A Togainu no Chi Fanfiction
Rating : T ( for violence, language and innuendos )
Pairing : ShikiXAkira
Genre : Romance
Characters : Akira, Shiki
Preview : To most people, death is the most horrifying thing. But to a certain youth, death may be the only escape from his current situation. If death was to free him from that man’s grasp, then so be it.
Preview : In that swift moment, when all the hatred, anger, humiliation, fear and despair erupted in Akira’s exhausted mind, the youth had decided. He had had enough of Shiki’s persecution, he had had enough of being a toy in Shiki’s hand, being used over and over to Shiki’s amusement. He had had enough of being Shiki’s collared dog.
Shiki had left again. After having drained off Akira’s last drop of energy, the man nonchalantly put on his coat, his gloves, took his katana and walked out of the door, into the chaotic streets of Toshima. Bathed in the thick scent of blood, he only returned when the sun painted the monochromatic buildings a shade of crimson. Everyday, the mundane routine repeated itself.
Akira lied limply on top of the broken bedspring, in the middle of a mess made by the bed sheet and his carelessly discarded clothes. Naked, dirtied by the aftermath of their previous intercourse, yet Akira did not bother to pick up his clothes and put them on. What was the meaning of covering up when sooner or later, he would be stripped naked.
Akira glanced at the handcuff that attached his left wrist to the bed post. It had been there long enough for the metal ring to eat at his pale skin, forming a crimson bruise. One of Shiki’s weird fetish, huh ? To see him in pain ? Or was it Shiki’s way to keep his dog from escaping his leash ? His dog. The thought of being treated like an animal immediately heated up the anger that coiled in Akira’s stomach, his teeth ground and his nails bit into the tender flesh of his palms. Thick droplets stained the unclean sheet. The more he contemplated that matter, the more he found himself resembling a weak, pathetic stray dog. Everything that man had done to him was against his will. He was dragged here and confined in this stifling room; he was stripped and violated by that man; he was forced to bend over night after night, having himself at the mercy of his ‘owner’. Yes, the man had imperturbably claimed his ownership on him upon a metal pierce on his naval. Just like that, his pride, his ego was continuously smashed to tiny, unrecognizable pieces.
The physical abuse, no matter how harsh it was, could not compare to the mental suffering. After all, Shiki never meant to kill him; if he wished so, Akira would have long been a rotting corpse; all he wanted was Akira’s submittal. Everytime Shiki used his strength to make Akira bend over for him, the youth kept telling himself that he was disgusted by what Shiki was doing to him, that he hated Shiki to his core. Repeating it like a mantra and he had the courage to oppose Shiki. His resistance was weak and undoubtedly, it would soon be crushed by Shiki’s overwhelming dominion. Yet, it proved to Akira the vivid existence of himself, of a person named Akira, not an animal caged and tamed by Shiki’s hand.
What was even more frightening than Shiki’s abuse was the newfound truth Akira had just discovered. Against his will, Akira’s body had begun to subliminally obey Shiki’s orders. At first, it was just uncontrollable moans he desperately tried to suppress whenever Shiki had his way with him. But now, when Shiki told him to take off his clothes, though hesitated, Akira stripped himself naked. When Shiki told him to raise his waist, he did as he was told. He wanted to fight back, to give Shiki a hard time yet it was as if there was a silent voice inside kept whispering into his ears, slowly, slowly coaxing him into a belief that the more he could please his master, the less suffering he had to endure later. When had he begun to stoop so low ? When had the uncaring, apathetic Lost been destroyed, only to be replaced with a pusillanimous slave ? The truth, which brought a satisfied smirk upon Shiki’s lips, was a thousand times worse than any tortures. What would become of Akira in the end ?
Wearily, Akira looked up at the sky. Through the dusty glass, the sky appeared even more ominous than it already was. Although the sun was known to be up in the sky, its feeble rays failed to pierce through the thick bank of cloud, resulting in the whole town dyed in grayish hue. No matter how they tried to look further beyond the dark, cloudy canopy, light never reached their eyes; no matter how they struggled, what awaited them at the end was eternal darkness. Despair, that was the only thing this crumbling town known as Toshima could offer its inhabitants.
Whenever Akira looked at the sky out of the small, rusty window frame in pure boredom, it was always the same; only a dull, hopeless grey his eyesight could capture. Grey seemed to engulf everything that surrounded him: the sky, the wrinkled sheet, the broken bedspring, the moldy wall. Even when he contemplated his own future, he could only perceive a lifeless grey. On that dim scenery emerged a vivid black that was Shiki. Vehemently, frighteningly, that man’s aura absorbed the liveliness of his surroundings, consuming their life forces with his menacing air. Shiki was not a man; Shiki was a ruthless demon that fed on the lives of those who were weaker than him. The more he hated Shiki, the more Akira feared Shiki’s reign over him. Judging from his domineering personality, that man would not loosen his steel grip on Akira until his interest in the youth died out. What would happen first, Akira wondered, that or his withering in Shiki’s dominion ?
A dry, painful sound bounced between the walls that confined the narrow space. With his free hand, Akira had gathered all his remaining strength and hit the glass window, shattering the material to shards. In that swift moment, when all the hatred, anger, humiliation, fear and despair erupted in Akira’s exhausted mind, the youth had decided. He had had enough of Shiki’s persecution, he had had enough of being a toy in Shiki’s hand, being used over and over to Shiki’s amusement. He had had enough of being Shiki’s collared dog.
It was the only way to retain his dignity as a true human, Akira thought while planting a shard of glass in his right wrist. His artery was severed and blood gushed out uncontrollably like water being released from a broken dam. A satisfied smile adorned his trembling lips; freedom was finally in his grasp. As his consciousness was fading away along with rapid blood loss, Akira weakly entertained himself with his imaginations of Shiki’s reaction once he came back to discover his dog’s rigid corpse. What his expression would be like, Akira wondered. Would that be of shock or terror ? Though it was merely his imagination, the sight of those crimson orbs getting wide was enough to amuse him. From the short period he had spent by Shiki’s side, Akira could not name anything that that was capable of horrifying such a man as Shiki. It was certain not blood or death. Judging by the way he cut down people so nonchalantly, it seemed impossible for goriness to terrify Shiki. Being a cold-blooded murderer he was, the man might even enjoy it. Not Akira’s or anyone’s death could make the unwavering light in those crimson orbs flicker. Akira pictured that Shiki would just cast an uncaring gaze at his bloody corpse before dumped it to the rotting pile of unnamed bodies located somewhere in this Toshima. He died before he had a chance to challenge the invincible Il-re; he was forgotten before he was even remembered. Such was the tragic fate of the losers in this town. But Akira wanted not to think about anything any longer. Death was luring him into its embrace with an enchanting lullaby and the youth found himself willingly succumbed to its lethal invitation. Before a tempting sleepiness cast darkness upon his heavy eyelids, his last imagination of Shiki was that of teary eyes.