoes were off, and finally his jeans. Leaving him in soaked boxers. He searched from dry boxers in the gym bag. With a small triumphal grin he took them out of the bag, stepped out of the wet ones, and slipped into dry black colored boxers. He ran thin, nimble fingers through oaken hair. The tangles in his hair making him frown. He used his hands to untangle his hair. When he was satisfied he sat, and laid back against his futon. He wrapped himself with his thin blanket. Sleep didn't come to him as quickly as he wished, but then again it never did. He laid awake and watched the cracked ceiling. Counting how many chinks there were. But the ceiling cracks weren't so important anymore as the reality of what had happened today crashed open him. Helplessness clawed at his throat and behind his eyes. He swallowed dryly. As he closed his eyes hot, angry tears spilt and his breathing become shallow. Trying to hold back sobs. Men didn't cry, but still useless tears continued on. Leaving a scalding trail from the corner of his eyes to the tender flesh of his earlobes. what am I going to do?, he thought and opened his eyes. He noticed how his body seem to tremble out of their own accordance. He clenched his fingers around the end of his blanket. After a inner battle with himself, about what he was going to do he inhaled deeply and the tears stopped along with trembling.

Tomorrow, he'd wake up early. Leave the apartment go out to look for a job, and a place to stay. Go to the bank and check if he really had nothing to his account. With a nod he closed his eyes again. But they snapped open to the sound of a ambulance siren blazing by. The lights illuminated the apartment walls. Red and blue, a sickening and fascinating pattern. Then Yohji's imagination ran wild, not wanting to be forced back into his reality he thought about where that ambulance could be heading. He concocted a fictional idea:

The ambulance was heading towards a home, a warm cozy home. Where a family of four lived. A forty year old mother, forty-two year old father. A teenager and his younger brother. The mother was found in the bathroom, in the tub. With water filled to the rim. The water was tinged red from the blood oozing out of her wrists. Her eyes were open and they still contained a wild look to them that faded by the second. The six year old brother found her, and thought she was sleeping, but his mommy doesn't sleep with her eyes opened. He wasn't sure what to do so he ran to his parents bedroom to find his father gone. The father was with his secret lover, his mistress. But the boy didn't know that. The boy ran to his older brother. Shook him awake and stuttered out what he had seen. The brother walked into the bathroom and screamed when he stared at his mothers lolling head and the scarlet colored water. He ran and called. That's what the medics would find.

With a small smile, a ironic smile he closed his eyes. His imagination taking its toll on his overworked mind, but that wasn't his imagination, it was his past. Yohji always tended to do that, try to come up with some illusory plot when he wanted to escape reality to only end up with the truth of his sardonic childhood. The reality that was his past. If it wasn't one, it was the other. It always happened. Yohji waited a few seconds and the darkness that was sleep finally called to him. He welcomed it with wide arms and a aching heart.