#okay maybe tw medication misuse

[ichorandseafoam]

So the thing is over the summer I don’t take my adhd meds- I only take them during school. But I still got more, cause it was easier through the pharmacy that way. So I currently have a bunch of extra adhd meds. The other thing is that taking twice my dosage of adhd meds makes me actually able to function. (I’m meant to take it in the morning, I took it in the morning and then same amount in the afternoon). When I got my original prescription, I noticed a bit of an improvement, but it didn’t really make me more productive. With twice the amount, the executive dysfunction is like not an issue. I can do things that aren’t fun or interesting. It’s absolutely bonkers; my grades are better than ever and I feel so much less anxiety and self-loathing.

The problem is that eventually I will run out of my extra meds, and have to go back to the dose I’m meant to take. I want to ask my psychologist to increase my dose, as I know it will make me more productive, but I don’t want her to think I’m abusing them or anything.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

TW: implied suicide attempt, happened before story set, people are reasonably okay. In related warnings, misuse of medication

(Probably not canon complaint they probably got yeeted IC too but you can't prove it isn't just yet)

They are curled up on the floor of the haunted library, and nobody is really sure what to do. Some bread had been shared around earlier, but all they have is what is on their persons.

Everyone has split off into smaller groups, huddled together whereever there is space. Some of them can be heard talking in low voices, but with the eggs asleep they try to keep it quiet.

Felps is already asleep again, face buried in Pac's back as he clings. Richarlyson has somehow wormed his way between them, while Ramón sleeps sat against a bookshelf. His head has drifted to rest on his father's side, Fit keeping watch as he keeps Pac's head in his lap and plays with his hair. Bagi sits on his other side, Empanada asleep in her lap. Mike thinks she was trying to keep watch as well, but joined her daughter a few minutes ago.

Mike himself is pressed against Pac's front, awkwardly propped up on Fit's knee. It's worth it, though, to be able to curl properly about his best friend. Prison has torn all of their trauma back to light, but Pac...

Fuck, they are so lucky he only managed to steal half a handful of sleeping pills.

"You good, Mike?" Fit tries to keep his voice quiet, but it's still deep enough to carry.

"He's a fucking idiot," Mike says, in lieu of an answer. "I swear, if he pulls this shit again I'll kill him."

Fit's hand shufts from Pac's hair to Mike's, not petting but instead allowing his thumb to rub circles just behind Mike's ear. Mike allows the tension to drain a little.

"We'll work on it," Fit promises. "He's safe for now. We're all safe for now."

With something called a reset and instability? It's not going to last.

Mike tells Fit as much, and gets laughter in return.

"You get used to it," Fit replies, not unkindly but not gently either. "People only trash so many of your bases before you give up on getting attached."

"I know that," Mike snaps back, and maybe it hasn't been bases but he and Pac have lost nearly as many homes as they are years old.

Between the orphanage, and the streets, and a life of crime then being on the run. The island is the first time they've had a home that felt like - maybe - it was theirs to keep, and already it is being torn away.

He should have known better than to hope.

"Hey, hey," Fit taps him for attention. "None of that shit. We've got each other still - between you, me, Pac, and the kids we'll get a house sorted in no time. Sand and concrete isn't much - we can still make that house Pac wanted. Just need to start again."

And Mike... he doesn't know how to say that, after this, he isn't sure Pac is still going to want a house. Maybe it's changed, but what he's always wanted before was a small, dark hole, somewhere hidden and secret and enclosed on all sides. There's comfort in hiding and in anonymity, and fuck knows he'll need the comfort after this.

Mike's comfort is Pac's comfort.

Either way, he doesn't care.

"It'll suck," Mike replies.

"It always does," and Fit sounds so tired. Still he says, "go to sleep, Mike - I'll keep an eye out and we can sort it in the morning."

Mike doesn't think he can, but he sees the out for what it is. He tucks Pac closer to himself - a little awkward for felps and Richarlyson also clinging, and even worse for Fit's knees - and finds his pulse.

It's still in a state of drug-induced slowness.

It's fine, though, Mike knows what it being dangerous would feel llike. They've done that before, and fuck knows it will happen again.

