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Miwaku no Zakuro	By : Tcharlatan Category: > Kyo/Kaoru Views: 2861 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. I do not personally know any of the members of Dir en grey, X Japan, or KISAKI, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
The darkness of the cell was perfect; eternal and inescapable. Kyo stayed pressed against the door for an untold stretch of time, eyes straining as wide as he could possibly make them, hoping – praying, begging, yearning – for some tiny vestige of sight to return to him. But there was nothing. The overhead light was completely dark and the door was flawlessly sealed on all four sides. It was like there was a heavy blanket over him and nothing he did could push it aside. The more time that passed – unseen, unheard, uncounted – the harder his heart began to pound in frantic dismay. His own panting breaths seemed far too loud in the void.
‘It’s not coming back on…’
‘Why isn’t it coming back on?!’
‘Please… oh gods, please come back on…’
By this point, he knew every last centimeter of the tiny barren room, probably better than he knew the backs of his own hands after so many times trying to find a way out of it. But now, plunged into such unadulterated, impenetrable shadow, it became a vast chasm of ominous mystery. This was punishment, he understood. Kaoru was punishing him by taking away his false sun with its false dawns and false dusks, leaving him with only bitter night. Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, trying to ignore the genetically-ingrained insistence that predators had to be lurking nearby in this flawless shadow, he crawled on shaking limbs to his corner, one hand on the wall for guidance.
‘I can’t…’
‘Was that…?!’
‘No… no, there’s nothing…’
Unable to see the clock, silence stretching uninterrupted from any of the adjacent rooms, Kyo had no way of knowing how long he sat crammed into that corner, staring with wide, unseeing eyes into the abyss. Long enough that his throat began to burn with thirst. Long enough that his stomach began to twist with hunger. Long enough that fleeting false images and sounds began to tease at the edge of his deprived senses, causing him to press ever further into his curl. It could have been just a couple hours, his mind convincing itself that his body was deteriorating faster than it truly was if only because he had no proof to the contrary. It could have been days, as it felt.
Eventually, the hunger and thirst became too much. He felt his way to the bathroom – a harrowing, arduous trip that seemed to take an eternity with his heart pounding wildly in his throat – only to find that the sink produced nothing but a single sad puff of mist when he twisted the handle. His water had been turned off as well. A horrified whimper escaped him before he could stop himself, and his collar was quick to correct, albeit at the lowest setting.
‘Oh gods…’
‘Oh gods…’
He’d thought his room was barren before, thought himself truly immune to further loss because he already had so little left. But now… He had no light; he could not see even the stark white walls or plain hardwood floors or the face of the clock. He had no sound; nothing seeped through the walls or the door from his captor’s movements, and the faint whisper of his own frantic breathing was too empty, too hollow to be real. He had no water; nothing to assuage his thirst or hunger or the constant aching itch in his throat. He’d taken those things for granted, and to have them taken away… It was too much emptiness, too much nothingness, and the suffocating void overwhelmed him.
Staggering out of the bathroom, crashing into the far wall because the room felt so much bigger than it was yet seemed to be constantly shrinking around him, Kyo succumbed quickly to the panic creeping up to grip at his throat. He spun – his breathing reaching a fevered pitch as he began hyperventilating – and reached out, hands hitting walls, sliding over corners, fumbled at locked doorknobs. Every time he turned and reached out he seemed to hit another wall and his dizzy mind convinced itself that he could feel them moving towards him in the dark.
‘I can’t… the room…’
‘It’s so small…’
‘Is it getting smaller?!’
He couldn’t help but think this was worse than if Kaoru had killed him. This was the absence of life – the denial of so much sensory input abrupt and deeply traumatic – without the freedom of death. It was so hard to breathe, his lungs straining to take in and hold air no matter how deeply his gasped, and his heart was pounding so quickly he feared it might burst in his chest. Wheezing, gulping down air frantically, he stumbled and fell to his knees with a muffled thud that seemed at once too loud and too dull in the darkness.
-“The quality and duration of your life-”-
‘WHY DID YOU MAKE HIM ANGRY, YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH?!’
‘Stupid!’
‘Stupid!’
‘Is he…’
‘Is he just going to let me die in here?’
Tears he couldn’t see, could hardly feel, streaked down his cheeks, making the floor beneath his hands slick as he crawled into his corner. It took several tries, and a very long time; several disoriented circuits to find the exit door and the bathroom doorway and be sure that where he came to rest was really his corner. Every obstacle that he came across – every bump of his fingers against a frame, every corner that wasn’t his own, everything solid that he hit without seeing – made him cry harder in frantic desperation. When he finally found his place and folded himself tightly into it, his left hand crawled up of its own volition, fingers curling into hard claws, nails pressing-
-“This scratching will not be tolerated. You are not to damage any of my property, and that includes yourself.”-
Kyo’s legs kicked restlessly and he writhed in the corner, teeth gritted with helpless frustration. The memory of Kaoru’s words halted his hands just as effectively as if the man were present, grabbing his wrists. He wanted it so badly! Wanted to tear open his skin because it was something to feel and feeling something – anything – was better than this suffocating nothingness. But he couldn’t do it, his hands stayed by fear of further retribution the same way his voice had been stolen. He squeezed his eyes shut – or did he? He couldn’t tell anymore… – and tried to steady his breathing because he was getting dizzy and it felt like he was falling.
