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“Doctor doctor!”
Mori looked up from the file he was reading, eyes locked onto the burnt cat on his cot. He looked fauxly joyous and full of life
“What do I do when I feel like this?!”
With a disgustingly bright smile and a wide eye, he extended a hand out as he held something
Looking down, Mori saw a strawberry. A disgustingly rotten one, that grey fuzz on it with the skin having mushed and turned a nauseating color. It was putrid, looked volatile to touch
Mori smiled at him instead
He only smiled, he didn't reply. He stared at him smiling, so cruelly and weirdly. A real smile in comparison, demonstrating Dazai what it looks like. Except this wasn't a kind smile, it was one of pure sadism. He almost looked like a doll, sewed to be constantly frowning, so delighted he ripped his stitches to smile unkindly
And with shame curling in on Dazai, his smile fell, and he only looked at Mori wide eyed
“Oh…”
“Drink some water”
Kunikida extended a glass cup—Dazais glass cup—filled with cold water that almost looked angelic to how dishonorable Dazais throat feels
“It’ll sober you up”
Except Dazai didn't move, he laid on his couch looking half dead. He breathed dryly, chest rising up and down like dawn and dusk while drool leaked from the corner of his mouth. His clothing was a mess, bandages nearly falling off and Dazai felt threatened of his second skin
“Take it.”
Kunikida insisted. Looking up at him, he couldn't see his eyes, the light from the window catching on his glasses that obscured his eyes. Dazai didn't know whether he should feel grateful for that, or painfully alone. He is happy to not be vulnerable with another, but he also felt like an incompetent chore all so weak and pathetic.
A part of him wanted to see that devoted humanity in Kunikidas eyes. The one that burnt so deeply it could one day carve Kunikida from the inside out. A part of him felt disgusted at how genuine and compassionate Kunikida was, most especially when it's directed at him
It was so wrong and so right. Something he can't grasp on despite how much he wished, how much he could pretend. He wondered that, if he até Kunikida whole, would he start to belong in the society around him just like Kunikida?
With resentment, he looked away and slapped the cup alway. It fell on the ground and the glass shattered, water splashing everywhere and creating a mess.
He can imagine Kunikida mad at him, almost wanted it, mostly feared, certainly dreaded it, and always felt gratified. Why was that, why did it feel so good when he purposefully does these things to make himself hated farther. He doesn't know it entirely, doesn't know why this second nature has become his most perverted desires
Instead of the shouts he thought he would hear, instead of the hand around his neck he had hoped to attack him, he heard the door open and slam close. Ah
Somehow that felt worse the way it felt alleviating.
The silence of his empty apartment crawled in and now he was left alone to figure out who it is he is dealing with. He could berate the mirror, investigate the person, just to foolishly realize it was him all along. He didn't recognize himself, that thing that looked almost human just to turn out to be him when he was anything but.
He had feared to look in the mirror, afraid to see a monster in place instead of what's supposedly him. Eventually though, the longer he looked in the mirror, trying to assure himself that there's no monster and it's just him, the distinction between both started to bleed, and now the man was a monster. A monster as ugly as his doctor
Doctor doctor, what do I do when I feel like this?
It was a hotter day, yet Dazai refused to take off his bandages, even as the sun blared down on him and threatened him cancer. Much to no surprise, Dazai wouldn't mind it if he was illed with cancer
Yet the irritating part was how the heat cooked the dead bodies. It was putrid, the smell of burning humanity. No, not the smell of skin and meat being cooked, but the raw smell of human specifically being burnt. Nobody smelt it, but Dazai swore it was there, and he wanted to throw up
He didn't, instead he smiled and cocked his head to the side, playing charming like some sort of parrot
“Don't you want one as well?”
Rampo asked him, mimicking body movement, that he was looking at Dazai. With one hand, he was eating, and the other offered a fruit
“Oh? Rampo-sama offering me his sweets? Haha, where am I! Did I die and not realize it? Perhaps heaven is real!”
“Shush shush, don't patronize me now”
“Hm?”