It's also steadily improving; if Mike didn't know what Pac had done, he would think it just the pulse of someone deeply asleep.

Fit doesn't tell Mike its fine, not again. He just keeps watch, and keeps them safe, protecting the group even as Mike protects their Pac.

[ridiculousyoungicarus]

Self Para 001: If I Could Grant You Peace Of Mind

TWs: HIV, Self-Harm, Drugs (Heroin & Cocaine - not done but mentioned briefly), Eating Disorders (Balo’s intervention is mentioned), Abuse

Word Count:  2,716

Setting: Luxor’s Orleans, France Campus. Monday, September 21st, 2020. Early morning (about 1am - 4am-ish).

Everything going on with Balo was a mess, and no matter what anyone said, Zander still couldn’t fail to see how it wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t that supposed to be his job? Protecting her. It was the only thing he needed to be good at, and he failed at it. She’d be fine if Ivan was here; he’d always been better at taking care of her. It was a thought that grew more and more persistent as the days went by. He’d have never let her in a situation that resulted in something like this. If he’s been the biological son, Balo would be okay.  

And right now, she was far from being okay. Her behavior had become concerning since movie night, and he wasn’t sure if he should ask Ivan for help. He’d been entirely unhelpful the last time he’d reached out concerned about their sister. Maybe if Zander could just-

“You’re actually starting to turn a little blue, holy shit.” Ches’s voice interrupts him from his thoughts. When did she get back? He doesn’t fight as she wraps a blanket around his shoulders and settles in next to him, glancing over to her as she rests her head on his shoulder. “Did you really miss me this much? Oh, my sweet baby boy, whatever will I do with you?”

While the nickname was always affectionate, the lack of teasing in her voice sends his thoughts for another loop. Usually, she used it to pick on him. Did she think he was overreacting?

“Welcome home, I didn’t realize you were back yet.” Although he supposed it made sense, she hadn’t taken time off of school for the funeral. She probably wouldn’t have gotten it excused given the situation.

“Well, it’d be kinda hard to attend classes from Virginia. But enough about me. How are you doing? Other than trying to get hypothermia, of course.” He wants to groan that he would not get hypothermia, that it wasn’t that cold, and her dramatics weren’t helpful. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate just how normal it was.

He’d missed normalcy.

“Well, I’m stuck with Jack, my parents disowned Balo, and she’s really scaring me. Nothing’s changed over the span of a weekend. You know how I feel.” It wasn’t the same as the last several times she had poked her head in, though. He’d had a lot more time to think since he’d last saw her.

“Is it the HIV or her mental health?”

Zander quickly tries to sort through their conversations in their mind. Had he let Balo’s diagnosis slip? But he’s yanked from his thoughts as the redhead beside him lifts her head and steals the corner of his blanket to wrap around herself. “You’re cold?”

“I’m still daydreaming about the 17° weather in Virginia, I know 6° isn’t bad, but yeah, I’m cold.” It takes him a few seconds to realize she’s on about Celsius, and he just lifts his arm to let sneak right in under it. “You didn’t answer my question, Zan. Is it her HIV diagnosis or her mental health scaring you?”

“You should really lower your voice; someone is going to overhear you if you don’t start whispering. Balo doesn’t want the entire school to know...”

“The only people awake at 1 am in this school are the insomniacs who are holed up in their rooms and the coke addicts who are way too busy snorting it off of Axel’s dick to care about what you and I are doing outside. Nobody is eavesdropping, and if they were, the rumors would be bullshit like ‘Ches and Zander are entirely too close, I caught them cuddling - they must be fucking.’ We go to school with shallow people who only care about themselves, remember? Nobody cares what we’re doing.” Ches rolls her eyes, “But, seriously I’m gonna keep asking you to tell me what’s on your mind. I know that look, something’s wrong. Please talk to me.”

“Oh, come on, nobody would buy that shit.” Zander knew it wasn’t the point, that he was just grasping at the little outs she was accidentally leaving in her words. “Even Jack would know to laugh that one out of the room.”

“Alekzander, please.”

