A/N: To start off, I would like to say that this is one of my first multi-chaptered fics-all the others have been oneshots. I'm not really used to updating things, so I'll try my hardest with this one. Please bare with me. Rest assured though, I
do already have the second chapter to this already typed and completed, and I'm already half-way finished with the third. I'm simply waiting on feedback for this chapter and to see what you guys like and don't like.
I tried to make this first chapter give off an eerie glow to it, so it's sort of angsty and maybe a bit scary. I have a vague idea on how I'm going to end it, and let's just say that it's going to be weird-completely different than other fics. I hate that practically every other fanfiction in this fandom revolves around the same things, so I wanted to switch things up just a little.
This story does have a few warnings, but I don't really want to tell you all of them because they kind of give the plot of the story away. Let's just say that there's some drug abuse, and let's not forget Sasuke's dirty mouth.
Anyways, please tell me how I did, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated!
The Man by the Window
Cold; the room was cold. And dark. Typical. He shivered on the small, twin-sized bed in the corner. Moonlight leaked through the pristine curtains and spilled about a pale face that appeared to be asleep.
But he wasn't.
No. He never slept; couldn't. Insomnia. Obsidian eyes opened slowly, hypnotically, and revealed an eternity of pain and confusion.
In his peripheral vision, a black shadow dashed by the window in the blink of an eye. It was his eyes. They liked to play tricks on him. They always did.
An icy hand slowly came up to brush a stray lock away from a lifeless face as his eyes closed once more. He breathed in and out, in and out...slowly. He found that he needed to calm himself; he sensed something off in the distance, something ominous which had caused his heart beat to spike. Normally being devoid of all emotions, he wasn't used to feeling this way, feeling such a rush in his being; numbness. Yes, that it what he normally felt.
Spiraling down, further and further into himself as he lay there, mind falling into oblivion, he heard a loud clatter. Whether it was inside or outside, he couldn't tell.
The beating of his own heart practically deafened him as his breathing became erratic. Who was it? What was it? What did it want with him? Where is it? How did it know about him—?
Another clatter, then a loud bang—
Trembling hands clutched the satin bed sheets tightly, because after all, this wasn't the first time.
No, it was far from the first time.
His senses became hyper-aware as he slowly picked himself up off the bedding and headed towards the dark window to quickly close his curtains. Though, before he even had a chance to place his fingers on the soft material, a pair of smoldering eyes glinting in the moonlight had met his own as his breath hitched in his throat.
Before he knew it, a pale face was just inches away from his own frightened self, only separated by the window's thin glass. Gasping, he fell backwards and quickly caught himself on the nearby bed post, eyes wide as he took in the sight currently at his window.
Scalding breath fogged the glass with each breath the man took from the close proximity as a wide, manic smile slid over his features. Midnight black eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets as his deranged face was pressed tightly to the window as gentle, hysterical giggling was heard.
A small hand with nimble, bony fingers accompanied his face as they caressed the glass, scratching with a high-pitched scream as each untrimmed fingernail slid across the fogged surface.
The laughing ceased as harsh breathing was heard, then...
"If you're happy a-and you know it..."
"...clap your h-hands..."
"H-He's fuckin' c-crazy—!"
He gave a brave glance up at the insane man once more before shakily walking over and closing his curtains, making sure his windows were locked. He sat down on his bed and grasped the sheets tightly as he tried to calm himself, slowly bringing his trembling knees up to his chest.
"If you're happy and you know it..."
"S-Stop...!" He shouted the best he could, though it came out as a mere squeak. This man had rendered him useless.
"...clap your HANDS...!"
He still heard that eerie, incessant singing which had only gotten louder and louder by the second.
He was desperate, desperate for this to stop, for the beating of his heart was starting to scare him. He had never felt this way; never felt the pulsing of hot blood through his veins with each beat of his erratic heart, never felt the shaking of his own legs beneath him before this man came into his life. He felt alive—more alive than he had ever felt in years.
And it stopped.
The singing stopped.
The screeching stopped.