Dazai looked at the offered fruit. Ameixa. It was a dark one too, so it was surely sweet, perhaps the sweetest, most definitely if Rampo was eating it
“I'll be counting my blessings then!”
Happily he accepted the ameixa, and as he did-
“Oi Rampo-dono!”
Rampo turned around sharply
“Ha?”
Curiously, Dazai looks too to see some police officer waving for him. With a few grumbles, Rampo walks over with confidence, probably about to perform and brag his deduction skills.
Sweat trickling down his forehead beneath his bangs, he looks down at the gift. Frankly, Rampo never really offers his snacks, so it was a pleasant surprise. One so happy that Dazai is convinced it's improving their relationship, that it means Rampo likes him more and their friendship bond is becoming stronger, that Dazai is perceived liked by Rampo. Its a dream, an achievement so great he feels pride burning his chest it almost depilated him
Bringing his ameixa to his mouth and taking a bite, he immediately gags and spits it out onto the pavement. It tasted putrid, and when he willed his fish eyes open and looked down, he saw it looked just wrong
He looked at it in his hand, examined the bitten area, before realizing the inside was rotten foully from the inside out
Confusion and horror filled him
Why was he given a rotten ameixa? Was it purposefully done? Did Rampo secretly hate him? Was it a threat? No, no it didn't seem like it, Rampo didn't seem like the type, did he?
Suddenly, clarity filled his mind like Buddhist enlightenment, and disgust filled his entire body like an atomic bomb and his insides are the limit
“Ah…”
Mori snipped a pair of scissors down a row of bandages, the ones he had wrapped around his hips. As they fell apart, he grabbed them and pulled them away, discarding them in the trash and revealing alabaster skin that's been bruised ugly from rough handling
Mori dipped the tips of his fingers in a small container of a sort of cream, or ointment, it never really mattered. Slowly, he rubbed them against the bruises, pretending to be gentle and caring over Dazai's fragility
The touch had never felt so punishing. He can handle being manhandled, tossed and turned and pulled down, forcefully spread open, forcefully touched in ways his mind had turned into bubbles like he is looking from the outside of an aquarium tank.
Elise flickers back to existence every so often when Mori touches him. She's going on about something, he doesn't really understand. Slowly, all so slowly, it's coming to irritate him
The agony spreads to his brain and spreads like antibody cells attacking his own biology instead. He resents her, he resents Elise so much despite she doesn't even exist. She's young, and despite how she comes partly from Mori’s interest in young girls, she remains innocent, still pure
The more annoying she is the more she provokes him with something he wish he had
“Its saddening, isn't it”
Dazai looks down at Mori at him suddenly speaking. She still keeps speaking, Mori starts poking Dazai's bruises rhythmically, painfully, testing her voice, her existence, almost like he finds it amusing
“What makes her so loveable”
He wants to wrap himself in modesty, he wants his second skin back, hide what's been torn through from the inside
“Is what makes me hate her so much”
Of course, Mori loves Elise so much because she is his innocence incarnated into something of itself. He adores her, and loves the way she hurts him
“-Because then, when I-”
“-Took a bite of the apple pie-”
“-Could you believe that it!-”
It was rotten.
.
.
.
Apples never fall far from the tree
Dazai and Kunikida are lounging in the office couch. The place was empty, everyone busy leaving just them while they were free.
Dazai sat on the floor next to the table, not feeling up for it to be on the couch today. Unusual, but it cancels out when Dazai doubles back with something even more unusual. Kunikida though sat on the chair, beautiful posture, professional as always
Dazai had once looked just as composed, just as perfect. He doesn't want to go back to that though, he fears it almost, a sense of dread filling him at the memory of signing stupid papers at the belief that this would build him into something. It was just pure labour he didn't even have to do, stupid shit that turned out to be nothing for him in turn.
Now these days he couldn't care less
Spring felt nice today, flowers blooming softly outside under the warm sun. In fact, the window had allowed some sun inside. It painted Dazai in gold, he looked almost precious in Kunikidas opinion
He reached forward
“-and so I had went running down the street, screaming from pure fear! And oddly enough, for the first time since I was born, I had felt fear of dying from a dog mauling me! Ah, such a vicious creature, it's almost dis-”
“Perhaps you may be the issue, dogs are fairly good pets, great and wonderful animals.”