“Do you nag everyone who doesn’t want to talk, or am I just special? I’m fine. I can handle what’s going on with Balo. I don’t need you mothering me, Hailey.” Still, when the redhead pulls away from him, it takes everything in his power to keep himself from reaching out to pull her back in. Was she mad at him? She didn’t seem angry, although the sudden removal of her body heat wasn’t a good sign.

Before he can start thinking of the words to amend the situation, Ches is standing up. “You’re right, I’m sorry. If you need me, I’ve got to do some studying in the library. Try to get some sleep at some point, the bags under your eyes are really starting to reduce you down to a solid 8.”

She leaves him the blanket when she walks away, and as he tugs it around tighter himself, he’s not sure if it’s a good thing. It was going to continually remind him he needed to take care of himself, that he was sitting outside in the middle of the night alone because he managed to scare off the one person who always seemed to notice he wasn’t okay.

Ivan probably wouldn’t have run Ches off, and Balo wouldn’t be in nearly as bad shape as she was if he was here. For a brief second, Zander reaches for his phone to text the man, but he pauses, stopping himself. He had enough on his plate with Balo without Zander contributing to it. So instead, he settles himself in, allowing himself to get lost in his thoughts.

—

Chessie ☀️:  I’m still in the library. Don’t wake the guy at the desk, though; the poor thing just fell asleep. 😕

Zander’s hands are shaking as he reads the text through tears, already heading in the direction of the library. He tries to be quiet as he enters the room, passing the snoring man at the desk as he tries to find Ches. She always chose the back right corner when they were in Lake George, and sure enough, she was quietly pouring over her textbooks with a flashlight when he rounded the corner.

“No wine? Who are you, and what did you do with my Ches?” He cringes at the effect his tears had on his voice. It was bad enough that he was crying without his body making it evident to everyone around him he was trembling even if they weren’t looking.

“I’m testing the waters, thinking about cutting the wine out. A bit more productive, don’t you think?” For a moment, he thinks she might make a comment about the state he’s in, but she just pats the seat next to her as she shuts her textbooks. He’s silent as he sits down; the only sounds filling the room is the chronic snoring from the library’s front and his chair as it grazes across the floor. “But you’re not here for the wine.”

“I’m not.” He confirms, taking a deep breath as he finally removes the blanket she’d left him two hours prior and sets it on the table. “I came to talk if that’s okay.” No matter how many times he’d found himself at her door when he didn’t want to be alone, he still couldn’t suppress the concern that maybe this was going to be the time she turned him away. But she just nods, setting her flashlight onto the table.

“The floor is yours.”

“My parents disowned Balo, and I’ve never seen her like this. She’s always been so bright and cheerful and right now...  Chessie, she gave me her sewing kit because she doesn’t trust herself not to misuse her rotary blade. And these things aren’t sudden; how much has been building up that I’ve missed? She won’t really talk to me, and given everything going on with Jack again, I’m pretty sure she’s not talking to anyone. It’s not like she’ll tell our brother. She was upset with me when I talked to him about Jack because I could have worried him.” He explains, “and that’s only the start of it- okay, what’s with the face?”

There was something about Ches’s pensive expression in the lowlight that distracted him, the way she pursed her lips as she listened to him talk. “I was just thinking that I’ve never heard you call Ivan your brother before. Balo’s brother, asshole, my parents disowned him, Ches you’re not allowed to follow him on Instagram to thirst over him that’s weird. Please carry on, I’m listening.”

“Don’t get used to it, I’m not making it a habit.” Still, Zander’s tears slow as a small chuckle briefly escapes from his body. “I can’t stop thinking that if he was here, Balo would be fine. Whatever caused this wouldn’t have happened. I just wish she’d tell me how this happened...”

“She doesn’t know, Zan. I know Jack’s clean, we were fucking - he’d have mentioned it if he wasn’t. Barton would have told her, she hasn’t been anywhere near the Keller boy in a year, and we’d know if she was doing heroin. I thought maybe that night when we took her to the ER, there were hours we can’t account for, but... if your parents disowned her.”