‘Help me…’
‘Gods, somebody please help me!’
Time untold – hours, days, a week, a lifetime – stretched by, and Kyo spiraled ever further into madness. He couldn’t tell when he was awake or asleep, couldn’t tell if what he heard and saw were dreams or hallucinations or real monsters surfacing in the hell of his room. Hands and insects and snakes ran over his skin and he slapped at them hysterically, only to hit air – feeling nothing, because nothing was there. Faces and shadows and freedom danced in front of him and he reached for them only to have the image fade away – seeing nothing, because nothing was there. Footsteps and voices and inhuman growls whispered all around and he held his breath, straining in vain to catch them – hearing nothing, because nothing was there. He was flying and he was falling; he was drowning and he was suffocating; he was dead but – gods help him – his heart was pounding so hard!
At some point he realized that some of the whispers he was hearing were coming from his own lips, unpunished because his vocal cords were not engaged, so there was no vibration to activate the collar. It didn’t help; the words were too soft and too worthless in the gaping, all-consuming maw of darkness.
His body deteriorated just as quickly as his psyche. His limbs became trembling and uncoordinated, the taut curl of his fetal position in the corner gradually loosening to a listless slump. His stomach ached and twisted fiercely at first, then became despondently numb in dejected acceptance of renewed starvation. His mouth was tacky and dry, and though he managed to brave two trips to the bathroom to relieve himself, both were painful demonstrations of just how desperately dehydrated he was.
‘I’m sorry!’
‘I’m so sorry!’
‘Please…’
He’d never regretted anything in his life as much as he regretted the bid for freedom that he was now being punished for. Even when he was seventeen and his parents had caught him ass-up-head-down in bed under his first boyfriend, being soundly fucked with a strap-on. He'd cared deeply for the other boy and was entirely unapologetic about the perceived offense, and so had been disowned, banned from ever seeing or speaking to his younger sister again and spending over half a year homeless as a result.
Even months back when Kisaki gambled away his share of rent, and Kyo had to pay it all on his own. He’d had a severe ear infection at the time, but after rent and bills he couldn’t afford to go to the hospital. Eventually the infection got so bad that he collapsed at work and had to be rushed to the emergency room, and by the time they got it taken care of, his left ear had been irreparably damaged.
Even when he proposed to Takara and she told him – almost as if she were surprised he still believed someone like her could ever really love someone like him – that she’d only been using him. He’d gotten cross-eyed drunk and carved the words “NO FUTURE” deep into his chest, and would have died from alcohol poisoning had Kisaki not broken the door down and bent him over the toilet to keep him from suffocating on his own vomit while he called an ambulance.
‘I fucked up so bad…’
‘I’m sorry…’
‘Why did I have to fuck up so damn bad?!’
Because now, unlike all of those painful times, he was completely and undeniably isolated. He had no one and nothing to turn to, and his heart ached miserably for want of some kind of comfort or catharsis. He was human, damn it! A social creature and a tactile creature and he needed company and contact and sights and sounds and smells and tastes because without them, he couldn’t be sure he was even real.
What did he have here? A collar that marked him as property, silenced him, subjugated him. Darkness that swallowed him, suffocated him, trapped him. Silence that taunted him, chewed at the frayed edges of his nerves. Walls that closed in around him and a door that would never budge. Starvation and dehydration and madness and regret and nothingness.
‘I made him so angry…’
‘He’s never coming back…’
‘He’s going to leave me here alone forever…’
In what could have been the fifteenth hour or the fourth day, Kyo realized that he wanted Kaoru to come back. And lost in his own despair, he couldn’t question or contest that realization. Since Kisaki had abandoned him, Kaoru was the only one who had spoken to him, Kaoru’s radio while he showered was the only music he had heard. Kaoru’s was the only hand that had touched him, whether it was to molest and violate him or to bandage his wounds. Kaoru was the only one who had let him out of this room, to the beautiful tea room at sunset for dinner or the master bathroom for showers.
‘I’m sorry…’
Kaoru had smiled at him and glared at him, praised him and scolded him, played with his hair and forced him to suck him off, fed him and fucked him. He was the source every misery and ecstasy that Kyo had experienced in this place.
‘I’m so sorry!’
Kaoru was a god, granting Kyo life at his own discretion with omniscient eyes and omnipotent hands. He controlled everything around him, benevolent only when it suited his wants to be so, because nothing else had the power to influence him.
‘Please forgive me…’
Kaoru was a devil, whispering sinful nothings into Kyo’s ear as he dragged him into hell. His voice echoed constantly even when he was gone, like a cruel conscience ever urging Kyo towards obedience and submission.
‘I’ll be good!’
Kaoru was all he had. Kaoru was all that was real. Kaoru was all that he felt or saw or heard, Kaoru was his food and his water and his air, and without him…
‘I promise I’ll be good…’
Dizzy, in a vicious haze of starvation and dehydration and sensory deprivation, Kyo slowly felt his way around the room to the exit door. He slumped against the frame, eyes closed – maybe; the ghostly images were the same in the impenetrable darkness as on the backs of his eyelids – and began to claw at the wooden panel. The sound was soft and unobtrusive, a plea rather than a demand as he plaintively called out for his master like a dog left out in the cold night.
‘Please come back…’
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Miwaku no Zakuro