Title: Crazy

Rating: T

Pairing: HichiIchi (I think…?)

Disclaimer: I own this drabble…but I have no idea what I was on when writing it.

Warnings: Incoherent thoughts, disjointed sentences, creepy imagery, dark themes, drug abuse, masochism and homosexual themes (I think).

Summary: HichiIchi. Dark. Drug abuse. He was crazy. He had to be.

A/N: Reading the book 'Crank' by Ellen Hopkins, and oh my god the stuff in there reminded me so much of Hichi and Ichi's relationship! 'Life was great before the Monster, and after the monster, life was radical…for a while.' From memory of course, it was Midge's book. (Grumbles) And a few months back. (Grumbles even more)

Buy it. It's awesome.

So yeah, this was inspired by one of the works in 'Crank': For some Crazy Reason. And was written yonks ago…uh…a couple of months ago. Funny what you find floating in your files or computer hard drive, ne?

Crazy Ichigo, which was why I brushed it up and posted it up. I like crazy!Ichi :D Oh, and this makes absolutely no sense. Even with the thing at the beginning. (I myself was going, 'what the Hell was I on when writing this? Inspiration apparently -.-;) So, have fun trying to decipher it (sneaks away).

Enjoy!

666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666

"I thought that was
The funniest thing
I'd ever heard.

Creepy, insane
Laughter bubbled
Up from my gut
Like lava,
Erupting
Suddenly
In gigantic
Heaving
Gulps.

We were
busted.
I was
Busted.

And I
Didn't
Give
A
Damn.

-- For Some Crazy Reason, Ellen Hopkins

666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666

CRAZY

He was crazy. Most assuredly. Probably.

According to the masked faces with their smiling grins and ostentatious gesticulation, he was fine. Nothing more then simple cerebral unbalance of the brain. But he knew, knew like the voice rumbling in his head knew that they were lying, their masked faces and grinning smiles were falsetto on high. He longed to break them, but…no; no It longed to break them. He was nothing more then a husk.

'More', it hissed, pushing in his chest with the urge to feel the buzzing high of anything, to feel the fiend's ambrosia when the fast track to heaven is injected, ingested, inhaled, other 'in's and never 'out's, and laugh like he was on speed (which he was, or it could've been E, he wasn't sure). The monster in his head liked his buzzed mind, liked purring so deep in his brain he felt the vibrations shudder through his muscles and veins, and it liked freezing his blood of the speed, or the E, or the whatever he grabbed, so he begged for more.

"Drug abuse!" The masked faces chorused with their grinning smiles (or was it smiling grins? He wasn't quite sure over the dull roar of withdrawal), and kept them away, the needles and fine powder that sent him to Hell but elevated him to a burning heaven where the monster in his chest could touch every inch of him. The drugs were a catalyst, more drugs, the more the monster wanted and gave. And he loved how the monster asked for its rent.

War? What war? Past flickers of blades and fallen black/white bodies, spatters of crimson, but not the E, no no nonono! He didn't think, the monster in his head clamped down on those images, hissing and twisting through his mind and giving another surge of dryness. He needed more E, or speed, or drugs or ANYTHING!! Hell, cough syrup would do!

Cold. That what the monster was, but he longed for the burning heat. He dug blunt nails in tanned skin drained white, wanting the heat now (nownownownow) as the withdrawal made him groan, want the monster's hands, want the monster's lips, want the monster's eyes and, and, and the monster's lust and hunger deep and heavy and ice cold/scorching hot! He wanted the more, he wanted the want, he wanted too much!

"Give…me more!" He gasped, kicking the sheet off in his locked off room. The withdrawal was killing him, he was sure, which didn't make much sense because a small part of his brain cackled how he was already dead, or died once, he forgot. He wanted to scream, nails dragging along his paled skin as the pain served to give the heady high of drugs, but still, not enough-!

