A/N: Oh my God! I just started another story! Woah. Haha, well, to all my AoD readers - welcome! And watch out. This story isn't going to be NEARLY as nice as AoD, but I'm happy with it all the same. I'm branching out here. XD
WARNING!!! This story is rated M for a reason. Please keep in mind that this is a serious story dealing with RAPE and the effects of RAPE ( rape trauma syndrome, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, suicide) Believe me. This story IS NOT pretty, and if you get squishy about this sort of stuff, then you might not want to read it. D:
But I do like happy endings . . . hint hint . . . almost as much as I like angst. (And this will be LightxL!)
WARNING!!! Rape scene in the first chapter. I REPEAT! The scene is graphic. NO UNDERAGE READERS! Leave now if you get upset by this sort of thing! I'm serious you guys! I surprised myself with how fucked up this chapter was.
Disclaimer (for the whole story): I don't own anything recognizable, but if it's not too recognizable, then there's a good chance that I might own it, but let's not take chances, yes?
This story is inspired heavily by "The Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel. PLEASE Youtube this. It's an amazing song.
The Sound of Silence
God is Dead
"In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence."
- Simon and Garfunkel "The Sound of Silence"
Light pulled his coat tight, shivering. The cold that night was particularly biting.
The walk from Headquarters to the train station wasn't very far, but the cool temperature made every minute seem inordinately drawn out. The street lights shined dimly as Light made his way down the sidewalk. One street light a block down flickered suddenly, and then died. It gave Light an uneasy feeling, but he pushed it aside.
It was silent. Not even the sound of cars could be heard, or a siren, or even a helicopter. It was completely silent, and the streets were deserted. Light felt himself shiver, but this time it was not caused by the chill.
Light glanced at his wristwatch, squinting to make out the clockface. He had fifteen minutes before the last train ran. His father had taken an earlier one, but Light had opted to stay at Headquarters rather than leave with his father.
It was almost the end, and Light wanted to enjoy his time with his greatest foe. L was the only man who could ever really challenge Light, and Light respected the detective for that. But L would be dead soon, and Light relished being in the man's presence knowing that the detective's time on this earth was limited.
L had lost and Kira had won.
Light smirked at the thought.
And while he enjoyed the detective's presence, to some extent, he was in no mood to stay the night at Headquarters. Now that Higuchi had been caught and Light had been uncuffed, he was jumping at the chance to sleep in his own room without cameras or widened, dark eyes watching his every move.
As he walked, Light mulled over his plan. Everything was going well. Misa had been released yesterday, and she was due to visit him tomorrow or the next day. He would have her dig up the notebook then, and if she still remembered L's real name, then L would be dead either tomorrow or within the next few days. If not, it was no matter. Light always had a contingency plan, and he would have Rem in a position where she would have no choice but to act if it came down to it.
Light smiled cruelly to himself, thinking about the detective's death. It really was a shame that L would die, but the strange man had no place in Light's world. Those who went against God were punished, and L was no exception. His death would pave the way to a New World.
" . . . pretty."
Light stopped and turned to look into the mouth of a dark alley where the whisper had come from. The streetlight directly behind him flickered on, and then off once again, but it was enough time for Light to see that a figure lurked just within the alley.
Light chastised himself for stopping, uneasy at the stranger's presence. He stepped quickly away, his eyes firmly set on the lit street lamp just up a head.
That was when he heard the heavy footsteps. Whoever it was, they were following him.
But Light was not worried. No, why should he be? He wasn't about to be mugged, surely. With the threat of Kira, crime rates had dropped dramatically within the past year. And Light was Kira – God – and only the foolish would dare go against God, like L. L was foolish, but he doubted the man following him was. Most people were smart enough not to go against God. Light had nothing to fear.
And then he was grabbed from behind.
With a startled yell, Light thrashed against his attacker, but one sharp stab to the base of his neck left him limp, paralyzed. Pressure point. Light cried out in anger as his knees gave out beneath him.
The man, it could only be a man with that build, dragged him into the darkened alley from whence he came and threw Light to the ground. Light landed with a dull thud and a groan, angry at himself. God did not allow his subjects to mug him. Who ever this bastard was -
"So pretty," whipered the man, reaching out to touch his cheek. Light was still feeling the effects of the man's quick jab to his neck, and he had no choice but to allow the touch. However, his rage was slowly building. How dare this man? What gave him the right to touch God?
"Get the fuck away from me," he growled, trying to twist his head around to see the face of the man who attacked him. It was dark in the alley, and he couldn't make out a thing except for the vague shape of the figure standing over him.
He was rewarded by a swift kick to the gut, which had Light doubled over in pain. It was followed by three more kicks, each more vicious than the last. And then suddenly, hands fell upon him, ripping at his clothes.