“I wouldn’t write off my father yet.” Zander hadn’t even considered him as a suspect, but he wouldn’t put it past the man to cover his track for the sake of appearances. Maybe there’d been blood on blood contact during the struggle? Balo had a pretty nasty gash on her forehead, and he had avoided his father afterward. “Or medical malpractice, for that matter. It’s happened with healthcare workers before, right? Fuck, Ivan really would have been able to stop this.”

“Zander, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t give Balo HIV, and your brother couldn’t have done more than you did. I know it’s hard, but this isn’t because of anything you did. You couldn’t have stopped this, just like I couldn’t have stopped my maman’s murder, and Fane couldn’t have prevented his parents’ car accident.” Ches’s nose doesn’t crinkle as she speaks; the telltale signs of her being dishonest were nowhere to be seen. Which likely meant she thought she was telling the truth, and while he didn’t believe her, his guilt could wait.

It was the least important thing going on; he knew that.

“I was a dick to Elliot.” He knows the words are sudden. That may be at the moment telling her he’d been mean to her boyfriend would rapidly make the situation worse.

Her green eyes blink, her head tilts to the slide slightly, almost like a puppy’s as she processes his words. Had Elliot not told her anything? “Why would you be a dick to Elli? Fuck. Que vais-je faire de vous?”

“Yell at me? Look, I know I shouldn’t have been so hard on your boyfriend. But he breathed near me and-”

“He breathed near you?” The concern in her voice makes Zander feel even worse than he would have if she’d just yelled at him. “That’s not like you. When did this happen?”

“Before movie night, after we got here.”

“After you learned about Balo.” For a brief moment, the snoring stops, and the panic on Ches’s expression leaves him questioning if they’re allowed to be in the corner they were occupying as they wait. Soon enough, the snoring resumes, and she speaks again, “I’m not mad at you. I want you to get along with him, and I expect you to apologize, but you’re not scaring me off that easily. We left off at you feeling inferior to your brother, please continue.”

“I don’t feel like I’m inferior to Ivan.” He protests, although as he tries to think of examples of how she was entirely off base, he realizes she might have a point. “But I can’t stop running through what if’s. What if he’d be able to stop it? What if he’d know how to help Balo right now? I didn’t ask him for help with her intervention and look at how well that went. She resents me for it now. What if I fuck this up, and she gets hurt because of it?”

“That’s not going to happen because you have me, you have Lucy and Avery, and as much as you hate it - we have Jack and Cait. They’d never let anything happen to her; if she tries something, one of us will grab her. She went to you about her sewing kit. Do you have it?” He nods yes in response to her question, and the girl in front of him relaxes, “from experience, people don’t ask for help unless they want to be stopped. Her coming to you was a good sign.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I was right about your inferiority complex and that you were stressing Balo’s mental health.”

“I hate you so much sometimes, you know that.” And yet he can’t help the fond smile as he says the words, the way the tension in his shoulders eases when she smiles back at him.

“I know. I’m just the worst sometimes, aren’t I?” She winks at him, “so what’s next on the list? If it’s money, you know she’s got two sugar mommies already, and I’m pretty sure we could convince Jack to be a sugar daddy if we can’t pull enough funds together to take care of her.”

“Two?”

“Barton? Carnifex families are loaded, I have no doubt in my mind if there’re issues affording her medication abroad if I can’t cover it completely, she’d lend me the money temporarily for B.” Ches shrugs, “so that should also ease the healthcare concerns. Correct? There’s no way in hell we’re not going to be able to manage this. She’s been taking her meds, and as long as they’re working medications have gotten to the point she’ll probably outlive you by a couple decades still.”

And as much as Zander hated the thought of asking anyone for money, the thought that maybe people would be willing to help if it became an issue was reassuring. “And here I thought you said you weren’t taking mind reading classes.”

“You’re just predictable. The day you aren’t stressing about money, we’re going to see pigs fly, and lotus storms consume the earth.” Ches jokes, “did we happen to cover everything? Wait, we haven’t discussed Jack being in your classes yet. Shit, maybe we needed the wine...”

“We don’t need wine. There’s not that much to say, he’s annoying, we’re getting stuck together, and I’m just going to have to deal with it.” He shrugs, “probably the most normal thing going on in our lives, come to think of it.”

“You ever realize it’s a bit fucked up Jackaboy acting up is considered normal at this school. I’m not complaining but...”

