BIA Ch. 105

It was well past midnight, so the roads were quite deserted. Perhaps because of that, Bran blatantly ignored the traffic signals. Of course, he also sped, and even nearly caused an accident once.

Thanks to that, they were able to arrive in less than three minutes at a place that would normally take five minutes by car, but Isaiah felt like he had died and come back to life twice during that short time. His heart, which had been slightly fluttering when they left The Bell Financial, was now pounding like crazy for a completely different reason when they arrived at the Tate Building.

“Get out.”

As soon as they arrived at the parking lot, Bran turned off the car and spoke.

“Bran, I’m sorry.”

Isaiah apologized while still sitting in the passenger seat. Actually, he had wanted to say it earlier, but there hadn’t been a chance.

“It’s fine, just get out.”

After spitting those words out curtly, Bran got out of the car first. Isaiah listlessly unfastened his seatbelt. As soon as he opened the passenger door and got out, Bran, who had been waiting by the car, grabbed his arm.

“I can go by myself.”

“And then suddenly try to run out into the road?”

“That’s crazy, no. Who do you…!”

He was about to ask who Bran was treating like a lunatic, but remembering his own recent actions, which fit the description perfectly, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t. Let go.”

“Be quiet and follow me, you junkie.”

It seemed he had really made a bad impression on Bran this time. Since it was true that he had had a seizure due to drug aftereffects, he couldn’t really argue with being called a junkie, but he wanted to clear up the misunderstanding.

Isaiah said as he was dragged into the elevator.

“Okay. I know you were surprised, and I know I was wrong, but I still want to make this clear. The reason I was sitting on the windowsill was just that, I was just sitting there. Not like what you’re thinking.”

“You said you couldn’t take it anymore, that you were going to stop everything?”

Damn it. Isaiah clicked his tongue inwardly.

“I admit the timing was bad. But it really wasn’t like that.”

“I don’t believe a junkie.”

Normally, he probably would have thought, Fine, think whatever you want. He likely would have resigned himself with self-pity, thinking, What can I do now that things have come to this?

But now, he couldn’t manage that. The apologetic feeling from moments ago vanished, replaced only by resentment toward Bran for not believing him. It was because his brain had already entered an agitated state. All sorts of neurotransmitters were being secreted from his nerve cells, but unlike in others, they weren’t maintaining a proper balance and were pouring out erratically. As a result, even a trivial remark could make him choke up, then his heart would pound, then he’d sulk, then flare up again, then rage – it was utter chaos.

This was something he couldn’t help. At least he was only reacting sharply emotionally right now, but if it got any worse, his sense of touch, sight, hearing, and smell would all become hypersensitive, and he would be in agony without being able to sleep for days. He had to resolve things before that happened.

It’s half past twelve now… Bran will probably leave before two. By then, it will still be open, so that’s enough time.

While he was calculating the time in his head, the elevator arrived at the 22nd floor. Bran, still holding Isaiah’s arm, got out of the elevator. He went to apartment 2208 in that state, opened the front door, and let Isaiah into the apartment first. Then, he followed him in and, passing by Isaiah who was standing in the entryway, went to the window alone. He picked up the rifle and bench rest, which were attached to the windowsill, and moved them to the table.

While a surprised Isaiah could only stare, unable to ask what he was doing, Bran closed the window and the storm window, checked that they were locked, and only then closed the blackout curtains.

“I’ll reinstall the gun when it gets light.”

“You want me to reinstall that…?”

“It’s not like you’re installing it, you just have to put it back.”

I’ll do it. Bran took off his suit jacket and threw it on the sofa before going into the bedroom. While Isaiah was standing blankly in the entryway, staring at the living room, Bran’s voice came from the bedroom.

“Come here.”

Isaiah didn’t go in. Eventually, Bran came out again and dragged Isaiah into the bedroom.

“What, let go.”

“Be still.”

Isaiah thought that Bran would roughly throw him onto the bed. And that he would get on top of him and savagely bite his lips like before.

But Bran didn’t do that. He kept Isaiah in his arms until the end, and gently laid him down on the bed. Then, he lay down next to him and tightly embraced Isaiah. He only embraced him.