Light panicked. What the hell? Was the attacker trying to find his wallet? What – and then Light's pants were jerked down, along with his boxers. Light stiffened as the cold air touched his naked skin, coming to a horrific realization. No. No fucking way. There was no way he was about to be -
"NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" shouted Light, as the man touched him there, softly stroking.
"Hush, little pretty."
"NO! STOP! STOP IT!" gasped Light as he felt wandering hands. He tried to struggle, tried to move, but the man was so much bigger than he was. And so much stronger.
The man kept a firm hand on his head, keeping Light pinned to the ground, all the while roughly pulling Light to his knees, his rear end obscenely jutted out into the cool air. He heard the man fumble behind him, and then he heard the sound of a zipper.
Light's struggles were now desperate, and he gagged as something warm and hard rubbed against his back side. He knew what it was, and Light tried to stifle a cry – it was the least he could do for his dying pride – but to his horror, he found himself begging.
"NO! STOP IT! PLEASE DON'T – NO! PLEASE! STOP – AHHH!"
Pain. Tearing. Burning. Ripping. Pain.
The pain was nothing like he had ever felt before, and Light's weak struggles were not enough to save him from the sudden, unexpected push. The initial intrusion made him cry out in a mangled, disbelieving noise. It was only when the man began to move within him in earnest did the pain intensify.
Light screamed, gasping for breath between each plunge, and then screamed again when the pain slammed back forcefully, harder than before. His attacker kept up the rougher pace, grunting in time with his thrusts.
Light's head was held firmly on the the ground, thick calloused fingers digging into his cheek, rubbing it in a mockery of a caress. His bare knees dug into the rough asphalt of the alley. They were probably bloody.
Suddenly, the man reached around and grabbed Light, tugging roughly. Light gasped, sick and horrified to find himself hardening from the man's ministrations.
"You pretty little whore," whispered the man, harshly, and pulled hard. Light groaned as the man's hand rubbed him faster. No. This was not happening. How could he be reacting to this?! Did that mean Light . . . liked this? No! He hated this! But why was -
And then Light felt the pressure building. Try as he might, he couldn't stop it, and he came into the man's hand with a strangled, desperate sob.
He was fucking pathetic, and the man knew it too and laughed, wiping his soiled hand along Light's lips. Light gagged, and the man took the opportunity to stick is fingers in Light's mouth, moving them in and out roughly, in sync with his movements from behind Light.
Light bit down hard, and the man drew back his fist and punched him in the head. Light's vision went black for a moment before returning.
The man slammed into him with so much force that Light's face rubbed hard against the asphalt.
Light bit the inside of his cheek to stop from screaming, heedless of the tears that flowed freely down his face now. It hurt. It burned. It tore. It rubbed raw. And there was blood. He could feel it run down his thighs, and even though it hurt, the blood helped ease the tearing pain as the man pummeled his body. He would not scream out again. No. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction.
And then the knife appeared.
"Pretty, little pretty. What a pretty boy . . ." whispered the man, running the blade up and down Light's thighs. Light gasped at the sensation of cold metal, and squeezed his eyes shut. This man wasn't just going to – hurt – Light. He was going to kill him.
Light distantly thought he might have been relieved.
"Don't worry -" the man huffed, "little pretty." The man continued to thrust into him, but they were coming erratically now.
"Just want to -" heavy gasp for breath. "- give my little pretty a present," finished the man.
His attacker took the knife and pressed it against the small of Light's back. Light held his breathe, and as the man pressed himself deep into him, and at the same time slashed Light's back just as deeply.
Light screamed. The man continued to slash away at Light's flesh with every slam, and Light's screams did not cease. With one final, hard thrust, Light felt something warm shooting into him, and the man collasped on top of him, heaving.
He felt his blood being smeared by the crushing weight, and he knew, logically, that the man had stopped moving within him, but the phantom sensations of the man's repeated movement left him shaken and muddled.
But it was over. It was all over, and Light couldn't stop the sobs that escaped him. Relieved and pained and sick. He felt like he was going to be sick. His attacker was still in him. Light could feel it, and oh God! He just wanted it out!
Light moved weakly, trying to pull away from the man. Anything to get the man out of him.
His attacker laughed, and even though Light couldn't see the man's face with his head still pushed to the ground, he could feel the vibrations of the man's mirth. The man pulled himself out, and Light's stomach lurched at the sickening sensation of the man unseating himself.
With one final caress, a sound of a zipper, and a whisper of "little pretty," the man was gone.
And darkness descended.
Light came to with a start. He furiously blinked his eyes. Where was he? Why was he so cold? Why was his whole body throbbing dully in pain?
Hands, tearing, pain. A scream. "Little pretty . . ."
Light's breathing became erratic with the sudden onslaught of memories. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"No, no, no, no, no . . . ." he whispered furiously.
