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Five Pm
Sunday
The Shack.
Yusuke was eleven years old. The rain was starting to seep through the wood. He held his brush with a shaking hand, trying to ignore the wash of cold on his body.
The wash of cold. The wash of cold.
He hated this, no doubt about it, but if it was for the true artistic wishes of Madarame, well, he’d deal with it. He checked the angle he was going for with his brush, positioning it diagonally. When a small drop of water from the roof fell and slipped onto his neck, he nearly yelped. He reached for the back of his neck and gasped, dropping the paintbrush consequently.
The wash of cold. The wash of cold.
Yusuke didn’t hate many things in life, but he did hate this. The freezing chill of the cold rain combined with its wet tone, taking claim in his neck. Even though the droplet had been washed away by his hands, he could still feel it. He could feel it tumble down his back and onto the chair he sat on, leaving an icy trail behind it. Over and over and over again.
Tap tap tap. He started frustratedly tapping his foot onto the rotted wood. The repeated sound along with the mild exercise would help take his mind off of the cold eating away at his back. Tap tap tap.
The wash of cold. The wash of cold.
Tap tap tap tap tap
He made an effort to tap louder, as if trying to smother out all other feeling with one action. It wasn’t working.
Fine. He’d just have to resort to more drastic measures.
Taking the wooden end of his paintbrush, he brought it down violently onto his leg. It left a pain that briefly took over everything else that he was feeling, especially when he pushed down hard enough to leave a bruise. Gritting his teeth, he trusted the process and traced the harsh pain across his thigh. Just so the wash of cold would go away.
Tap tap tap. He had forgotten to tap his foot. That was an issue. He tried to start tapping again, but it started to feel artificial instead of needed. Forced instead of refreshing. He’d just have to stop tapping, since it would feel bad now. Terrible.
Where was Madarame? Out somewhere? He had completely forgotten, his brain had turned to an icy mush mixed with TV static, or something akin to a wailing pheasant on the side of the road. That’s not the matter, Madarame would surely scold him for such whiny behaviour. Well, even if he did scold him…at least he would be there.
The rain outside wasn’t helping either. It just reminded him of that wash of cold. Pain in his thighs began to arise and he realised he made a mistake. Maybe he dug too far into his leg this time and he’d have to attend school limping. He dearly hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
Oh well. He’d do anything to stop this horrid feeling. If he had to claw the skin off of his face then so be it.
Anything to stop this feeling.
Seven PM
Saturday
Akira’s room.
Summer vacation was never ideal for Yusuke due to the extremes in weather. Oftentimes the feelings of the heatwave crawled down the back of his neck like his droplets of sweat. It felt more than miserable. Morgana seemed to agree as he lounged in front of a desktop fan. Such feelings of misery could be conveyed through a disgustingly overwhelming art piece, but his brain couldn’t let him do any art (a rare occasion indeed).
Instead, he sat in Akira’s room, wallowing in pain and misery. He seemed very appreciative of that word today, perhaps he should put it towards a piece when his brain next gave him a chance. Misery was apt as well, it summarised everything Yusuke was feeling.
Despite the heat of the room, it seemed the cold rush was back. The cold rush down his neck started to nape at his psyche. Oh god. Not now.
Not now, please!!
Yusuke held his head in his hands, trying not to weep. The feelings were back and they were terrible. Nips, bites and shivers all over his body, every little brush of air, every little chirp from an insect, every little movement he made, it all screamed into his nervous system and started overloading the nerve centre. It hurt. So, so much.
Every little thing hurt him. A thousand times over, it was hurting him.
He couldn’t even move, a nasty part of his brain was telling him he couldn’t. He couldn’t move or things would just get worse and worse. How miserable for him…
“Oi, Inari?!” A whisper called from the stairs Futaba was hiding behind the bannister at the top, surveying the situation. To seeing his fellow phantom thiefs worried face, unfortunately, Yusuke started bawling out crying. “Oh oh oh, Inari! Christ-“ Futaba called, running up and sitting by his crouched form.
“Futaba…it hurts…” Yusuke managed to mumble out before falling into his hands again, wailing. For some reason, he could never cry like this at the shack. Yet even with a somewhat new face just sitting in front of him, he felt comfortable enough to sob endlessly.
“You’re doing okay, Inari…it’s gonna stop soon I bet!…” Futaba let out some quiet but encouraging words, softening her eyes and letting herself have a small smile. Sat in front of Yusuke, she simply accompanied him as he cried all the misery out, poured it through his eyes and mouth until his breath nearly stopped. Simply just sitting there and waiting. Then, she started moving in a peculiar way.