“If you ever tell him I actually appreciate him being Balo’s pet demon right now, I’ll never talk to you again.” He warns her. Jack would never let him live it down, and he was well aware it was fucked up. But Ches just smiles, shaking her head.

“Your secret’s safe with me. So, what else do you want to discuss?”

He thinks about it for a minute. Was there anything else he felt like he needed to get off his chest? There were the things he couldn’t find the words to say and the things that weren’t worth the effort left, but he couldn’t think of anything he needed to talk to her about. “What were you working on before I interrupted?”

“Well, you see...” Ches starts to open her textbook again as she starts to ramble about what she was working on, and he listens as she gushes eagerly. He doesn’t even realize just how tired he was until his eyes become too heavy to keep open. The last thing he notices before he falls asleep is a blanket being tucked around him as she continues to explain her literature homework.

[forgottenyear]

willful amnesia

[tw: religious analogies, medical abuse]

Because of the gauges I listed in earlier posts today, I do not speak about trauma. I only write about it here. It is possible that I feel too much freedom here and I exercise too little restraint. I worry that I give off a traumacore vibe at times, I tend to fixate to such a degree.

“Sometimes I hear my voice and it’s been here, silent all these years.”

I suppose the Tori Amos lyric would more applicable if I had not spent the last ten years posting to this blog. I have not necessarily been silent. But it does describe the feeling that the keyboard can say what the lips will not.

It sometimes feels like there is so much pain that demands to be expressed that everything I write for this blog turns into negativity.

Which is why I have been feeling a sort of dread relief today, having identified what I hope was the last major trauma from Angela’s years.

There are always going to be questions. There may never be answers.

*

Why were they homeless just a block or so from their apartment? Why did they stay in a shelter and eat in a soup kitchen?

I can describe the shelter at night. The large room of the women’s section, the cot by the door to the office (that boys who look like girls thing again). Frightened and crying. In the middle of people, but set apart, alienated, and alone.

But why were they there?

*

The years with nearly no memories hold some of the worst memories. And memories that contradict each other and refuse to conform to a chronology.

There was a single apartment going into and coming out of the forgotten years. And yet, they were homeless at some point within.

There are other contradictions that I have thankfully forgotten but are sure to come up when there is a good mood to be ruined (okay, that was needlessly melodramatic).

*

There is another reason why I keep ruminating.

Not always, but often enough to maintain the reward, the other member of the system will write something important. They will answer questions, when the moment is right.

They have recently become chatty, relative to our past.

I am not as good about listening as one may expect I would be, given how infrequently they speak and how vital what they say proves to be. I think sometimes I hear, but I do not want to hear.

*

I wrote recently about it being a core belief for me that if I trust purely enough that someone will not hurt me, they will not. That if I never question or suspect evil intent, it will never be real.

This becomes an outright impairment with people who hold positions of authority. People with authority are perfect. I should aspire to be good enough to deserve their compassion.

I am evil if I question the intent of a person of authority. I deserve to be punished.

If they do something to hurt me, I deserved it for not trusting purely enough. I am the evil one and it is my evil thoughts that corrupt others.

I am sure that I will read about this as something stemming from C-PTSD. I hope I am not just so f*’ed up that this is something only I would have for a belief.

I can think it out and recognize it for foolishness, but I have to think to think it out first.

*

The hospital was traumatic by itself. Being kept there for nearly two months magnified the trauma. I assumed it was a result of systemic incompetence. I assumed people were talking about these things when they were shocked and frightened by what they saw in my record.

I trusted the doctor as purely as I am capable. He did not intend harm that I did not deserve.

Even when the other member of the system first started writing about it, I would not sin by questioning the doctor’s intent.

But the other member of the system is not contradicting any detail of what is in memory or in the record.

*

Every negative thing I feel for another person is impure. Is a sin deserving of punishment.

So I am caught between loathing for this doctor and reflected but magnified loathing for myself.

The hospital was torture. I am not misusing the word. I am not exaggerating. What would have been a necessary evil was extended for a single purpose of a single man. It was extended for the intent of this one man’s gratification. It crossed the line so far that it frightened people who read of it later.