Silent tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, and even though Light had refused to shed a tear since he was six, he couldn't find the strength to care now. He moved, and with the movement came the knowledge that he was lying in a small pool of blood and semen. His stomach lurched yet again, and Light pulled himself to his feet, feeling a trail of liquid sliding down his leg.
He was in such a hurry to move from the place he had been – hurt – that he didn't realize that his pants were still tangled around his knees. He stumbled and fell, his hand catching himself on the wet asphalt. He brought his fingers up to his face, and in the dim light from the flickering street lamp, he saw blood. His blood. And something . . .
Light vomitted, violently expunging his dinner. He choked, the smells of his violation making his nausea worse. Oh, God, the smell. Blood, sweat, sex, vomit – he heaved again, but nothing else would come up.
He stayed on his hands and knees for a few moments longer until the nausea had passed. He carefully clambered to his feet, stumbling slightly when a wave of dizziness slammed into him. He fell back against the wall of the alley, breathing deeply.
With extreme effort, Light pulled his khaki pants back up and re-did his zipper, cringing at the horrid sound. He winced, his breathe catching as his pants rubbed against the slashes on the small of his back. He gritted his teeth and pulled his coat closer around him before shakily walking out onto the sidewalk.
Silence. Complete and utter silence.
The street lamp flickered.
Light glanced at his watch. The train had left an hour ago. He must have been out for a while, but thankfully not too long. He would never want anyone to find him in that position. Ever.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and let a calm, detached mask fall across his features. The screams, the pain, the embarrassment – he locked it all away behind his mask, and strode forward with determination. It would be a long walk home, and there was no way in hell he'd go back to Headquarters.
His limp was barely percievably, but there all the same.
It was very late, or very early if one wanted to get technical, but all the same, Light was infintely relieved to find the household asleep. His father must have assumed that Light had stayed at Headquarters. If only he had, then maybe - He stopped that train of thought. Only fools dwelled on what-ifs. What happened, happened, and Light would deal with it. What happened changed nothing. His plans would continue - he would continue - just like it never happened.
Light could faintly smell the remanents of dinner, and it looked like his mother had rearranged the living room furniture in the months of his abscence, but for the most part, everything remained the same. He wasn't happy to be home, per se, but the familiar atmosphere calmed his nerves somewhat. He felt safe here.
He paused, his hand on the stair rail, as the thought flitted across his mind.
Safe? He shook his head, clearing the thought away.
Light crept up the stairs, making a point of stepping over the step that creaked. He didn't want to take the chance of waking someone. Not until he could get rid of his clothes and . . . a shower. Yes, he needed a shower. Every time he took a step, he could feel the blood and – other stuff – sticking to his legs.
Just as he was about to reach for his door, someone grabbed his arm.
He yelped, jumping away as panic and fear shot through him. He tripped and fell to the floor, landing on his rear end with a scream of pain he tried his best to muffle. The pain pulsed through him in waves, but he paid it no mind. His eyes were darting back and forth between his room and the darkened silhoutte of what had to be the -
"B-brother?" came the hesitant voice of Sayu.
Light blinked in disbelief, trying his best to calm his racing heart. Sayu. It was just Sayu. It wasn't anyone that was going to – hurt – him. He felt angry at himself for thinking such things. He was at home! Not in some fucking back alley! Not anymore!
"Sayu! What the hell are you doing out of bed?" he asked, and it came out more harshly than he intended, but he was so angry. Angry at Sayu for scaring him so bad. For reminding him of what had just happened. Angry at himself for reacting in the humiliating way that he did.
"I-I haven't seen you in m-months. D-dad said you might c-come home tonight. I was w-waiting for you," stuttured his sister.
Light narrowed his eyes. "Just go to bed. It's too late for family reunions."
Sayu just stared at him for one long moment before turning around and quietly entering her own room. The door closed with a soft click.
Light pulled himself up to his feet, holding onto his door handle for added support. He felt a fresh gush of blood seep out of his rear. The jarring impact had agitated the wounds, and his back stung something awful as he manuevered himself off the floor.
Light pushed all the emotions that threatened to drown him back down, and his mask fell back into place with a practiced ease. He was fine. Everything was fine. Normal. He was completely in control.
Light turned on his lights and locked the door. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his old room. Now, he'd just have to get rid of the evidence. Then he could go about his life as if this night had never happened.
He stripped down, wincing as the dried blood pulled at his skin as the boxers came off. He could salvage the clothing - they weren't that bad off, but that didn't mean he had too. No, he had to get rid of it. He had to erase all evidence of this night.
