ReitaxRuki - Behind Closed Eyes [0/?]
Title: Behind Closed Eyes - Prologue
Author: ccgensou
Genre: Angst
Rating: R
Warning: Eating Disorders, Self-Injury, Gore, Language, Violence.
Band: The GazettE
Pairing: Reita/Ruki
Summary: We're all blind.
Comments: Eh. At first I wasn't going to post this. But Kate wanted me to. *sticks out tongue at her* So here goes. Let me apologise for some of the content this fanfiction will have, if someone happens to be against it. Okay. *pulls shoebox over head*
tenderly, handle a paper so thin,
that in the eye of the sun it will burn to dust,
that a balance act upon the blade of a knife would be enough to cut it.
a paper so thin,
that the tip of the brush,
you use to say you love him,
will go through the paper, again and again,
so that it has to be rewritten by your hand to the very end of eternity.
Prologue .
Why won’t you let me help you?
The lights are cold - dead, a pale winter sun shining through a thin veil of clouds, and the glazed tiles underneath your body are reflections of ice. In the background there is water dripping steadily from the tap; a ripple, a stream of life breaking through. The acid smell of vomit is taking over, numbing my senses, but I will not leave you, here, passed out and all alone. Why are you doing this to yourself? I admit myself… confused. And scared, for you, Ruki, for what you are doing to yourself and why. Trying to be as gentle as I can be, I carefully lift your head from the unfriendly, bathroom floor, biting my lip in concern as I manoeuvre you to use my lap as a pillow.
Vomit smears onto my clothes unmercifully, but I find that it matters not, because a soft whimper escapes your lips, taking my focus away from any unpleasant circumstances. Don’t you see? Your pain is my pain. Your suffering is my suffering. Why, Ruki, why? My hand is trembling as I let it touch your pale face, almost hesitant as I brush away strands of sticky, wet hair from your closed eyes. And I’m forced to look away, forced to clench my eyes tightly shut as I suck in a desperate breath of air, trying to stay strong for you, but it hurts. It hurts. It is only when my racing heart is no longer trying to break my ribs with its furious pounding that I can open my eyes again. Why won’t you talk to me. I reach out for the wet cloth I brought with me into the bathroom, and while my other hand is caressing your cheek with nervous touches, I bring the cloth to your face and start to dab lightly, cleaning the vomit away with slow, soft touches. It is almost as if part of me believes your skin is made out of fragile porcelain just waiting to break under my clumsy efforts. Why won’t you let me help?
I watch the rise and fall of your chest, taking reassurance in the steady breathing, yet my fingertips still search down from your cheek to brush over the delicate skin of your neck, finding the pulse, taking comfort in the rhythm. Yet, sitting there, on the cold floor, caressing you, wiping sweat and vomit from your face with the wet cloth, I want to scream. At the world, I want to scream at the top of my lungs for it to leave you alone, leave you be, leave you… to me. But I don’t. I sit there, quietly, taking care of you when you’re too out of it to be able to. And it is only when a crystal clear teardrop splashes onto your pale face that I realise that I’m crying. With a surge of anger I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, frowning at my own sentimentality. Look at what you do to yourself, Ruki. Look at what you do to me. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.
-
It’s four in the morning.
Most of the mess is cleaned up, and Ruki… I gently removed his stained clothes and carried him to his bedroom, lowering him down into the warmth of the sheets as carefully as a mother would to her baby, or a brother to his little brother. Or a lover to a lover. Tucking him in, I remember that one, burning wish that I could slip in under the covers with him, my protective heart roaring in my chest, telling me not to leave, not to let him be unprotected; I wanted to hold him as he sleeps. But it is not my place to be. Not now, not ever, and that’s why I’ve now located myself in his dimly lit kitchen, hands kept idly occupied with the dishes.
I listen to the muted sounds of the city, but it is eerily quiet, strangely calm. The nightclubs are closing for the morning, a faint pulse left in their wake. In the corner of my eye I can glimpse empty bottles of wine, and vodka, but I refuse to look at them, refuse to touch them. Refuse to acknowledge them. I’m supposed to help you, Ruki, but how can I help you like this? A plate slips from my grip and falls back into the dishwater with a splash, loud, too loud in the silence. My heartbeats reverberate through my whole being, every inch of my tired, worn-out frame. Memories haunt me, taunt me, and I feel helpless, hopeless in their grasp as I see before me how I feared the worst, how I called out his name, desperately, stumbling in the doorway to the bathroom. Falling, knees colliding hard against glazed tiles yet feeling nothing. And the frantic search of fingertips over skin, of finally finding that lifesaving beat of a heart.
I let the dishes be as I slide down onto the kitchen floor, my back against the kitchen cabinet, arms wrapping around my legs and resting my head against my knees. Fuck. I’ve been made a helpless bystander watching my best friend’s fight with life’s cruelties.
It is half past four when I rise from the floor, aching body screaming for the rest I have not allowed myself. My mind is a whirlpool of confusion and mixed emotions, and I chastise myself because there’s no room for me to be in pain when Ruki needs me. The city that slept mere minutes ago is opening a weary eye to the world. And the part of me, myself, that slept mere moments ago, has awakened. Though a part of me says to stay away, I still find myself drawn to him, drawn to his bedroom, the door sliding open under my careful touch as if it has been waiting for me come. When gentle light flood into the room, when I sight his sleeping form, I see that he hasn’t moved an inch. And I tell myself it is only right, I tell myself I’m supposed to close the door behind me, supposed to sit down on the edge of the bed. His hair is a mess over the pillow, his eyes closed with dark, short eyelashes resting against pale skin. His cheeks are tinted with a faint flush. I reach forward to brush my fingers over the skin of his neck to feel the pulse of a heart that is not mine to love. Alive. I should be leaving. But I can’t, can’t leave, not when it feels like his life is a candle burning in a room with too little oxygen.
I want to be the air you breathe.
My eyes close, feeling, listening to his pulse beating under my fingertips. Why is it so difficult to stay indifferent? There’s shame in my feelings, shame in my actions, shame in my heart and shame in the tears that flow like twin streams of emotion down my blushing cheeks. My heart is hooked to him, chained mercilessly to his presence. Turning a deaf ear to the screaming voice in my head that says to run, to leave, to get away so far away… I slip under the covers with him, instinctively wrapping my arms around him, instantly addicted. It’s too late. Too late to leave, because the thought of stepping away now that I have him, here, in my arms, is so much more frightening than my fear of him waking up in the morning to condemn me. I tell myself it’s okay, I tell myself that I am allowed to hold him like a lover, love him like a lover. But what would you tell me, Ruki, if you knew. How much would you hate me, avoid me, Ruki, if you knew. Your warmth is my only comfort as I cry myself into an exhausted sleep, side by side with you.
Pretending that I belong.
To be continued. ♡
PS - Did anyone from here go to the London live? I did.