DELIRIA - YANDERE!CHUUYA NAKAHARA

Twenty one: Power.

As much as the kiss lightened you, it also darkened you.

Now that you knew you were capable of human intimacy and all its consequences, how were you to deal with the shield you have put up? It rests by your feet like a hollowed out carapace. You pick it up and rattle it, hear the past shake in the shell, before attempting to crawl back inside it.

It's too late now. You can't go back to the state you were in. Chuuya has effectively unravelled you. What can you do now? What can you ever do with reality but chase it around? You can't expect to capture it in any final way. because the thing keeps moving. Picture you then, post-annihilation; bloodied, ruthless, an executioner, in hopes of catching a glimpse.

A glimpse of what?

That's just it. You never know.

You guide Chuuya out of your room by holding him by the elbow, as though he was a blind man. And in a sense he was: he was utterly, completely, definitely blinded by your history and its bloodiness; it covered him in waves and he crossed his arms over his chest and let it overtake him, allowing the dredged up flecks of your past to bury him like a tombstone. He had some sweet words to say to you, smirking with your kiss on his lips like the red mark of Dracula, ecstatic to have been your first.

You slam the door in his face when he has some teasing remarks to say about it.

You keep the light on that night. You don't sleep, but stare mindlessly out the window, nursing the wine glass that you had decided to keep and finish. There were some days where you felt like a servant for this emptiness you held inside of you. You were a better knife than you were a person. A better axe. A better fist, ready to punch and crush. You stare up at the ¾ moon peeking out of the clouds, hanging peacefully as though held up by strings.

You balance a cigarette in your lips, clamping down on it as you swirl the wine in circular motions. Blue smoke wafts from the greying tip, ashes falling like fatalist comets in the dark night sky. You're a talker when you smoke, but now that you have no one to talk to, you contemplate deeply.

Who was Chuuya to you?

What did he mean to you?

Did you like him?

You take the cigarette out of your mouth and brush your lips over with your fingers, feeling the burn of his lips against yours. It gave you power, a sort of sexual power, over yourself, at being able to dominate your fears with a simple kiss. You felt monstrous, and there are no heroes in this story because monsters don't need heroes. They simply are.

You toss your head back, hair falling back in tandem. You close your eyes and let the moonlit wind graze your exposed neck, caressing it lovingly, just as Chuuya had. He had held you with a tenderness that you had never heard or felt of, and that was proof in itself that you had been broken into pieces. You can feel his shadow melting against your skin like fumes. His fingers dancing across your face. The white walls of your room showing two shadows mingling into one. Your first kiss, but not your first stolen innocence.

Innocence had long been stolen from you. But Chuuya opened another door to you, a door that had been long sealed off in your mind, a door that was inaccessible through breaking grounds and crumbling bridges. He opened another gateway to innocence, to be someone new, to mean something to someone else for once. Tragedy was all you knew, because you were filled with rage, because you were filled with grief. And that was the core of what was beneath all those bandages.

It was strange to have a liking towards: It was like opening a missing door you hadn't ever known was in your head. The forbidden room. You are labyrinthine, turning yourself back on itself, twisting and confusing as to never go back to the past. Woven into the present, as memories, reveries, dream or feverish hallucinations, are many scenes in your multi-faceted life: near catastrophes that you have escaped by the skin of your teeth, easy triumphs, superhuman feats of violence, nights of solitude, portentous turns of fate and fake encounters for intel. There were so many parts of you it was difficult to figure out which one he truly liked.