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writetomyheart2014-02-08 08:21 pm
goodbyelover.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2014-02-08 08:21 pm
Entry tags:
[Team 1]
I have no title for this. I honestly just wanted to take a nap and then vomited this out instead and it's just sort of... a mess. Uhm.
---
“Little angel, my ass,” Fujigaya mutters, staring down at the magazine before hurling it across the room. It smashes against the desk with a satisfying amount of violence.
He should have stopped reading years ago, but once upon a time, he’d seen it as a harmless habit. Now he can’t stop himself from doing it, can’t help reading the lies and the missed truths and wanting to shred every last bit of paper as he shreds himself.
There are sayings out there.
“You are what you eat.”
“You are what you like.”
“You are what you read.”
He’s drunk now, and it makes him angry. “What does that make me?” he demands the mirror, because he tries to keep this dragon hidden when he’s outside. Fujigaya brandishes the bottle of vodka at the mirror. “What does that fucking make me?”
He knows that if he picks up his phone, he’ll be able to read the concerned messages from friends, family, and co-workers. They don’t come very often anymore, but he’s got the old ones saved because the anger only lasts so long before the hatred and self-loathing sets in.
“Fuck you,” he tells his reflection, turning away because there’s nothing to like within himself and he’s already thrown the lies away.
But this is what he is, all lies and vodka and a reflection that makes him want to break things.
He should stop drinking. That’s what he keeps hearing. It’s better for him if he stops.
But sometimes he hears the lies too, so he’s not sure if he cares to follow the good things, when they still tell him shit like he’s fine, he’s kind, and he’s beautiful.
He throws the bottle of vodka against the wall and watches as it smashes to little pieces.
Some people like to think watching things break is beautiful. That there’s artistry in how things shatter.
That’s the kind of beautiful he is.
And there’s nothing beautiful about it.
“Fuck you.” He’s screaming it now. There is nothing beautiful about the way he’s stomped all over Kitayama, or the way he’s torn through Miyata just because one time he felt like it and now he can’t stop. There’s nothing beautiful in the way he’s made Senga cry because he can’t say ‘I’m a fucking disaster’ so he says ‘You’re such a loser’.
More things are thrown. Books, figurines, the radio, it’s such a relief when he gets something that will actually break. It doesn’t even matter when he accidentally snags his palm, bringing blood to the surface, smearing it across the next thing he grabs. There is pain, but maybe that’s the point.
Maybe they wanted him to be beautiful and beauty was pain.
But if his pain is so beautiful then why do they ask for his smile?
If his broken heart is so beautiful then why is he supposed to be so charming?
If he’s so beautiful, then why does he hate himself so much?
“NO!” Fujigaya beats his fists against the ground, and the blood is drying and he doesn’t want it to, because he wants to paint himself red and bloody until he isn’t beautiful anymore.”
“Taisuke!”
Someone’s burst through the door and Fujigaya’s so fucked out of his mind, it takes him a minute to realize it’s Yuusuke.
“This is what they wanted, isn’t it?” He’s too hysterical, too broken, to stop as his younger brother stares at his destruction. “Why? Why is this what they want!? Fuck them.”
“Taisuke?” His brother drops to his knees, but scoots forward carefully, as if he’s afraid. (He should be afraid, because Fujigaya’s like the broken bottle of vodka, all poison and shards of glass.) But he doesn’t stop until he’s right there next to him, and Fujigaya can see his face, see the look in his eyes.
Yuusuke doesn’t see this as beautiful.
Slowly, Yuusuke pulls him closer, into an embrace.
He cries then, because this shouldn’t be Yuusuke’s job to hold him, but he’s doing it anyway. And Fujigaya cries properly because the anger has left him and he’s more like the little kid who got picked on in school and scraped his knees running from the playground and he can’t hide it anymore. Yuusuke’s not his mother, brushing away his tears, but he holds him together as he cries.
He holds him tight until Fujigaya’s nothing more than a small, trembling child who just wants to go home and not be beautiful ever again and can’t anymore.
