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Yeah it was definitive, Kazuya thought, laying in his hospital bed. He wanted Kaiji. Both in bed and in an icebox, cut in so many little pieces.
Kazuya couldn’t have imagined how boring surviving one of his own death gamble would be. Thinking about it, he saved those poor suckers quite the agony. The longer it got, the more he wished Kaiji had just offed him right then and there. Would he have stayed to watch his last painful breath if he didn’t have a truck-full of money to smuggle away? Kazuya liked to think he would.
He wasn’t in agonizing pain but they didn’t let him get high on meds either. Mostly, he felt a low, droning kind of pain in his back, a numbness spread across his lower body, and he wasn’t even missing any body parts! How common, how unimpressive, how... pathetic really.
« Next time I should add a rotary saw or something like that, it’d be cool, » Kazuya muttered to himself, staring at the white, ever-so-faintly stained hospital ceiling.
Of course, he knew those thoughts were stupid. He was glad to be alive. He wanted to thank Kaiji. He was going to throw him the best party, with pretty girls, the best champagne daddy’s money could buy and the best show in Japan. Did Kaiji like pretty girls? Probably. He didn’t have much taste; at least he’d appreciate the booze. Maybe he could bring him to the Human Derby, the next time that happened. Not the cheap seats, with the shit managers that weren’t as high on the ladder as his family, who thought they were being real fucking decadent for watching a bunch of suckers fail basic gymnastics. No, he’d take him to the real show, where the scream lasted long...
Oh, and maybe he’d invite the two idiots in helmets who’d had insisted on coming in their private moment. They’d probably helped Kaiji holding up the tarp. Maybe.
Kazuya didn’t care that much. Kaji alone was what occupying his long, empty hours, next only to whining and self-pity. He wondered what he was doing. He hadn’t heard any new rumors for a few days, so he was probably on the run with the two idiots he couldn’t remember the name of. If he’d ever given a shit, he’d worry the fall had affected his memory. Who cared, he thought, memory was such a fickle thing anyway.
Kaiji would probably care, he mused. He saved me, even thought it got Dad’s hands closer to the money and to his neck. Hell, I wouldn’t have saved me that night, I looked like shit, I was so fucking pathetic, a real waste of space...
Shifting around in bed, he silently wished he’d got his hands around that neck before the end of that fateful night. Maybe when he’d showed him the graveyard, he should have held him down, choked him half-to-death then gotten down and dirty with him on the brand-new grave he’d so generously provided him. No, no, that was too early. In the limo? Pushing him down and making out with him like he was trying to eat him alive ? He’d have ran and the black suits would have shot him then burned his body too fast for him to have any more fun. Gunshots tended to attract unwanted attention and evidence had to be disposed of. At Mother Sophie’s table then? Their hands centimeters away from touching, both so scared and trembling in the high of the gamble. He wished he’d got to touch those hands, the scars that looked like rings, how would these taste...
God, was he pathetic or what.
Yeah, he was. He could picture the black suits holding him like a broken toy, scrambling because their meal-ticket just tumbled down his own ego. Then, his arrival at the hospital, everyone realizing he’d only survived because Kaiji deigned saving him, like he was hot shit, like he was some sort of high-lord, ruling life or death for his slave. Like he was some kind of hero, his hero.
After, his father came to yell at him. Because he lost, because he wasted his money, because he almost got himself killed by such worthless trash... At least, that what he thought had happened. The first half of his stay to the hospital was a bit blurry. He’d been high as hell, but who cared. He could guess his father well enough to fill in the blanks.
Kazuya had decided to disagree then, and he still did. Kaiji was far from common trash, and he’d learned it the hard way. He just wasn’t quite like the others.
Still, he’d wished he’d asked his father to keep him safe and around for him when he’d inevitably get caught. Kaiji was clever enough to win against a shitty, spoiled teenager (His father had said this. Or did he? He didn’t have to say it out loud for him to get it anyway), but probably not clever enough to escape his full might. He knew the old man too well to dare it.
Instead, he pointed out that Kaiji had won fairly, even with the odd so against him. This time, he could remember clearly how weak his voice sounded. His father had just sneered at him. Unsaid was that his brother wouldn’t have failed to cheat like he did. Like a worthy son would have done.
Of course his brother wouldn’t have failed up there. His brother would have never made a bet, wouldn’t have built Mother Sophie (even if he was also her favorite, not that he ever realized it, the ingrate), would have never even come near to trash like Kaiji. He was much too reasonable.
He didn’t even like gambling. Not since that evening in the stables of the vacation home on the Spanish coast, when Kazuya was two days past thirteen. To this day, he couldn’t believe their father had bought the horse stomping on hand excuse for his brother two missing nails. Or maybe he didn’t buy it and let Kazuya get away with it, and he was proud of him and he was his favorite just like his brother was his mother’s, Kazuya thought, indulging in some whishful thinking. He didn’t have much more to do anyway.
