THE IVORY TOWER
Episode 1: The Pallor
A/N: Yes, I've started a new fic. The idea for this has been nagging in my head for the past couple days. I just couldn't get rid of this idea! Please review and favorite? I'll also be updating Sacrament regularly so please don't worry. Alright, let as continue! Tell me if you like it! It's going to be… dark.
I've been used, abused, and tampered with. I've been stolen, rotten, and downright selfish. All for the wrong reasons. I've loved, lost, and loved, and lost. How many times? I've lost track. But you know what I haven't lost? An audience to my madness. There are evil people in this world that do evil things. But do you know the people that are even worse? It's the one's that watch evil. Smell it, taste it, feel it in their bones but they don't do anything to stop it. They are my audience, and I bow and stand before them with a fake smile, a dull look in my eyes as the heavy red curtain falls around me on my stage. When I stare at them … they see through me, and I know that I'll be lost. Lost forever in a curtain of red with no way –
My name is Kuchiki Rukia, and I'm twenty-one years old. I've been in the Seireitei Asylum for about… five years now? It's hard to keep track sometimes. When I first arrived in this bleached white hell I was sixteen. So yeah, about five years. Wow. How time flies when you're having fun. Do you know that one saying, "The first night in prison is always the hardest," ? The same goes for insane asylums. Except it isn't the first night that's the hardest. It's every goddamn night.
When I'm strapped in my cot by my ankles and my wrists, and the lights, (the brightest you will ever have to see or endure) turn off, I'm left to my own thoughts. My feelings. My pleasures, my dislikes. …My loathing. It's even worse to be alone than it is to be with the dreadful therapists I see every afternoon. God, I hate this place. I have to get—
"Wake up." An obnoxious, voluptuous red-head shakes my shoulder. She then loosens the straps on my ankles and wrists, but not before giving me my daily shot. They say it's for medical reasons. To keep my body healthy. But I know that the clear liquid she is injecting into my IV a light sedative meant to keep me from strangling anybody.
"It is a brand new day Ms. Kuchiki!" Says the woman with the mountainous breasts. When I think about it, I swear she could use those huge ta-ta's as a murderous weapon, if she really wanted to.
It would be a quick suffocation.
I smirk at the thought, the sides of my mouth curling up a bit as I hum in response. I don't actually say a word. In fact, I haven't spoken at all since I arrived at the Seireitei Asylum. Not a simple "Okay," "Please," or "Thank you." Not even a syllable.
"It's so beautiful out, isn't it, Ms. Kuchiki?"
My gaze lifts, my eyes toward the ceiling where my window sit's. A sun roof. The window is kept very clean, just like the rest of Seireitei. There isn't a speck of dust or dirt to found anywhere. I stare at the window, trying to look through it to the world beyond the hell. There is a lone, almost black cloud against a gray sky. Perfect.
I might as well be colorblind.
"Alright. Let's get you dressed." The red-head said bubbly and removed the straps around my wrists and ankles completely. I rolled my wrists as I sat up, relieving them of the tension built up from staying in one position all night. I roll my neck too, and hear a couple cracks as I do so. The red-head cringes, mumbling something about a nasty, bad habit. I furrow my brows. She doesn't even know how quickly I could kill her. How easily, right now. But I don't. She seems like such a good person, even if she's annoying as hell with her huge breasts and high-pitched voice.
I swing my legs over the cot and rest my bare feet on the floor. The red-head, (I glance at her white name tag on her white nurse outfit), Rangiku Matsumoto, pulls out a cart burdened with pills, anesthetics, extra pillows, sheets, and my set of clothes for today. White, slim-fit t-shirt, white sweat pants. I quickly slip out of my white nightdress and put on my new clothes. The shirt is soft, but the pants feel a little itchy. I scratch my thigh and check the cart for any kind of sharp object like a needle, or maybe a syringe. There are none, and the needle used to inject the sedative into my IV has already been put into a Hazard bag and is being held by Matsumoto in her right hand. Then she sighs and hands me a pair of white socks. I put those on too.
"Would you like to wear slippers or sneakers today?" Matsumoto asked, holding up a pair of the bleached white commodities.
I grab the sneakers from her without saying anything. I never wear the slippers, anyway. They make me feel like a looney.
"Well, I think that's all. Someone will be by in a few minutes to escort you to breakfast." Matsumoto winks at me and places her hands on the cart.
I almost ask: Why can't you take me? But I know that I've sworn to silence. I huff and go sit on my cot while Matsumoto pushes her cart out of the door after saying goodbye to me softly. She locks the door behind her with an electronic combination lock. No keys. Nothing I can steal to get—
I sit on the cot and stare at the wall for what seems like hours, even though another assistant dressed in white opens the door exactly three minutes after Matsumoto left. He is tall, with broad shoulders under white scrubs. He has eccentric, bright red hair in a ponytail and multiple tattoos covering his face. I raise an eyebrow, surprised that anyone would be willing to hire him to an asylum, and get up from the cot.
"Hello, Ms. Kuchiki." He gestures out the door. "Please follow me."
At least he's polite. I sigh and follow him through the door out into the white tiled hallway. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever met the person who designed this building.
I'd probably rip the skin from his bones.