'More…?' Came the sultry purr, and a part of Ichigo rejoiced. He gasped 'yes' over and over, writhing on the bed as he felt the familiar heady feeling, the lapse in thinking and remembering (because remembering was bad, remembering made the monster disappear in rage and leave him to the cool, lukewarm world). He cried out in ecstasy, limbs trembling as the monster continued to purr and rub. The purrs deafened him, and the rubbing burned, phantom claws tearing at his skin (or it could be his blunt fingernails doing that) and giving him such a wonderful swirl of dizziness!

'They don't understand us.'

No, nononono! Of course not! They could never! They stood on their broken pedestal claiming to win (win? Win what?) and he saw, saw, saw so many things! There was dryness again, the monster retreating in his mind. He could feel the mental lips curling in a maniacal grin. Not false, not real, but something so incredibly addictive he sobbed for it, clenching fingers in the bed sheets.

'Say please, King.'

"Please…" He gasped, half lidded brown eyes (now gold, or amber, or amalgamations between the two). "Give me more!" The withdrawal was returning, and though this wasn't speed or E, it was something much better. Much darker, more internal, more pleasant and less pain (more pain). "Please! MORE!!"

'Alright…because you asked so nicely. Watch out now, here's the rush!'

And what a rush it was, a cataclysmic of light headedness blanked out by the high pitched cackles ricocheting round his head. He moaned (what more could he do?) and writhed, moaning out again, and again as another wave of undeniable buzz surged through his body. He was hard, he was certain, but he didn't care because that monster was in a good mood, such a good mood!

'Those bastards, keeping it away from us.' There were burning cold hands roaming his body, the pleasure intensifying to epic proportions. 'You wouldn't want to remember, King. I'm keeping you safe, see?' Why should it justify its actions? He didn't care anymore! 'You're right. How silly of me. Let's take it back later, hmm? Maybe get both of them back.'

And Ichigo opened his eyes, blazing gold surrounded by oblivion staring down at him with such hunger he moaned again, body shivering in want and withdrawal and mild fear (something told him that this was an enemy) as he obediently parted his legs. The withdrawal was getting too much, the powerful shockwaves of pleasure this monster was giving him not enough! "Give…me more…please…" Nothing more then blank pleas, he didn't give a damn about what was what anymore.

'As m'King wants…' Soft, harsh and filled with jagged razor blades, black fingernails (claws. Mosnters have claws, remember?) tore at his skin, crimson blood spilling over the sheets. A part of him was indignant, they'll think he self harmed, but then, medication came with that right? And he quickly pulled up his shirt and cried out in pained ecstasy at the black fingernails (claws) digging into the firm skin. 'Time to get up. We need to get Zangetsu back…and the E.'

Of course, of course, of course. He murmured softly, eyes slipping half shut in pleasure as the white monster, pure and immaculate with smudges of crimson staining its fingers, grinned and laughed, grasping his hands and pulling him up.

This world was messed up. He was crazy. His memories were unreliable. And who knew what war happened? He needed the drugs, the blankness that followed and Zangetsu (whatever that was). He fell forwards, the laughter spinning his head round (or the blood loss) on his shoulders as he gripped tightly to the white monster, unconsciously rutting to get the heat in his groin away.

'Later, my King.' Mocking, cajoling. Promise of more heat? 'First, let's get rid of these little pests, hmm? Then I'll give you all the E and speed you want.'

He would jump in Hell for that, for the second time, his mind supplied helpfully. But he couldn't stop rubbing, moans half formed as the white monster laughed again, wild and unyielding as he opened the locked door with an invisible key. Or maybe he kicked it down, who knew? His mind was unreliable, crazy and haywire.

Shouts.

He wanted heat.

There was blood again, and memories died. All he could think of was the pure immaculacy of the white monster and its hellish eyes. He was crazy after all, and crazy people didn't have to stick with right or wrong.

Though, he guessed, he did once upon a time. When sanity was cheaper.

6666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666666

A/N: See! I have no idea what I was on when writing this!

Hmmmm…have fun…trying to figure it out OxO

Ja ne!