deep inside it's cold; fic
backstory fic, Kiyoshi in the mental asylum. beware crazy and also badtouch.
Kiyoshi is cold, and everything hurts, with sharp-edged brokenness inside his head, and the voice, the voice that never stops, inside his head, and he lies there and doesn't struggle, doesn't struggle, there's nowhere he can go and nothing to be, he wakes up backwards and broken and inside out, everything's spinning and it doesn't stop.
There's blood in his mouth, he can taste it, blood on his hands and and his sister's voice in his ears, he's breathing no matter how much he wills himself to stop, he won't he can't die, still breathing, still living, and it's not fair because she's dead and that voice in his head, fluttering like a bird, beating its wings against the cage and he won't let it out and his thoughts spin in vague circles, around and around-
Pretty and broken and useless, just like him. He's so cold and doesn't feel anything, not even the prick of the needle in his arm in the morning and in the evening, drugs twice a day, electroshock to try to put his broken pieces back together, he is drugged and dreaming and drifting, and through the window high above he can see butterflies.
It is dark and it is cold and time itself has no meaning, and he stares up at the ceiling vaguely as fingers run through his hair, caress his cheek, bolder still when he doesn't protest, resting on his hip, trailing lower down, tracing across the inside of his thigh, and the voice inside of his head whispers even louder, as if fighting to get out, and he won't let it, no no no even when everything feels wrong-
Kiyoshi is cold. He doesn't think he'll ever be warm again.
Kiyoshi is cold, and everything hurts, with sharp-edged brokenness inside his head, and the voice, the voice that never stops, inside his head, and he lies there and doesn't struggle, doesn't struggle, there's nowhere he can go and nothing to be, he wakes up backwards and broken and inside out, everything's spinning and it doesn't stop.
There's blood in his mouth, he can taste it, blood on his hands and and his sister's voice in his ears, he's breathing no matter how much he wills himself to stop, he won't he can't die, still breathing, still living, and it's not fair because she's dead and that voice in his head, fluttering like a bird, beating its wings against the cage and he won't let it out and his thoughts spin in vague circles, around and around-
Pretty and broken and useless, just like him. He's so cold and doesn't feel anything, not even the prick of the needle in his arm in the morning and in the evening, drugs twice a day, electroshock to try to put his broken pieces back together, he is drugged and dreaming and drifting, and through the window high above he can see butterflies.
It is dark and it is cold and time itself has no meaning, and he stares up at the ceiling vaguely as fingers run through his hair, caress his cheek, bolder still when he doesn't protest, resting on his hip, trailing lower down, tracing across the inside of his thigh, and the voice inside of his head whispers even louder, as if fighting to get out, and he won't let it, no no no even when everything feels wrong-
Kiyoshi is cold. He doesn't think he'll ever be warm again.