Kunikida crossed his legs and looked outside. The gesture had off put Dazai
“Say, haven't you heard that cats are biologically the most perfect animals so far?”
Kunikida scoffed
“And where did you hear that?”
Dazai hummed for a moment as he bit around the strawberry in his mouth before swallowing
“But of course only the best vet in the world had made this proposition, and scientists have later tested the cuteness of a cat and conf-”
Kunikida spat into his hand, taking Dazai off guard. He was almost mimicking a dying man that was being choked to the death with the way he choked into the palm against his mouth. Dare he say, Dazai almost felt jealous. Alas, he feigned concern either way
“Eh eh, is Kunikida-kun unwell? Per-”
“We're you scammed at the market? Cause good god…”
What.
From the confusion on his face, it's apparent Dazai didn't understand. It was clear as the sunlight to Kunikida that he was vexed. Carefully, Kunikida leaned his hand forward. Ah
“The strawberry is spoiled. Actually, looking down, all the strawberries looked to be rotten. Do you not know how to buy good strawberries?”
Dazai stared silently. He didn't get it, he was eating just fine from their shared bowl, in fact he thought he chose great strawberries today it served complimentary to the good day he was having with Kunikida. So why was it so bad all of a sudden? It was impossible for them go to from so perfectly fresh to this bad in just two hours-
In fact, looking down at the bowl, they didn't even look half as bad as what he expected. Maybe they looked a bit darker in color, but they weren't spoiled- they can't be spoiled
Yet to Kunikidas bliss, he didn't notice the overwhelming confusion Dazai felt. Instead, he only continued speaking
“Things are best when they are a bit too early. Don't buy something too ripe that's perfect for the moment, or else it will be spoiled for the future when you sit down to enjoy it”
Pick it young.
Slowly, he comes to realize that, the things he thought were going well, were lower to others than they were to him. He was so used to having the nastiest of strawberries, that when they appeared slightly better and he gave it out, gave himself out, it turns apparent to him through the shock that it's in fact, no good. He is no good
The sun shines on him brightly, in fact, it burns. Its starting to hurt to sit here and feign as if everything is okay, as if everything is sweet. As if nothing is wrong. Like the roots haven't been confiscated, like he was something picked too young and carried it with him till full bloom when no one wanted him anymore. He was-
Too old.
He lets himself break a little further each time he winds up in sheets that will be dirtied. Every single body he intertwines with, it's all an attempt to desperately weaponize his sensuality.
He still remembers maiden touches, sweet whispers telling him to be quiet. They knew he wouldn't say a word if he was ordered. He was objective, it felt like he was a sex doll. For the good use of another's orgasm he had no feeling toward. He wanted it himself, he wanted to see what was the joy in abusing himself
He finds both sides of the coin to be disgustingly addictive. Maybe somewhere between this, he is finding love beneath the covers, giving himself willingly, desperately trying to ignore the trembling of fear he bottles up. There is nothing to be scared of, he doesn't even feel that fear, it's just his body. Mentally, he feels elsewhere
Somewhere between the disgust that he was made into, he wanted to take control and turn himself into disgust. He never expected it to feel so good to harm himself despite the how much he hates pain.
Somewhere inbetween bodies prying his legs open, he tries to find something that made him feel alive. Maybe the rush of an orgasm. In the end, he rushed back to a reality where he was born dead before he even lived.
His guts feel shot. Dirty from the inside, inside his organs, filling him, deeply. Inside, it's all inside, tucked in between the crevices he could reach with someone else's dick. Desperately, he had tried to rewrite that touch with a touch he chose. He had sex he didn't want to have, and he was taught properly by his doctor how to charm someone.
It hurts, it always hurts. For some reason he never realizes that though, because he always comes crawling back. He is growing dependant on it, he realizes once too late that he needs touch constantly to feel wanted. He hates it but he loves it, he can't go without it but he doesn't want anymore of it once taken from him. Its disgusting, it's so gross, it feels so bad, it feels so good.
