A Dance With The Reaper

The Reaper- 007

Fuucckkk, that ass.

I felt Kokonoi nudge me, bringing my attention away from the tempting sway of her hips. I just smirked at him, making him roll his eyes.

"You're impossible. Fucking idiot." He huffed before storming off like a damn girl. Pussy. He talks big, but he knows better than to actually do anything. Last time he put his hands on me, I damn near sent his ass to see his little girlfriend.

I turn my head to look at her again, but she's already gone. Fucking Koko. Never did understand that pretty boy fuck face. What's the point in life if you're not gonna live a little? Annoying ass. Only thing Ran and I seem to agree on.

That bastard is lucky he's useful.

I sigh before leaving the building myself. I don't care enough to stay around any longer. I have places to be, and this place is boring as hell. Everything has gotten more boring lately. Feels like I've been going to Sanzu a lot more recently.

It started out as an occasional thing, but just like cigarettes and alcohol, drugs have quickly become an addiction. It will be until I can find a new thing to obsess over. I hate how addictive my personality seems to be, like I'm always dependent on something outside of myself, but oh well. Such is life.

I hop on my bike, same one ive had since high-school, and slide my helmet on. I notice movement in one of the cars, and my eyes instinctively flick over to see what it was. I pause when I see her messing with her radio. After a few moments, I hear the muffled but familiar sound of Slipknot blaring through the speakers of her unmarked car.

I mutter something I could barely hear over her tires as I watch her peel out of the parking lot, the speed making me smirk before I take off myself. So, the little bitch is a speed demon, aye? Aren't cops supposed to be little goodie two shoes?

I must admit, I was a little intrigued when Koko introduced her as being the new hire. Of course, being the most handsome and intelligent man I am, I immediately recognized her as the chick I bumped into the other night. After a bit of digging, I found that her IP was the same as the little rat who was trying to get onto Bonten's online servers.

How did I know it was her IP...?

...

I may have stalked her a bit. Just enough to find her socials, her mother, her occupation, her address and her mother's address. The bitch only has Facebook and Instagram. Wasn't aware she was someone's middle-aged mom.

Something about her was very familiar, though. Like I knew her from somewhere. In that meeting, I figured out why. This little piggy used to be under me, though never in the way I wanted her to be.

She's changed a lot, but once I jogged my memory a bit, I recognized the chip in her tooth and that scar over her lip. Bet that hurt like a son of a bitch.

Remembering the Kanto incident is not fun, but what always sticks out to me in my memory is this little hard ass finally gaining the ability to care about others and taking the beating meant for Hanagaki. Izana sure did a great job of fucking up that pretty face of hers, though back then I really couldn't care less. She's lucky all he did to her was scar her up.

Though, those scars definitelymake her anything but ugly, now. Scars on a woman never fail to turn me on. Always makes me wonder how they got them and if they'd let me add to their collection. The day a woman let's me do that is probably the day I'll know what love feels like.

I pull up to the closest gas station to the old cemetery. It's within walking distance, so normally I just park there and walk the rest of the way.

It's his birthday today. I hardly ever get time to visit him anymore, but I try to make it a priority on his birthday. Some call it obsessive, I call it loyalty. Ran has called me gay for it before, and I was tempted to kill his precious little brother and torment him for visiting his grave. But, Rindou has never done anything to me, so I've never actually followed through. I may be pretty impulsive, but im capable of thinking out my actions when I want to.

Im greeted as I walk into the corner store by an employee who looked like he was one more shift away from ending it all. The store itself was boring, like always. The once bright colors from when I was a teenager had become dull, and the brightly colored drinks and snack packages were giving me a headache.

I just get the beers and leave, walking down the street as quick as I possibly could just to get out of that unsettling place. I pass through the familiar gates of the old cemetery, the dilapidated structure bringing me a sense of comfort. I've always liked old Gothic shit like this.

Im starting to think im the only one who even comes here anymore. The grave stones around Kisaki's are falling apart, the flowers around them long since dead. I used to replace them on occasion when I was 19, but no one else seemed to even care about them. I try to keep Kisaki's tombstone as clean as I can, and part of me is happy im not the only one who takes care of him.

I know his mom is still visiting him. She's the only one who would be taking the beers I've been leaving him. She's probably just throwing them away, she never really impressed me as a drinker. She's so much like Kisaki it's funny.

Maybe I should leave her something next time. She's probably still struggling with the death of her only child. Heard she lost her mind and was in the loony bin for a bit.

I must admit, I wasn't particularly thrilled when he died. It's probably the only time I've ever cried in my life. I don't know if he ever saw me as his friend instead of a pawn, and I still have no idea what his motives were, but sometimes I wonder how much further he have gone. I mean, he did kill Mikey's little sister to achieve his goals, whatever they were.

With a small sigh, I sit down, setting the beer down at the base of his gravestone. His mother had him cremated and put on a shelf in his room, so im not worried about sitting on his body. Its just a memorial.

I crack open my beer, taking a couple large gulps. I've been so used to expensive alcohol that this cheap shit is like swallowing a handful of fire ants and chasing it with a cup of piss.

"26, huh? Happy birthday, old man." I say before taking another drink. I like to talk to his gravestone, as if hes still alive, then stare at it like hes going to answer me. It used to crack me up when other grieving families would think I was crazy for it, but I guess now that im alone im just hoping he will answer me.

Maybe that does make me a little crazy, but im completely normal otherwise.