Congrats, you've convinced me to continue ;)
I hope this is not a disappointment.
•••
When you're confined alone for a long period of time, you forget who you are. Sanity is always coming and going, like an old friend you don't know you miss until you turn to them and realize they are not there to keep you grounded. When guilt and resentment are the only ones keeping you comfort, it is also not hard to remember why you almost rather forget who you are than face the outside again.
Maybe letting go of sanity is ok when it's your doing, and when no one seems to remember who you were supposed to be in the first place.
Why hasn't anyone said anything?
Why am I still trapped?
I should have been out by now.
You know that your concept of time has been close to non-existent for a while, but you are positive that if someone had received your message, they should have come to "rescue" you out of the cold, dark walls of the Port Mafia by now.
Or maybe no one ever received the message and this is the world's way of ensuring karma on my drastic measures, on the consequences of yesterday.
It wasn't like you hadn't tried to escape yourself. After days of acceptance, you tried to charm and use anyone who came close enough for you to use your ability on, but they knew better, and slowly those days where you had any chance of escaping dwindled out. You were no longer sure where exactly you were in the Port Mafia, and even when you yelled no one seemed to hear you.
I'm tired of playing with the voices in my mind and repeating the same few memories all the time.
I'm tired of being punished for being Just.
Im tired of being punished for loving.
Have I always been this tired? I can't remember how long this eternity has been...
Everything is so confusing
Maybe if I start screaming again...
"[f/n] [l/n]?"
The voice of a stranger reaches your ears and causes you as much bewilderment as a feverish delirium in your mind. You aren't sure if you're imagining it, or if someone really has called your name.
It's still so dark.
"Miss [l/n]?"
That voice again...
Have I truly gone crazy? I don't even know this voice...
You feel hands on you, untying you from your prison, and suddenly you're standing, your pupils dilating at the first hit of light. You know you're still indoors, but the light feels good enough on you that you wonder if it could be the sun itself.
What's going on?
"Miss [l/n], old sport, I can see you've been treated poorly, but don't worry. My name is Francis Scott Fitzgerald, and I have bought you your freedom under the condition that you work for me. You don't have a choice, money has sealed the deal, cant argue with capitalism since you gave up on your own humanity like this...you were worth quite a lot y'know...but nothing I couldn't handle. Nothing less than I expected for a power such as yours!" The man bellows, much too loud for your currently sensitive ears.
You wince, but he pulls you up to stand straighter, taking your arm and bringing you along a long, dark hall until you reach a door. By this moment, your brain hasn't caught up to processing what's going on, and it wildly searches for excuses.
This is too sudden.
You're imaging all of this.
I don't know this man at all.
Wait...this new light...the air...!
You take a deep breath and better steady yourself, a forgotten strength surging through your weakened body as you take in the taste of outdoor air and the bite of crisp, morning wind. Your eyes open and flutter at the brush of sunlight, adjusting to a brightness you hadn't seen in...how long?
"Wait!" You yelp, tugging your arm and pulling on Fitzgerald's grip, your eyes going up and analyzing him, and then your surroundings.
Everything felt like short flashes filled with white noise, nothing felt real, and if it was you were overwhelmed and confused. So confused. You figured out you were now actually outside in a huge open driveway, an expensive looking car ready for the man taking you, and you. Where you were going, you weren't sure. It was an odd moment for you, one second locked up in the Port Mafia and the next pulled out by an...American? You weren't 100% sure. Although...his expensive white suit, blond hair, blue eyes...
Capitalism?
"What's wrong? I can better explain everything once we're in the car and on our merry way-"
"Why am I free?" You ask, your voice barely loud enough to be heard. Maybe it was a stupid question, but you couldn't grasp his explanation.
It had been a while since you heard yourself speak.
This doesn't make any sense.
Someone was supposed to come for me, someone was supposed to care-!
"The Port Mafia decided you were worth more making money than rotting in a dungeon...and we were able to strike a deal after I heard of you. Nobody cared about you enough to keep you, but I do old sport, I do! Now come on, time is money." Fitzgerald says with the arrogant tone you were beginning to associate with his overall personality.
No...the Port Mafia didn't decide any of that. Mori did. Mori knows this is just more punishment that only benefits him in the end...because someone was supposed to care.
I ruined that though.
Akutagawa...
I thought I made sure I'd see you again. I'd trade this freedom to see you again, to understand you.
Have I done that wrong too?
•••
You aren't sure how many tears you've shed in this abyss you now called home. It's a hard process, losing yourself and your sense of reality, but when it's the second time, it hurts worse like rubbing salt on a wound. Months ago you woke up from a coma, and months ago you had to find yourself again and again. Reasoning was difficult when your past was everywhere, but now by yourself, reason is all you can hope to keep so you don't slip away completely...and every day you once again try to find yourself hidden in shadows that were no longer there.
'What have I done?' You think you yourself over and over, so often that you wonder if there was ever a time those words didn't cross your mind.
You wish you were stuck in oblivious darkness instead of your situation now. You wish you wouldn't remember the sound of his voice, the way his presence sang to your heart, how his lips felt on yours, your face in his hands...
'And you don't remember any of it'
'What have I done?'
•••
You sit in the fancy car with Fitzgerald riding in shot gun, the view of him and his driver hidden from your sight, no echo of conversation reaching your ears. You watch out of the tinted windows soullessly as scenery you could vaguely recognize passes you, a thorn in your heart as you hold yourself, your mind behind in the process of coming back to reality and up to date.
How do I know this is even real? Can I even really remember how I got out of my cell? This could all be fake...
Like the times I thought I heard his voice...
No. This is too solid. Too vibrant.
Wake up, [f/n]!
You're out of the Port Mafia!
Someone bought you!
Your heart starts to race and suddenly you put your hand against the car door, eyes widening and your body shaking.
"How long has it been?!"