Every kiss feels like a slimy worm trying to breach into him, tint and take him over, take away another piece of his soul. He's a shell of what he once was, and he is trying to find some deeper meaning inside of himself, find what makes him just so deliciously consumable
Everyday he looks in the mirror and just finds himself. Its just him. He looks in the mirror and sees Dazai.
What the hell kind of creature is that
Somewhere along growing up, he no longer could accept being loved. He loves sex, always did, always tried to hook up with a prostitute he thought of as cute. He wanted to find that connection with those girls and crush it, prove that it means nothing. Its easier to deal with everything if you can prove that it has no significance, but at the same time it's so unbearable to have been worth nothing.
One moment he is looking for meaning in life, but in the meanwhile he is stripping everything of what it means.
And it's that he is trying to find the core. Its like an onion, rip the layers off to find the bud, the seed, and understand what this all means. Why, why, why and why
And some distant part of himself feels like he can't handle the truth if it's there. That it'd be too much that he'd kill himself from the horror of it. Yet it didn't matter, because he wanted to kill himself anyway if it meant nothing
Why did he feel most alive when he was dying.
Its all ridiculous. He looks for lovers to have constant sex, but he can't handle having genuine love in his life. Because the thought of him being loved, being seen for his flaws and being liked, loved and cared for. Getting too close to him, seeing inside him, it fills him with a hatred that makes him want to cry. He hates the idea of being loved like that, mourns the fact someone would feel that for him.
He wants to lose himself in someone but he is terrified of losing himself. Touch his skin and kiss it, caress it and tell him “I love you” and it's disgusting, it's so vile
Because if someone else touched that rot with love, he fears of rotting them. Like his existence is poison, venemous just by one touch. Its fatal, it's disgusting, it's vile
He’s expired
He wonders what's wrong with him. Logically, he knows it's always been in his head, perhaps it's all the sexual abuse when he was a teenager in the mafia. Logically, it's supposed to make sense. Yet more than ever, it doesn't feel like that.
Maybe it's always been inside of him
He has little regard for being pried for despite how much it scares him. How everytime he is told about how beautiful he is, it feels like a predator is licking his open wounds and smiling against his skin
His own skin disgusts him. He hates when someone else touches it, but he needs to touch someone. To be wanted. He doesn't feel okay if he isn't being assaulted. He needs his poison because it hurts so much
And it hurts so good
He mourns who he could've been if he never felt like this. Maybe he could feel okay when someone looks at him adoringly, maybe it could've been okay. Maybe it could've been true in other circumstances. There's no point on dwelling in the maybes, no point to pity yourself over the crimes on you. It doesn't matter, the past is dead
Somewhere along the spring, he died with all the lilies, and strawberry bushes grown on top of him everyday. The most disgusting of strawberries
There is nothing to protect if it was taken before you even knew it existed
His own virginity
“Doctor doctor!”
“Ah?”
“How do I escape this horrible loop of being so miserably sad but unwilling to leave this sadness because it's too comforting?”
“What does this sadness feel like”
“Ha, I feel like the shit of the world. So disgusting, like a cows compost!”
“Don't you know, Osamu”
“Hm?”
“We humans use cow compost to fertilize the soil to grow the most beautiful of fruits?”
“...”
“You may not be good, but maybe one day you could contribute to something good. Would that not be enough for you? It is only natural for good and bad to exist, can you wrap your head around this concept?”
“Doctor doctor-....”
“I'm not your doctor, Osamu”
“Who are you then”
“Your friend”
“....”
Odasaku?
The sun shine warmly, concealed behind curtains. Its good, his head was hurting from his hang over. It feels like his skull is being ripped open
Painfully, he opens his eyes and look at the end of his bed, he sees no one other than Kunikida.
When Kunikida sees him awake, he reaches to the bedside table and leans his hand towards Dazai
“Drink some water”
Dazai stares at him for a bit. He didn't look well, he was disheveled from worry
Hesitantly, Dazai reached forward and accepted the cup of water