He wadded up his clothes – including his jacket – and opened his closet. There. He found what he was looking for. He took out new clothes from a plastic bag that he had never worn before and threw them on the floor of the closet. He shoved his old, bloodied clothes into the bag and pushed it to the far corner of his closet. He'd throw them in a dumpster, or better yet, burn them tomorrow.
Light snatched up a pair of clean pyjamas and a towel. Not wanting to soil his towel with the blood, he stuck his head out of his room. He didn't see anyone, so he walked quickly to the bathroom across the hall, shutting and locking the door.
He didn't think he would be able to bear looking in the mirror just yet, so Light studiously avoided looking to his right. He turned the water on and got in.
The water was as hot as it would go. Hot water cleaned better than cold water, and Light wasn't going to take any chances. He felt too . . . dirty. Filthy. Disgusting. He had to make sure that every touch, every slash, every violation was washed away down the drain.
Light swallowed hard against the pain. His back stung fiercely, but he steadfastly stayed under the stream. Gently, he attempted to wash the blood away from his back and rear. The pain was so bad that Light felt his vision waver. The pain and the heat were making him feel sick again, but the clenched his teeth in determination and dealt with it. Staying dirty wasn't even an option.
He made sure to pay special attention to this knees also. They were scraped from the rough asphalt, and Light had a small knot on his head from where he had punched him. Dark bruises littered his torso, and his stomach muscles screamed in protest at every movement.
But no matter how hard he scrubbed, no matter how much soap he used, even after the crusted blood and semen had been washed away, Light still felt filthy. He could still feel the blood. He could still feel that man slamming inside of him.
Light sunk down to the floor and let the scalding water, which was becoming less scalding by the minute, run down his back, which still stung horribly. But Light didn't care. It was better than what he had done to him. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the awful images, feelings, and phantom sensations to leave him.
If only he could get clean.
Light didn't know how long he sat there, willing the water to cleanse him, but when he realized that the water was ice cold, Light quickly turned off the shower. Cold. It had been cold. He had woken up in that alley, and he had been col – Light forcibly stopped the thought.
He pulled the shower curtain back and reached for the towel. The rough cotton rubbed his raw skin in an unpleasant way, but Light paid it no mind. He accidentally glanced into the mirror, surprised that the steam had for the most part disspated already. He must have been under the cold water longer than he thought, but what he saw in the mirror made him flinch.
He looked pale and drawn. The knot on his head was hidden by his hair, and the skin hadn't broken where his face had rubbed the asphalt. And besides his obvious exhaustion, he looked normal, but . . . there was something wrong with him. Light could see it. There was something so very . . . wrong . . . with him.
Light glared at himself in the mirror. No. He was not weak. He refused to be. There was nothing wrong with him! He wouldn't let something like this get to him. He was Kira. He was God. Gods don't hurt. Gods don't feel. Gods aren't . . .
Gods don't let themselve be taken advantage of like that . . .
Gods don't bleed like he did . . .
Gods aren't aroused by their fucking violation . . .
Gods aren't weak like he was . . . weak . . .
God . . .?
Light looked away from the mirror. He couldn't even look at himself. What kind of God was he? What kind of God would allow one of his subjects to debase him in such away? No. A God would never allow that. A God would have the power to stop such a thing from happening. So then why didn't Light stop him?
Did that mean . . . that he wasn't . . . God?
How could he be a God? How could he protect the world from bad people when he couldn't even protect himself?
Light didn't have the answer, and he hated himself for that. For not knowing. God knew all, and yet, Light knew nothing.
He clutched the towel around his waste tighter, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable, but gasped as the towel pulled roughly on the wounds on his back, reminding him of their presence. There was no way in hell he would seek out medical treatment. How could he face the humiliation? He had to treat his wounds himself.
Light opened the medicine cabinet, relieved to see a tube of anti-septic cream. Deciding it was now or never, Light turned so his back was facing the mirror and then twisted his head to look at the damage.
His eyes widened in shock and horror. The kanji for 'pretty' was carved into his back.
"Little pretty . . ."
A/N: Woah, hot damn. That was intense!
Well, I haven't jumped into this story without doing my homework. And before anyone asks, no, Light DID NOT ENJOY himself despite his body's reaction. Forced orgasm is a common staple in male rapes. Apparently it is utilized to make the victim feel humiliation, degredation, and for a sense of empowerment for the attacker. The penis is sort of like a nerve, and any stimulation is going to make it react, whether the person attached to the penis wants it or not. Many victims feel like they reacted because some part of them wanted it. This is not true, but if they don't realize this, it can cause them a slew of problems and self-hate issues while trying to heal.
Rape is a horrible horrible horrible thing, and while I hope this story is entertaining for those angst buffs out there, I also hope it's LE GASP educational too. No, I don't condone it. At all. I just like to study it and its effects through writing.
SO, anyway, like it? hate it? SAY SOMETHING! I love to hear for you all!