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The Dark Passenger	By : Lahmia Category: Beyblade > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 898 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade, nor do I make any money off of this. This is solely for entertainment of myself and my fellow fans. The lyrics used belong to Linkin Park, not me!

Chapter List
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Sunday morning...

I woke up that morning to a splitting headache – which in it's own was really nothing new. One would think that the hangovers would get less bothering with time – but obviously my body thinks otherwise. What was new that morning was the fact that I was hurting all over. A band across my chest felt like it had been run over by a mill-wheel, my neck was stiff as I don't fucking know what, I had one arm in a sling and one leg wrapped up like some fucking Christmas present. I also didn't recognize the room I was in. It took a while for my eyes to want to open, but when they did, I realized that I sure as hell wasn't at home. I was in a hospital. That was really nothing new either, but I couldn't remember being in this much pain before.

“Oh, so you're finally awake, you motherfucking king of all drunk-ass screw-ups.”

I looked over to the left side of my bed, not that I really had to – I knew who's voice that was – and saw Bryan sitting there in one of those uncomfortable visitor's chairs. He did not look happy. Great. What had I done this time? Nothing a few trips with the Captain wouldn't take care of when I got home, or so I thought.

“Hey, Bry,” I said, trying to sound calm but not overly so. He just snarled at me.

“Don't you fucking come here and 'Hey, Bry' me. I bet you thought that little stunt you pulled was a damned good idea, but I sure as hell don't. Neither does the kid's parents, the police or the doctors. You've really gotten yourself up shit-creek this time, Tala.”

Police? What kid? Shit. What the hell had I done this time?

He must have noticed me staring at him, because he sighed, rubbed his temples and glared at me.

“You don't remember shit, do you? Nothing new there. Last night, you visited every fucking pub and club in this freaking city, got drunk off your ass and decided that driving home was a splendid fucking idea. You ran over a kid and crashed into a fucking wall.”

“What?” I seriously don't think my voice ever sounded that small before in my life! “Is... is he...”

“Dead? No. But the doctors are shitting dumbfounded as to how the hell he survived! He's in comatose, you fucking shithead. He had massive internal bleeding, they had to amputate his right leg, and his other leg as well as his left arm and right shoulder are broken. He's a mess. Do you, you alcoholic retard even realize the mess you're in now? What do you think will happen when this comes out? Cause it's going to. Someone's gonna leak the story, and then you'll have half the world's reporters on you ass. Then you're gonna have to do like our runaway brother and just go underground. You know our reputation – people are gonna fucking accuse you of doing it intentionally. Mr. Dickinson has been informed and he's doing all he can to help and keep this shit quiet, but people will think the worst of you – and you know that too.”

“Oh... my God...”

“That doesn't even fucking begin to cover it, Tala.”

At that moment I wanted to die. I'm not trying to be a drama queen here – I really wanted to die. For all this time I had told myself that no one but me would suffer because of this, that I had control. But I almost killed a kid! I've killed people before, on Boris's orders, but that was when I was a cold, brainwashed monster. It's not only all the experiments, all the torture that's caused my behaviour. No, it's also the knowledge of what I've done that has haunted me since before we escaped the Abbey. And Bry was right in every word he said. I was so deep in shit, I might as well dig my own grave and kill myself. Save the world more grief. People will always think the worst of us. That reputation will never wash away – no matter how hard we try. We are always looked upon with suspicion. Particularly me, Bry and Kai. Spencer and Ian hasn't shown enough of the monstrous sides they have for people to fear them the same way as they fear us. Not saying people like them, but they have been spared of having to display the same cruel behaviour as we have done.

I couldn't hold back the tears that began flooding down my cheeks. Bry just watched me cry. He made no attempt whatsoever to comfort me. And he did right. I deserved no comfort. I deserved the pain I felt. Every tiny bit of it. I cried for three hours, I think. When I finally managed to form coherent thoughts again, Bry looked at me very sternly.