His heart stopped.
He quickly raised himself and walked to the windows, throwing the curtains aside in a frenzy.
He was gone.
A feeling of relief washed over him, and something else that he couldn't quite pin-point at the moment.
He dropped to the floor in confusion. He was scared. He could still feel his heart drumming quickly in his chest as he tried to calm himself down. He leaned his back against the bedpost, looking desperately up at the white-washed ceiling...
White walls, whiter than the purest snow surrounded him, and the nurses... Euphoria. That is what he sensed here. Everyone was fake, putting on a show for the patients—senseless mutterings of reassurance echoing throughout the halls. It was almost deafening, though it never truly drowned out the pleading voices of the insane, reaching out—out to some being that could truly be of help.
There was no one. They were trapped.
Crying, screaming, scratching filled his ears. An asylum. These people were mentally insane.
A blur of faces passed his vision, though he paid no mind. They weren't significant. No, definitely not.
A glint of metal gleamed in his peripherals as he glanced over. There was a patient strapped down—a familiar one, though he hadn't a clue why—on a gurney. An ice pick and a small mallet had been placed in a tray among one of the faceless doctors.
Were they still being performed in such a cruel manner?
His stomach churned uncomfortably as he saw one of the faceless, white-clad doctors grab the ice pick off of the tray beside him as if he had performed this task a thousand times over. With his left hand, he raised the patient's right upper eyelid, the patient squirming, not able to comprehend what was about to transpire. Ignorance truly was bliss.
The needle-like object was raised and inserted two centimeters inside the eye socket, resting at the top of the eyeball and below the eyelid being held in place gently at an upward angle. Pain would be inevitable soon. There was no morphine, no numbing substance or sedative to be had. Such practices had to be illegal. No individual should endure that much pain.
He grasped the small mallet in his right hand, holding the ice pick perfectly in place. This procedure had a fifty-fifty chance of success with many serious risks, the main one being a complete personality change. The whole process included inserting the ice pick through the eye socket to reach the frontal lobe of the brain whilst moving the ice pick in a slight back-and-forth motion, damaging and almost completely disconnecting the whole frontal lobe from the rest of the brain. The frontal lobe wasn't correct to begin with, causing the patient to become mentally unstable. Dealing physical damage to the lobe would hopefully allow it to heal correctly—that being the desired result—allowing the patient to slowly gain back their stable state of mind through time.
Though, that wasn't always the case.
Some cases were hopeless.
The mallet was placed at the bottom tip of the ice pick—the doctor going agonizingly slow. A cold sweat started to form at his temples. He couldn't watch this. He had to get away, away from here, from this crazy place!
The doctor slowly reared the mallet back, ready to take the first hit—no, he couldn't watch. His head was frozen in place though, his eyes unable to avert from the scene in front of him. All of a sudden he felt extremely sick to his stomach as he watched the patient writhe and squirm, trying to escape.
Then, the first hit was taken.
A scream reverberated throughout the asylum as his knees buckled beneath him. He fell to the floor roughly as he heard the anguished cries of the patient, bound and helpless in front of him.
Before he knew it, he heard himself gag. His stomach couldn't handle this. He retched several times before emptying his stomach about the pristine white floor in front of him.
The second hit was taken, and another scream was heard.
This time, it wasn't the patient.
It felt as if a bucket of ice cold water had been splashed onto him as he came out of his reverie. What had just happened? He hadn't a clue. His thoughts had been strange lately, plagued by him. And almost for a moment, it felt as if the world had stopped. He had forgotten what all his life had been about, forgotten all of his grievances and problems, and once again, they were replaced by him. He had yet to find out who or what this man was, or what he wanted. All he knew was that he was haunted by him.
And he liked it.
Like I said, eerie much?
Well, how was the first chapter? Was it what you expected? Sorry for all of the clipped sentences and fragments in the beginning. It was just to set the mood, basically.
As I've mentioned before, the second chapter is already completed and ready to post. The sooner you review, the sooner the chapter comes out! Thanks so much, guys!