And I am still frightened to contradict his will. To trust him less than purely.

He is probably dead by now. So I compound my sin by thinking ill of the dead.

*

“But I wasn’t even there!”

This is the best I have for a response.

I was not there. I do not need these thoughts. These memories.

They are not mine.

“La la la la la, I am not listening to you!”

*

I truly hoped, the other night, that I could push into trauma and trigger a memory reset to wipe out what the other member wrote. I really tried.

Angela’s weak form of fusion into me was a lame excuse. But I tried.

I tried to wipe out who knows how much work, just to avoid this one thought.

And then I would have suffered through the process all over again.

I cannot say with certainty that I have not progressed to this point before, only to wipe it out and to start again. This blog has been going for ten years. That is a long time to stagnate. That is a long time to get nowhere when I am always pushing us too far just to get somewhere.

*

It was not that I did not know about the sicko doctor. It was that it is too much conflict to know. It hurts.

So I pretend it is not there. And then it comes out sideways.

Maybe I do know why they were homeless. I do not think I do, but maybe there is something else that I am willing into forgotteness.

How much amnesia am I in bed with?

[andlucahell]

Afterlife (Chapter Three)

This is a work of fiction. This is also a rewrite of a story I created five years ago.

Tws: referenced suicide, referenced death, yelling, swearing

-------

Leon whispers, “Eri’s office is huge! How are we even gonna find out where she actually is in here?”

Someone behind the two clears their throat. They both turn around to see Eri. She smiles at Vixen and Leon with her natural warm smile.

Eri says, “Follow me, I need to speak with you about something.”

The way she says that creeps Vixen out. She looks over at Leon and sees him flinch. He shoots Vixen a look, saying ‘what did we do? we just got here and we already messed up?’

Leon and Vixen follow her to the back of her office. They pass bookshelves filled to the point of breaking, chandeliers hang from the ceiling with candles that just seem to be for decoration.

When Eri stops walking, she says, “I was in a hurry when explaining your roles, so now that I have some free time before my next meeting with some Hunters and Harbingers. Please sit down.”

Leon and Vixen take their seats, as she goes to sit behind her desk.

Eri continues, “Okay, so, the first rule of Afterlife is to never EVER misuse your authority. I’ve already had to remind someone else about that today, and I don’t want to have to find out you both ended up in Inferno for the rest of your soul’s existence. That would make me seem bad in front of my boss. The second rule is Guards are supposed to keep Hunters balanced. Got it？Guards are NOT Hunters’ slaves to keep around. Got it? Rule three, never get in the way of another Deal Maker’s deal. Got it？Rule four, the final rule, never EVER contradict Millennium. He’s the only reason you aren't burning in Inferno.”

Eri speaks, “Okay, so now, I will have a list of people you have to make deals with, but you won’t get the list until you finish training with another more experienced pair. I’ll introduce you to them.”

Then all of a sudden, bright flashlights up the entire room. Millennium appears with the two from the garden.

Millennium speaks, ice coating his words, “Eri, please speak to your troublemaker brother and his angry Guard. They’ve been fighting for a while and it’s getting annoying.”

Eri nods and Millennium vanishes. Her gaze snaps back to Kyo and Mikio. Kyo sheepishly smiles and Mikio just looks away.

Kyo just says, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Eri glares daggers at her brother. “What are you two even arguing about!?”

The blond boy, Mikio, shouts, “He’s not taking anything seriously! He acts like he wants to get sent to Inferno. It’s my job to make sure nothing happens to him, yet he is just goofing around.”

“Didn’t you two make up?”

“We did, then he started joking about Inferno again!”

Vixen glances over to Leon, hoping he’s thinking the same thing. He glances back at her and shrugs. Eri facepalms and sighs. “Leon and Vixen, these two idiots will be who you train with. Got it？”

Leon and Vixen both nod. Eri smiles then point out the door. Kyo and Mikio retreat quickly with Leon and Vixen following them.

When they get out of the door, Mikio says, “So, who are you both? I’m Mikio Tachibana, and that one is Kyo Araki, Eri’s older brother.”

They start walking down the hallway.