“What are you doing…?”

Isaiah asked, flustered. Instead of answering, Bran made Isaiah bury his face in his chest and said,

“It’s fine, just close your eyes and count in your head.”

A large hand began to stroke Isaiah’s back. Only then did Isaiah realize that Bran was trying his best to calm his rage attack. A stable environment, the most comfortable posture possible, and helping him calm down as quickly as possible. That was the common manual for dealing with all seizures.

But.

“This… this won’t work for me…”

Isaiah mumbled weakly, his face still buried in Bran’s chest.

“What won’t work.”

“This isn’t enough to calm me down.”

You don’t really get it, my condition is serious. My brain is fried. I’m not just saying that—if you looked at scans, you would see its shape is completely changed. Isaiah rambled on, mumbling justifications.

“I might calm down for a bit, but it will get worse tomorrow. And the day after that, it will get even worse.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s always been like that.”

Isaiah spoke honestly.

“Sometimes, after work is over, I have these kinds of seizures. Like you said, I’m a junkie, so I can’t control it.”

“That was just something I said.”

The hand that had been stroking his back slowly began to stroke the back of his head.

“It’s been twenty years since you did drugs.”

…Even though you called me a junkie twice. Isaiah quietly protested inwardly.

“Anyway, it’s true that I’m messed up here and there because of drugs.”

“Your reward system must be completely broken.”

“That too… They said my neurotransmitter imbalance is severe.”

“Then you should take medicine.”

Isaiah closed his mouth. He could feel Bran chuckling softly above his head. He gently lifted Isaiah’s face, which had been buried in his chest, and then, with the hand that had been stroking his head, began to caress his scabbed lips.

“Even in that state, you don’t want to take medicine?”

Again, Isaiah didn’t answer. No, he couldn’t. Bran was pressing his lips too hard, and it hurt.

“Is it better to somehow squeeze out dopamine and serotonin through sex? You only feel stimulated with rough sex, the kind where you get hit, choked, and feel like something’s about to break?”

With each word, the hand caressing his lips became rougher. Every time Bran’s fingers touched the scabs and pressed down on the swollen areas, Isaiah grimaced in pain. He thought that Bran would torment his lips until he moaned, but thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he put his swollen lips back in his mouth. He lightly touched the thin, bloodied skin with his tongue, and then kissed the areas where there were no scabs, making soft, smacking sounds.

It still hurt. Normally, this level of pain would have been pleasurable, but now it hurt too much. Had his senses already fully awakened? But strangely, his heart hurt more than his lips.

“Were you planning on going to Mountain Dog after I left?”

As soon as he pulled his lips away, Bran asked.

“Answer me.”

“…Yes.”

His heart hurt even more than before. Isaiah swallowed hard once, then said,

“But I didn’t want to.”

Bran smiled.

“Why is that?”

Isaiah stared into Bran’s golden eyes. More specifically, at the worm writhing within his golden eyes. The pain, no, a part of his life that he had taken long ago.

For some reason, tears welled up in an instant. Isaiah, without realizing it, sobbed and said,

“Because I hate jacking off by myself.”

From the moment he could remember, pain had been life itself for him. But no one liked accepting that.

“Actually, I hate being in pain.”

It’s never been good. Finally, Isaiah said while crying.

“I wish you wouldn’t hurt me. But, I don’t want to be the only one. It’s meaningless if I’m the only one who feels good. I want you to feel as good as I do.”

There was something else he really wanted to say. But he wasn’t sure if it was right to attach that expression to his feelings. Especially because Bran had already denied it once before, he was even more unsure.

But this time, he didn’t want it to end as his own salvation. Isaiah wiped away the constantly flowing tears with his hand and said desperately,

“I won’t do anything you hate. If you tell me not to sleep with other men, I won’t, and I don’t know what it means to act like a fanatic, but if you tell me not to, I won’t. I won’t talk about salvation or gods, and I won’t talk about our John Bosco days either. And…”

He couldn’t think of anything else. Isaiah sniffled for a moment, then added in a small voice, “…If you hate me sitting on the windowsill… I won’t do that either…”