“Futaba…are you rocking?”
“Mhm!” She smiled again. “Rocking your body like a ball or an egg helps me! If you get enough momentum going, your head starts feelin’ funny!” As she rocked about, her hands started to fidget. She seemed a lot more at peace, able to compose herself in such scenarios.
If only he weren’t so different.
“I can’t…it’s loud…everything’s loud…” He mumbled, starting to scratch at the side of his head.
“Ooooh nonono, that is…not good Inari!…” She held her hands out to him, positioning them by his own, indicating something. “Here, can I have your hands?”
He answered the question by slowly removing his hands from his head and resting them in hers.
“Okay, good start! You’re all frustrated, right? What is it, a need to hit or a need to gnaw?”
Now what the hell did that mean? Yusuke gave her a face to tell her he wasn’t quite following.
“Ah, should I word it more artistically? Is it the vengeful rage of an Artemisia or the ache of a…damn, I only researched Artemisia…” Futaba mumbled to herself. “Okay, do you want a chewie?”
“Uhm…” It took Yusuke a minute to process everything. “You know Artemisia?”
“Mhm! I uh..skimmed Wikipedia before I got here, since I saw you struggling…” Futaba admitted, scratching the back of her head.
“Futaba, you’d love Artemisia’s work! She’s a wonderful example of art born out of revenge and pain! I’ve been meaning to inform Ann of her for a while…” Yusuke loosened up, his mouth starting to run wild. “She was so horrifically treated by her fellow artists, but she put that towards work with wonderful lighting and composition as well as a real sense of catharsis! Have you seen her interpretation of Carvaggio’s Judith Slaying Holofernes?”
“I actually haven’t…you wanna tell me about it?” Futaba asked, a grin slowly emerging on her face. Yusuke’s eyes lit up, he looked way happier than he did just a few minutes ago. He might still be sensitive, she’d have to watch out for any triggers that may come up, but she was happy to see him work through this so well. “Take this first!” She said, tossing a rubber, textured brick on a cotton string to him.
“This is…?”
“The chewie I mentioned.” Futaba shuffled closer. “It’s brand new, I haven’t used it”
Yusuke raised his brow.
“And even if I had used it, I’d wash it thirteen times over before giving it someone else. Trust me, I buy these things all the time! Mainly because I put so much stress on them that they break…”
“You must have strong teeth Futaba…perhaps I should take notes as Fox…aren’t they known for their bite?” Yusuke asked, voice becoming stronger.
“Well, you can definitely train ‘em with these, Inari!” She grinned, pulling out her own chewie and tossing it into her mouth. Yusuke followed with a bit more hesitancy.
“How am I supposed to be doing this?” He asked, tucking his hands up.
“Just chew!” Futaba replied, muffled by the chewie. “Don’t try to break it down like food though, just exercise those teefies!”
“Exercise teefies…I think I get it!” He mumbled, starting to chew on his own. The gnawing feeling relieved nearly every bone in his body; a lot of pent up aggression and stress could be released by just chewing really really hard, it seemed. At least for him, for Futaba it more looked like a positive energy exercise.
“You look calmer! Now, tell me about Artemisia! Was she a super cool character?” She asked, giggling.
Ah, right. Artemisia. Wow, he was excited to talk about her. He’d be excited to talk about any artist, but a renaissance icon like her? Futaba seemed to know him well.
As he talked about the wondrous artist, he felt…relaxed. A lot more relaxed. Someone was here and was able to calm him down, just enough. This was just wonderful.
Yusuke wondered if those marks on his thighs were still there. If the paintbrushes that nearly broke skin were sitting in an evidence locker. If the wet, wooden boards of the shack are waiting to be torn down.
Something about that made him feel happy. Moved, perhaps.
No. Moved on.
He felt as if he had moved on. He’s gotten better, at least a little.
“Inari? Are you feeling any…better?” Her face seemed to drop a bit.
“Ah…no need to worry, I am more than okay” Yusuke confirmed, wiping something from his eye. “Just…I feel like something has clicked.”
“You sure that’s not the chewie breaking?”
“No…it’s much more wonderful than that”
The desire to claw out his skin and tear out his eyes was gone, replaced with the quiet sense of chewing and the smile of his friend. Things felt okay.
He felt okay.