Leon replies to Mikio’s comment, “I’m Leon Day, and that’s Vixen Elwood.”

Kyo speaks up, “Are you related to Dorian?”

Vixen nods.

Mikio is the one to speak, “I and Jin were trained by Lilian and Dorian. Dorian and Kyo were close.”

He grows quiet as Kyo stops. The black-haired boy speaks. “Leon, you go with Mikio. Vixen, come with me.”

Mikio opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat. He nods and leaves. Leon looks back at Vixen and shrugs. She runs to catch up with Kyo.

Her eyes wander around the hallway. Pictures of Grim Reapers before Millennium sit on the walls. A voice startles her out of her thoughts. “That's who the grim reapers were before they died.”

He falls silent again. She asks, “Why are you and Mikio partners if you don’t get along?”

“We do get along. He just takes things too seriously because he had a small part in my death. We were friends, but we grew apart. His new friends kinda killed me.”

-----

Leon dodges Mikio again, only getting out of the way by an inch. “You have to stop dodging! Start punching! You have to be able to keep Vixen safe! If she dies again, she goes to Inferno and you just end up like Eri.”

He freezes and Mikio hit him in the jaw. He falls back and rubs his face. “Ow…”

Mikio yells, “What!? Of course, getting punched is gonna hurt.”

“What did you mean by ending up like Eri? Did she lose her Guard?”

Mikio’s anger leaves him, he wishes he didn’t ask that. “No. She is… a little strange. She’s a Guard and a Hunter, but she can’t fight to save her life. Millennium, to keep her safe, made a deal with her brother.”

Leon raises his eyebrows, silently asking Mikio to continue. The blond-haired man sits next to Leon and continues. “Kyo made a deal with Millennium. He finished Eri’s list for her. She just stays with Millennium because she is gonna be the next Grim Reaper.”

The look on Leon’s face says it all. Mikio don’t move for a few moments. The door behind them opens and they both spin around. Kyo, Millennium, Eri, and Vixen all walk in. The first person he looks to is Kyo. The black-haired boy stands beside Millennium, leaning on the Grim Reaper. He’s covered in blood and his leg looks to be hanging on by a tiny piece of flesh. The black-haired boy’s eyes keep closing then opening when Vixen pinches his bloodied arm, making him yelp.

Mikio can’t form any words. He was fine an hour ago when I started to train Leon. Millennium’s voice is as cold as ice. “Mikio, get Kyo to the medical ward now.”

The blond-haired man jumps into action, grabbing Kyo and flying down the hall. He doesn’t move when Mikio gets to the medical ward. The med staff take him and leave Mikio to go back to their apartment.

Mikio can only sit and stare at the wall, anxiety dominating his mind. What if he doesn’t get better? What if he dies again? He can’t die again… Kyo dying three years ago was my fault… 

That day flashes back into the man’s mind. The images of Kyo lying dead on the ground flash across his vision. 

Mikio stood behind Kenji. Sora and Saki were holding him back from punching Kenji. Kyo was cornered and Kenji was planning to rob him. Mikio and Kyo had been friends for a long time. Kenji was the leader. Kenji started beating Kyo up while Mikio was forced to watch. Mikio shouts Kyo’s name. He shouts for Kenji to stop kicking the black-haired boy. Kyo said something that pissed Kenji off and he started threatening to kill the boy. Sora and Saki’s grip loosened. Mikio pushes them off his arms and punches Kenji in the face. The man turned to Mikio, glaring at the man. Kenji pulled a knife and went to stab Mikio. Kyo jumped in the way and ended up dying. Sora screamed. Saki didn’t move. Kenji stared down at the corpse.

Sora kept whispering, “Oh my God. We’re going to get arrested. He’s dead! We’re going to get arrested for murdering him.”

Saki was pacing around chanting, “Oh my God.”

Kenji and Mikio remained silent. Mikio kneels down and shakes Kyo, not believing Kyo is dead. Kenji stepped forward and stabbed Mikio in the top of the head.

Mikio opens his eyes and looks at the door. He sighs and hangs his head. Maybe if I go to sleep again, Kyo will be okay when I wake up…

-To be continued in Chapter Four-