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Two years.
All this time, wasted in hospital beds and his own bed. Well, his own bed in Bunokura that is, not Shinjuku.
Just thinking of Tokyo makes him want to vomit out his breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Maybe it had all been a mistake. He knows it’s not his fault, not entirely at least. All the blame falls onto Shizuo. Every. Little. Bit.
Maybe some fault fell on Shinra, but who cares.
He doesn’t care.
It had been Izaya’s fault that he pushed Shizuo to the extreme, but it had just been the last domino in line, the first one being Shinra riling Shizuo up about just how much of a bad person Izaya was.
Hell, Shizuo couldn’t even place his hate to a face then.
He could get physiotherapy, he really could. But why? What would be the point?
He doesn’t care.
It’s not like he’d go on chases again. Sure, it could be easier to conduct business but that’s what the internet is for.
He doesn’t feel helpless, God no. Not Orihara Izaya. He felt like a God. He was a God!
But God’s don’t hate themselves to the point of refusing to help themselves. He didn’t need anyone, nobody at all.
He refused to give his sisters his address, only because he didn’t want to deal with them. Too annoying.
Was it really the truth though, maybe it was just easier to tell himself lies?
It definitely wasn’t because he was weak, definitely not. It definitely wasn’t because he felt like he would break down in tears in front of them, definitely not. It definitely wasn’t because he’d see Shizuo in them, definitely not.
He doesn’t understand why the Russian bitch had to get herself involved. It had nothing to do with her. It was between Izaya and Shizuo. 10 years of whatever they had, all down the fucking drain.
This wouldn’t have happened if she never came. If she never took Shizuo away.
She riled him up. She caused all of this. She is the reason Izaya uses a wheelchair. She is the reason he cried himself to sleep last month, last week, yesterday.
He wanted to punch and kick at anything, yet he couldn’t.
His spine had been too weak. Ruined. Destroyed. Broken. Crushed.
Orihara Izaya had been rendered powerless.
How could he not have predicted it. He was sure his Shizu-chan would kill him. Prove Izaya right in the meantime.
But no, she stepped in. Unpredictable shit.
Maybe he should be glad, that he’s not dead.
No. He isn’t glad. The bitch stabbed him.
They’re worth each other, Shizuo and Vorona. They really fucking are.
He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it.
He doesn’t wish to go back to the time it was easier, maybe he does.
He doesn’t care.
Maybe him and Shizuo would’ve been friends? In some kind of fucked up way?
He doesn’t care.
Maybe it would’ve left him with less scars.
He doesn’t care.
Maybe he would’ve been seen as more likeable, therefore having being returned some love from his humans.
He doesn’t care.
Maybe it could’ve occurred to him faster that maybe Shizuo was human.
He tells himself that he doesn’t care.
Maybe him and his sisters could’ve had a better connection.
He tells himself that he doesn’t care.
Maybe his sisters could’ve been better people.
He tells himself he doesn’t care.
Maybe his sisters could’ve seen him more as a brother and less of an antagonistic piece of shit.
He whispers to himself that he doesn’t care, behind shut eyes and he lays in the darkness.
Maybe Shizuo could’ve been more of a help in making Izaya a better person.
Don’t be crazy. He doesn’t give a fuck.
Maybe it could’ve shown Izaya he does care for Shizuo.
He. Doesn’t. Give. A. Fuck.
I mean, he could’ve killed Shizuo so so so many times. Breaking into his hole of an apartment and just stabbing him.
No. No. No. No. No. No.
Ten years he had for it. He has all the money in the world, millions of yen in the bank.
Fuck. Off. Fuck. Off. Fuck. Off.
Maybe Simon was right, about his Shizuo-complex.
No, he wasn’t. No, he wasn’t. No, he wasn’t.
Maybe it could’ve occurred to him faster that Izaya didn’t actually hate Shizuo.
Yes, he hates him. Yes, he hates him. Yes, he hates him.
All Izaya did was throw his own insecurities at Shizuo, blaming him for them.
Absolutely not. Fuck no.
Even in spite of throwing all them at him, the whole fucking irony is that Shizuo still shone brighter than Izaya.
Please. Please. Please.
It had been all the jealousy. Shizuo and Izaya both being outcasts yet one having so many friends and the other none, only people that hated him. Even his own best friend.
He stopped denying it, letting tears though.
He lost his mind though the ten years, repeating it over and over and over and over again. Just for Shizuo to notice and not forget him.
His hands fisted the bedsheets under him.
He watched Izaya collapse under him.
He let his sobs be loud, no one had been there to hear them, after all. When had anyone been there? Ah yes, never!
He hates himself so fucking much. It’s all his fault. Maybe he could end it all, once and for all. Nobody would come to his funeral. Even if they did, they’d just laugh.
But no, he was too much of a coward to follow through.
Maybe Shizuo would never love him the way Izaya did, but what mattered is that he had seen him.
Izaya does care.
It is too late, though.
To him it is, at least.