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A day being a replica of the day before. And the day before that day, too. Replica of every day during past few years, precisely.
But it wasn't like he cared. Kūsuke didn't mind. He knew he deserved that. He deserved that for being a horrible person, for being a horrible son and, especially, for being a horrible brother.
It was fine.
Droplets of prickling, cold rain on his face slowly melted away as he stepped into a bar. Darkness turned into light.
That was where he belonged.
It was loud but he didn't mind. In fact he quite liked it. The buzzing noise was slowly drowning out every bit of depravity in his sick mind. It was rather comfortable but not quite enough yet.
"Whiskey and coke, please." Kūsuke heard himself say.
Replica of the day before. But he liked that combination. The bitter-sweetness was good.
Soon the alcohol was on his tounge, scratching his throat, comforting his esophagus, spreading around in his stomach.
Warm.
He could almost pretend it was a hug.
He stared numbly at the bottom of the glass, studied it and pondered; how did he end up in this place?
"Vodka, please."
Just a shot.
That was stronger. Almost enough. World started to gain colors but there was still some itchy surface in his mind left unscratched.
One more.
Two more.
Five.
Well, maybe that's enough for now.
Somewhere far away he heard a voice, a conversation was struck. Kūsuke's mouth opened in a response but he couldn't quite make out what he was saying.
He must've said something that pleased the other person, though, since there was a distant laugh and a hand on his own. Kūsuke smiled.
In a blink of an eye unfamiliar lips were on his, a hand tangled itself into his hair. He sighed in content.
It was always the same.
Reality was blurred. Colors were mixing up. But he was grateful. He was tired of monochromy.
Soon enough his skin was being jabbed by an unforgiving, cold rain. Car lights shining in the flurry.
Of course they left. It was a replica.
They were going upstairs. Needy hands grabbing, and touching, and pulling everything they could've got a hold of as they stepped into an apartment. Soaked clothes were discarded, shoes were kicked off. Cold air washed over the heated skin. Hands on his bare flesh. Lips on his own.
Kūsuke's head was still buzzing as alcohol kept on flowing through his veins. It made him feel more and less at the same time. It was like he was both an audience and an actor. Out-of-body experience.
He whined as he was pushed harshly onto a small bed. His bony hands were pinned down, a silhouette looming over his weak body.
The voice commented on his scars, there was a hint of disgust in it. Kūsuke just laughed. He didn't care what any of these dumb people were thinking of him. It wasn't like they mattered.
Every person was just a substitute. Because he couldn't have had what he really wanted. He understood that well, he accepted it. He was the smartest person in the entire world, after all.
It was fine.
The person was saying something. A hand grabbed his hips, Kūsuke obediently spread his legs. It wasn't about love, it was supposed to sting.
He screamed at the rough treatment but the pain was comforting. He felt at peace. The pain made him feel more like himself and less like Kūsuke Saiki. For a while he could've stop being a genius and start being a human.
Pleasure and pain blended into one and began wrecking his body in forceful tremors. Rough hands were sure to leave bruises. Teeth piercing his neck drew blood. His long hair was stuck to his sweaty, red face.
During the first time he cried. Frankly, he had been a little scared back then. He felt so dirty, so disgusted with himself for going to such lengths to feel better. He felt like a fucking whore.
But it was only the first time. Only the first time had been different. Every other was the same. A replica.
Was there really a point to it?
A choked moan made it's way out of his throat and colors mixed into one. Hot-white pleasure washed over him. The movement stopped and everything felt so far, far away. He struggled to catch his breath but was met only with mocking eyes and a snark.
Soon enough his companion fell asleep with their back turned away from him. Just like always. No matter how many times it's been he's never got to feel an actual caring touch from someone. Once they were done they just turned into strangers again.
But it was fine.
Kūsuke stared at the ceiling with tired, lidded eyes. When was the last time he's got any sleep?
He lifted his worn out body from tangled sheets not brothering to look at the person he just had just slept with. They didn't matter.
At some point, he must've picked up his clothes and got dressed, as now the fresh, night air was grazing his skin. It stopped raining. How long it's been?
The perspective kept on changing. World glitching out. One moment he was in the apartment and the other he was standing there, on a bridge.
Kūsuke looked down.
What if he just did it? It wasn't like anyone cared about him, his whole life he's been just a burden. He was too annoying and too fucked up in the head. His mind was rotten to the core and everyone was aware of that. They just pretended they didn't. For their own sake.
But he just laughed that thought off and walked away.