Find your tribe in a Sea of Creativity
rated E • <1k words • read on ao3 • for @dnrarepairweek
“Kiss her, Light-kun.”
Matsuda’s voice in my ear feels more like a mosquito than my trusted advisor, but the idea of Matsuda as a trusted advisor is laughably insane to begin with.
I don’t want to kiss her. What I want to do is rip out my earpiece, run to the bathroom, and throw up my guts until I am embraced by death’s loving arms.
Unfortunately, that would require pulling my dick out of Takada, who is currently clenched around me to the point where I fear I might need WD-40 to remove myself. Maybe I can infect myself with botulism in the next two minutes.
I know from last time that Takada would continue until I finished, and my lack of a vagina makes that impossible to fake. She’s sitting on top of me, caressing herself with lascivious performativity, fingers in her short, black hair.
It looks almost like L’s.
I try not to think about him, but he surfaces again and again. He’s like herpes. You might clear him for a couple of weeks, a month, even—but eventually he’ll return like the pus-filled boil he is. Was.
To make one thing absolutely clear, L and I never had sex, despite the myriad allegations and off-color jokes suggesting the contrary. Sex is for people who love each other—or, at least, like each other. What L and I did was far more disgusting.
“Light,” Matsuda sighs into my ear. “Please take this seriously. Give her a kiss.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat. Takada’s lips are full and pink. I reach up and run my thumb across the lower one to buy myself time.
“Takada,” I say. “You look so beautiful like this.” I hope my dyspeptic expression can somehow be read as awe.
L and me. I don't know how to explain it. There were knocked-over water glasses and twisted up sheets and handprints on the shower door. It wasn't sex. We didn't even kiss. We merely spoke into each other's mouths. There were moments in the middle of the night where he would turn a certain way, just so, and then I would be on him somehow, struggling to pin him down, my knee at his groin as he grabbed my wrists. My eyes would roll back in my head and I would say his name and everything would go blank, but it wasn't sex.
When the moon cut through the room like a razor, we didn't speak. We could barely even look at each other. I would open my mouth like a goldfish and shut it moments later, having said nothing. I searched for the words I wanted to say to him which were, of course, I love you.
“Good one, Light.” Matsuda’s voice is starting to make me want to kill myself. I look around the room for a weapon. Maybe I could bash my own head in with the tea kettle. I’m so glad there’s a kitchenette in this godforsaken hotel room.
“Light, don’t stop.”
It’s unclear exactly what she doesn’t want me to stop because I’m just lying on my back while she moves all around in a way that feels vaguely good in the highly localized dick region but also makes me spiritually ill. Maybe she doesn’t want me to move my hands from her thighs? I grip them a little tighter.
Her legs are soft and hairless. It’s like fucking a dolphin. L wasn’t especially hirsute, but he was pricklier and bonier than she is. And, like I’ve said until I’m blue in the face, we never had sex, anyway.
Takada lifts her arms up to pull her own hair. It’s a little bit ridiculous, but it makes her breasts look high and round like apples. If you like that sort of thing.
I don’t know if I like anything. I can’t stand Takada, and Mikami is one of the most horrendously obsequious people I’ve ever met. I’m sure I could fuck him if I wanted to, but the thought churns my stomach. And Misa—I can’t even think about her without retching. The thought of fucking her is so repellent that it almost makes me enjoy fucking Takada.
I remember this one time. L had me on my back and was sitting on my chest, breathing hard. He had taken the chain that connected us and wrapped it around my neck. It wasn’t dangerous, but we were play-acting like it was. He squeezed and squeezed until I got so hard I thought I might faint. He didn’t touch me—he just sat on my chest, strangling me, until I came by accident. His presence was immaterial. Like I said, we never had sex.
Takada comes, or pretends to, at least. It's a bizarre display, her trembling and grasping at me and thanking me like I did anything at all. She rolls off me and ambles to the bathroom, looking flirtatiously over her shoulder. From behind, her hair makes her look like L. I don't know why I keep thinking that. He wasn't a woman, and I never saw him naked.
I hate her.
I hate myself.
I should die so I don't have to do this again.
But I can't. The world needs me.