Man, he could feel himself get exited at the memory. A bit hard, too. It had been so fun to knock down the smug asshat a peg. He’d been so high and mighty, just because he’d won some junior horse race. Now he was less proud, having lost the prize money and two nails on his left hand. He should have taken a whole finger...
On one hand, Kazuya thought watching in-between his legs, it was reassuring to know that his lower body was on the way to recovery. On the other, it highlighted some things about his brain various miswirings. Most of them he already knew about but still, no need to discover more.
What was more pleasant was his thoughts of Kaiji. He hadn’t had a crush like that since ever, none of the boys at his school could even come close. Not even the most desperate ones he and his subjects usually preyed upon.
His school had also called, he remembered suddenly. He’d missed so much days, even more than usual, that they would have to make him repeat a year. A great pain for them, a bother for him. He’d thought of throwing some pocket money at them so that they’d just mail him his diploma, but then he’d remembered that he was a bit short right now. Maybe if he’d asked Kaiji nicely, with flowers and nails and a hammer.
He’d played a game of nails and hammer with kid in his class, once. He’d mouthed him off and he’d liked that. Sadly, his classmate didn’t have the guts to follow through and win the game. That was probably why his teacher didn’t like him, or part of it. Who cared, they had no proof anyway. He could pay for admiration then and that was way more exiting than the real thing. He used to tell himself that.
He knew he wouldn’t have been popular without his money, not without spreading the pocket change around. He knew he had a face only a mother could love, (and even she didn’t do that good of a job, not even at lying to him. Why couldn’t she have admitted it before she’d passed? It would have saved him so much torment...)
Kazuya moved his mind back to the mouthy kid again. Better to think of some hot stuff rather than get lost down the self-hatred path again. Man, he wished Kaiji had squirmed half as much. It’d been so fun, he’d wanted to do it again with someone else, the sooner the better The smells had been so hot and metallic and just a bit salty. He’d been so messy but so are all first times, he’d spilled all over, him or the kid? Shit, he couldn’t remember...
Maybe Kaiji’s right and I’m really just a serial killer, he thought, grabbing his dick and starting to stroke.
He thought about playing Death Roulette with Kaiji. Sitting at the club, behind the pane of glass, savoring the meat and the show, doing some people-watching... No, no, he’d have to do it himself. The butchers he usually employed wouldn’t understand what to do with such an outstanding piece of meat as Kaiji. Would the roulette land on limb or finger first? He’d have to pip it, conscience be damned. Kaiji deserved to last as many days as his body could hold on. Man, what a goddamn missed opportunity that was, Kaiji winning against the manager.
Although, it wouldn’t have been as fun bringing him straight to it. They didn’t know each other as well, it would have just been impersonal. Just another rat that the cat had brought in to play with before eating it, special for a night but forgotten the next day.
He wished he could have both, he really did. Kaiji next to him at some fancy party, knowing he can’t leave because he’d be so mad at him he’d do something crazy. Kaiji squirming and pissing himself on the floor of his secret club, Kazuya taking him apart with loving care, fingers digging in flesh. Kaiji in bed with him, protesting but giving in to the caresses and the care and the bites. Kaiji trying not to cry as he raises the blade, the containers ready at the side of the table, the ice making the room misty, both of them savoring the instant. Kaiji splayed prone on his back, a knife finding itself in Kazuya’s hand.
He’d cut a nice slit on his lower belly and fuck him like he’d fuck a girl, warm and wet. His dick would stab and stab again and it’ll feel great. Kaiji would yell and thrash and scream sure, but he could just make some lame joke about him being so wet for him and Kaiji would probably start weeping. It’d feel great, better than anything he’d ever done before. Soon, Kaiji would wrap his legs around his waist, keeping him close so his insides wouldn’t spill out all over himself but it would leak and bleed and paint the mattress red. He wondered how long Kaiji would live with a dick jammed in his guts. Not long, maybe a while. He’d have to savor it in anyway because then Kaiji would be dead for good, and that would be no fun, no fun at all...
Ah, there. He’d made another mess for someone else to clean. Some people do have to earn their money, Kazuya thought, wiping his hand off on the sheet. He stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the smell and that small feeling of guilt. It always came after he did something fun. He’d felt it cleaning the metal pliers in the stream behind the stables in Spain, he’d felt it watching that mouthy boy burial, he’d felt it just a week earlier. How could something so insignificant be so annoying, he just couldn’t get.
A few minutes later, unable to ignore the insignificant, he started to think about Kaiji again. What would it be this time, blackmail, an abduction, some good old-fashioned forced marriage? The feeling nagging at him again, he realized that even in the branching labyrinth of his fantasies, he could never imagine Kaiji being with him willingly. There was always shackles, money or a whispered threat. Lost in sweet thoughts, he couldn’t tell if that made him pathetic or not.
Maybe I’m just being a realist, he mused, caressing himself still.
Closing his eyes, he started to picture what the wedding would look like.