“We've managed to keep you out of going to rehab, but you are going to get sober now. We've had enough. I swear, Tala, if I even suspect that you've been drinking one single drop of alcohol from now on – I will give you the worst fucking beating you've ever experienced. I will make Boris's punishments seem like heaven – got it? And then I'll hand you over to Spence and Ian and let them do the same. And next time Kai comes home, he will probably do the same. I'm going home now. Spencer will pick you up when you get out. If I stay here one more minute, I'm gonna kill you.”

Yes, he meant it. Bry goes around and threatens to kill people all the time without really meaning anything by it – but there are times when he really does. There's something in the tone of his voice that changes, and then you know you have to get out of his sight or he will. When Bryan is furious, he's more dangerous than even me – and I'm about ten times stronger and enduring than him.

I was discharged the same afternoon, after being scolded by the doctor and given the schedule for the local AA meetings. To him, I wasn't the famous Tala Ivanov of the Blitzkrieg boys – no I was just a stupid drunk fucking asshole, and he was glad I left his ward. That was actually nice. Not to be scolded and knowing what I had done, but to be treated like a normal person. Like I wasn't special in any way. You think you would love having attention drawn to you every time you step outside your door, and paparazzi, fangirls and fanboys following you around to get your autograph or ask you for your opinions on the latest Beyblade tournament? I would gladly trade places with you! I dare you to spend one week in my shoes and then tell me it's wonderful!

Spencer picked me up by the reception. They wanted me to go in a fucking wheelchair, and I refused. I have fucking competed with worse injuries than these – I will not go anywhere in a fucking wheelchair like some fucking wuss. In the end, they gave up and handed me a pair of crutches. It was still humiliating, but acceptable. And Spence didn't even say hello to me. He only nodded in the direction of the elevator. And that's a sure sign of being in trouble. Spencer always has something comforting to say. He can always give you support. And now, he wasn't. His eyes were almost black from being so angry. And that's rare. I don't think I've seen Spence really seriously angry more than five or six times in my life. Four of those times, people have died. I knew that, so I was really scared. If he punched me now, with the condition I was in, I would be laying next to the kid – or in my grave.

But what scared me the most, what really made me want to be six feet under, was the thought of what Kai would do when he found out. Kai's opinion has always mattered the most to me. Now that's not saying I don't care about the others' opinion! Not at all. They are really important to me. They are my family, after all. I have no one else but them. But Kai is special to me. I was the one who took care of him when he first came to the Abbey. When he was just a scared, tiny four-year-old boy. He clung to me like a shadow, slept in my bed every other night, held me when I was upset, told really lame jokes he heard from the other kids to get me to lighten up – and was just always there. When we were beaten, there were many times he ignored his own injuries to tend to mine. When Boris put me on forced starvation – he smuggled food to me. I did much the same for him, and I don't think there's a person in this world who can see straight through my soul the way he can. The thought of him being mad at me scared me shitless. Truth to be told, I feel lost without him.

When I arrived home, the guys had searched every inch of the house – from floor to ceiling – and found all my hidden supplies. It was a lot of alcohol. I think there were about fifty bottles standing in the entrance hall. Full or semi full. That was... really a punch in the face. I never realized there were so many. Especially given that I had already finished about six or seven bottles during the week. I drank one bottle of vodka every day just to stay on my feet. And if I had a shitty day, that doubled. Or tripled. They looked at me, right in the eyes, and Ian finally spoke.

“You really had some creative fucking stashes. But this shit is going down the drain now. And you're gonna watch it happen. And then there will be no more fucking alcohol in this house. We won't fucking allow you a single drop – ever again. You understand? We've had it with this. We've had it with you. Sober up, or we'll kick your ass out and lock you up in a fucking rehab and let Kai decide if you're ever coming back.”

I think it would have hurt less if they had just beaten me up. Every single sentence was like a punch right into my soul. And when it connected with my brain that I wasn't gonna get my happy-pills to deal with this shit... God, I just broke down. I begged them to let me drink this away. Just this shit, then I would stop. I begged. That's when they did punch me for real.