The tall escort leads me down the long hallway. We pass multiple patients along the way. The more aggressive ones, like me, have escorts while the calmer, more contained ones do not. We pass a strange, blue haired man I know as Grimmjow. I've seen him multiple times since being imprisoned here. He's usually guarded by at least two escorts, at all times. I've only seen him while passing by in the halls. I never see him in any of the common areas like the Eating Space, or Activity Space. Apparently he's too unstable for that even though he's been living here for 10 years. I give him a nod, out of respect, and he smirks at me, his sharp teeth showing. He runs a tongue over them and laughs before a tall, dark haired escort pushes him roughly in the back to keep him moving.
"Lovely day, isn't it, Kuchiki?" I hear him shout from down the hallway as the tall red-haired man and I keep walking towards the Eating Space. The red-haired man places a hand on the small of my back as he leads me, and tightens his hold at the sound of Grimmjow's voice. I cringe at the contact of his hand over my clothed skin, and walk faster in order to not be touched. The man understands, and removes his hand from my back with a mumbled "Sorry."
When we arrive at the Eating Space, the red-haired man opens the double doors for me using his assistant access pass. I glance at his nametag out of curiosity. Renji Abarai. I'll remember that name so I can kiss his ass for touching me when I get out of here. I slip through the doors, and they are closed behind me and locked with an annoying BEEP.
My eyes scan the room lazily as I get in line for breakfast. There are guards posted every four feet of the perimeter of the room. They are all dressed in white uniforms, and carry Tasers and nightsticks on their belts. I know that they also have an issued gun, but they keep them hidden in order to keep us patients from panicking. I sigh, and grab a tray, white of course. The food is arranged in a buffet style. We can help ourselves to whatever we like without pay. The food is separated into different buffet counters in order of their food group. Grains, meat, fruit, and desert. The food is the only thing I see with color during the day. Besides people's hair, and eye colors and the few odd pens or pencils. Everything else is white.
I grab a yellow Granny Smith apple from the fruit buffet and place it on my tray. I also dish up some eggs from the meat and poultry buffet and a carton of milk.
We're allowed to sit wherever we like; to be amongst friends, but of course I don't have those so I sit at an empty table in the farthest corner of the room. I eat silently, casually watching the guards posted at the walls and my fellow inmates talking amongst themselves. Some of the patients point and smirk at me, wiggling their eyebrows in a suggestive way. I glare back at them with my piercing violet eyes until they look away, feeling uncomfortable before brushing it off and laughing again.
I can glare at them, but they still see through me as if I'm glass.
I poke at my eggs with my plastic spoon. They don't hand out forks. Knifes are out of the question. If anything is needed to be cut it is cut prematurely for the consumer.
I shovel the eggs into my mouth without really thinking about it. Just going through the daily routine. Then I nibble on my apple until the a bell sounds the end of breakfast hours. I blink once before closing my eyes entirely and imagining I was someplace dark, with no bells or whiteness.
It's a comforting th(ou)gh(t).
My eyes snap open to the sound of doors slamming against tiled walls right next to me. A tall, willowy boy with strange orange hair and a stranger fierce look in his amber eyes barges into the room, five feet away from my table. He's stolen an assistant's access security card and had broken into the Eating Space. It appears as if he doesn't know what he's doing, or where he's going, only that he needs to leave. Needs to get out. Run from whatever he left behind.
Hah, don't we all.
His ochre eyes dart back and forth, trying to make sense of the space around him. His eyes widen at the realization that he is in a mess hall. He suddenly shouts angrily, knowing that there is no way out, and jumps on top of my table with alien grace. I flinch as the weight of his body pummels my table. He holds the access card up in victory, his eyes up to the bright (so, so bright) lights situated on the ceiling and lets out a long battle cry in a rough, but velvety voice. Most of the patients in the room drop their food to whoop and whistle at him, clapping for him or pumping their fists at his rebellion.
The bizarre orange haired boy smirks, his smile a bit lopsided, and breathes deeply, soaking in his success. I raise an eyebrow at him when he looks down at me, a slight twinkle in his eyes.
This all passed in about five seconds. Then the guards situated in the room grabbed hold of their bearings and started running towards the boy on top of my table. The tall boy laughed, and leapt off the table, landing on the white tile by the balls of his feet. He turns to wink at me quickly and salute me before running across the room.
The patients continue to whoop for him as the guards clad in white surround the orange haired boy. I find my hands moving together to clap for him, also, a small smile ghosting over my lips. The boy looks around the room frantically, trying to find an exit only to be disappointed. He holds up his hands in defeat, the access card settled between his index and middle finger. One guard with a particularly mean scowl swipes the access card out of his hands and another one makes as if to hit him with his nightstick.
Seeing the furiousness of the guards, the patients suddenly go silent. The guard smacks the orange haired boy across the head with his stick, and the boy falls to the ground. I gasp, my hand covering my mouth. A few of the patients groan with him, his pain their pain, and some of the more aggressive patients start to run over to help the orange haired boy only to be detained by their muscular escorts.
A guard tazzes the orange haired boy, causing him to writhe against the ground. Angry shouts are now heard throughout the Eating Space, calling the guards out on their cruelty on such a young patient. The guards stop beating him after a few more moments and they left him up off the ground, by his elbows. The boy's head is sagged in defeat, and his feet slide across the ground as the guards drag him towards to door.
Before the strange rebellious boy disappears out of my line of sight, I see him lift his head towards the guards dragging him and say:
"Fuck you all."
I smirk. I think I have finally found someone in hell who I have something in common with.
A/N: Well, there you go! Did you like it? I hope you did. :'D Please review! I really want your opinion on this fic so I know if I should keep this going… or not.