---
“Little angel, my ass,” Fujigaya mutters, staring down at the magazine before hurling it across the room. It smashes against the desk with a satisfying amount of violence.
He should have stopped reading years ago, but once upon a time, he’d seen it as a harmless habit. Now he can’t stop himself from doing it, can’t help reading the lies and the missed truths and wanting to shred every last bit of paper as he shreds himself.
There are sayings out there.
“You are what you eat.”
“You are what you like.”
“You are what you read.”
He’s drunk now, and it makes him angry. “What does that make me?” he demands the mirror, because he tries to keep this dragon hidden when he’s outside. Fujigaya brandishes the bottle of vodka at the mirror. “What does that fucking make me?”
He knows that if he picks up his phone, he’ll be able to read the concerned messages from friends, family, and co-workers. They don’t come very often anymore, but he’s got the old ones saved because the anger only lasts so long before the hatred and self-loathing sets in.
“Fuck you,” he tells his reflection, turning away because there’s nothing to like within himself and he’s already thrown the lies away.
But this is what he is, all lies and vodka and a reflection that makes him want to break things.
He should stop drinking. That’s what he keeps hearing. It’s better for him if he stops.
But sometimes he hears the lies too, so he’s not sure if he cares to follow the good things, when they still tell him shit like he’s fine, he’s kind, and he’s beautiful.
He throws the bottle of vodka against the wall and watches as it smashes to little pieces.
Some people like to think watching things break is beautiful. That there’s artistry in how things shatter.
That’s the kind of beautiful he is.
And there’s nothing beautiful about it.
“Fuck you.” He’s screaming it now. There is nothing beautiful about the way he’s stomped all over Kitayama, or the way he’s torn through Miyata just because one time he felt like it and now he can’t stop. There’s nothing beautiful in the way he’s made Senga cry because he can’t say ‘I’m a fucking disaster’ so he says ‘You’re such a loser’.
More things are thrown. Books, figurines, the radio, it’s such a relief when he gets something that will actually break. It doesn’t even matter when he accidentally snags his palm, bringing blood to the surface, smearing it across the next thing he grabs. There is pain, but maybe that’s the point.
Maybe they wanted him to be beautiful and beauty was pain.
But if his pain is so beautiful then why do they ask for his smile?
If his broken heart is so beautiful then why is he supposed to be so charming?
If he’s so beautiful, then why does he hate himself so much?
“NO!” Fujigaya beats his fists against the ground, and the blood is drying and he doesn’t want it to, because he wants to paint himself red and bloody until he isn’t beautiful anymore.”
“Taisuke!”
Someone’s burst through the door and Fujigaya’s so fucked out of his mind, it takes him a minute to realize it’s Yuusuke.
“This is what they wanted, isn’t it?” He’s too hysterical, too broken, to stop as his younger brother stares at his destruction. “Why? Why is this what they want!? Fuck them.”
“Taisuke?” His brother drops to his knees, but scoots forward carefully, as if he’s afraid. (He should be afraid, because Fujigaya’s like the broken bottle of vodka, all poison and shards of glass.) But he doesn’t stop until he’s right there next to him, and Fujigaya can see his face, see the look in his eyes.
Yuusuke doesn’t see this as beautiful.
Slowly, Yuusuke pulls him closer, into an embrace.
He cries then, because this shouldn’t be Yuusuke’s job to hold him, but he’s doing it anyway. And Fujigaya cries properly because the anger has left him and he’s more like the little kid who got picked on in school and scraped his knees running from the playground and he can’t hide it anymore. Yuusuke’s not his mother, brushing away his tears, but he holds him together as he cries.
He holds him tight until Fujigaya’s nothing more than a small, trembling child who just wants to go home and not be beautiful ever again and can’t anymore.
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but yuusuke though, good job, little brother ♥
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I love the brothers \o/ I'm always waiting for Gaya to tell more stories about them bc it's so cute XDD
Oh! And thanks :D ♥
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♥ :D Thanks
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anyway ... I like it!
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There there. *pats head*
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don't stress about it :D
i'm glad you're more settled into the new place now :)