I won't even go into the details on it, but ten minutes later I was a bleeding fucking mess. And I don't blame them. We've always resorted to violence when one of us is being a jerk. Or, well, when anyone is being a jerk, really. That was the way we were raised. Violence is like an instinct to us. Someone threatens us – and we go for the throat. It really isn't normal, but when were we ever normal? They sat me down at the kitchen table – Spencer holding me up while Bry and Ian poured bottle after bottle down the drain. It felt absolutely horrible. I don't think you can really understand what goes on in the head of someone with a really heavy addiction when something like that happens. It was pure torture. I saw my salvation, my life preserver go down the drain and I could do nothing to stop it.

When they were finally done, I felt so lost, so numb, so hollow. Spencer helped me up to my room and took care of the injuries they had inflicted on me and then tucked me in. The good thing about Spencer is that he never stays angry for long. He had been furious, but he could let it out when he beat me up, and now he was back to being caring. He was still angry with me, I know he was. But that raging fury was gone. But just when I thought things couldn't get any worse – they did. Alcohol, like any other drug, has a really nasty withdrawal process. Especially when you've been abusing it for a decade like I had. At first, I started trembling like nothing I had ever experienced before. Then I got a fever. And started throwing up repeatedly. Then the anxiety – although the word doesn't even begin to describe it. I had hallucinations, my heart was like a racing sledgehammer in my chest, the sweat was literally pouring off me. The guys had to help me change my clothes and sheets several times a day. They didn't leave me alone for a second, and I know they were really scared. I could see in in their postures and eyes. And in hindsight I can understand them. I am never sick, due to being Boris's lab rat most of my life. He made sure I was perfected and immune to almost all known diseases. I got migraines, sure, but I never got colds or stomach flues or anything. And now I was severely ill. And they told me afterwards that the doctors had told them that alcohol withdrawal can actually be fatal. Now, I know the chance of me dying wasn't that big, again due to my extremely modified immune system and strength. But the thought scared me too. I was out of it for days. The guys told me afterwards that I had actually seriously asked them to just shoot me cause I couldn't take it. I don't remember it, but they sure as hell did – Tala Yuriy Ivanov asking to be killed, and being serious about it, is really unheard of. I've fought for my life so many times. I have always refused to give up. But that time, I would have thanked the person who put a bullet through my head. I really would.

They had a doctor over, a guy who works for the BBA named Evans, to keep watch on me as well. That was scary. I have some really bad experiences with doctors, but this guy was so respectful and pepping towards me that I eventually felt safe with him in the room. The guys promising me to kill him if he hurt me might also have had something to do with it.

When the shit finally went away, I think I slept for two days straight. And when I woke up, they told me that I wasn't allowed out of the house without them. I wasn't trusted now. Hell, I don't blame them. The first thing I would have done if they had let me out was to get hold of more booze. Simple as that. Fucking pathetic, but true. Evans stayed with us, he felt it might be a good idea, and the others agreed. I didn't really have any saying in the matter. And to be frank, I needed it. I was a complete mess. I would forget to eat if they didn't put the plate in front of me and made sure I ate it. I would sleep for hours upon hours, forgetting to shower and shave, and having a really hard time keeping my grip on reality. That was really my rock bottom. The nightmares were worse than ever, the flashbacks were triggered by anything – and sleeping was really the only thing I could do. Even with the nightmares going berserk in my head, I preferred them over getting flashbacks by a door closing or someone's phone starting to ring.

And people wonder why I drank. I'd like someone to try being in my head during that time – see how they manage it.

I felt like I was losing my mind completely, and I was terrified. Because I stood alone in it. Sure, the guys did all they could to help me, and I am forever thankful for having them in my life. But the most important person was missing. At that time, Kai had been gone for six months – and for two of them, we had not got a single sign of life from him. It was like he had vanished from the face of the earth. Every time I closed my eyes, I hoped to either not wake up again, or to wake up with him next to me. If there is a person I am really dependent on, it's Kai. And I am not the slightest bit ashamed of that.

I'm not sure how long I was completely lacking my grip on reality, but I think it was around two weeks. And then, one day – I think it was a Wednesday, but I am far from sure – Kai came home. Well, what was left of him, anyway. I was shocked and terrified. My Kai was... a total wreck.
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The Dark Passenger