Lethal, a bleach fanfic

This oneshot was inspired by the final chapters of Behind Blue Eyes, by Kami-inu. She went to a place in her story that stirred up some dark emotions in me. Fear. Anger. Disgust. Hopelessness. And I'm hoping that by writing this out, I can get them out of my head. And I apologize if they get into yours.

I highly recommend listening to this song by Snow Patrol before or after you read this. It embodies the the emotional impact and follows the build up I was going for. And the lyrics are pretty much bang on.

Junichiblue

Disclaimer: The world of Bleach and it's characters belong to Tite Kubo. I'm only borrowing them.

SNOW PATROL

"Make This Go On Forever"

All that I keep thinking throughout this whole flight
Is it could take my whole damn life to make this right
This splintered mast I'm holding on won't save me long
Because I know fine well that what I did was wrong

The last girl and the last reason to make this last for as long as I could
First kiss and the first time that I felt connected to anything
The weight of water, the way you told me to look past everything I had ever learned
The final word in the final sentence you ever uttered to me was love

. . .

And I don't know where to look
My words just break and melt
Please just save me from this darkness

Lethal

I'm getting out today.

After six fucking years in hell, I'm getting out.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since they told me two months ago.

Right up to the moment I fell asleep last night, it was on my mind.

And the minute I wake up this morning, after the pleasant moment between sleep and reality fades, it all comes rushing back. In an instant, the feeling is back as well. Fear and anger jolt me awake, and they blend together to turn my stomach into a toxic knot.

This day came faster that I thought possible.

But it's the waiting that's really killing me.

I remember the day they hauled my ass through the double doors of this shit hole and escorted me to my luxury six by nine foot suite six years ago. I remember what it looked like from the outside, and that despite what I knew, I thought someday I might get to see it again. Put it behind me.

Well, someday is here. I'm getting out.

But I'm not using the front door this time. They're gonna wheel me out the back instead.

I'm going to die today.

...

I have to stop saying that. It's driving me nuts. The words are stuck on loop. I can't stop repeating it in my mind. And every time I do, my body reacts. It's telling me to run. Escape. It's fight or flight. It's do or die. I feel fractured. Frantic.

My body is wired. Jumpy. Twitchy. I can't stop pacing.

It's scared because it knows.

I'm scared.

A week ago, an official came to my new cell and handed me an execution warrant. He said I had to read it. Then he asked me a question and I wasn't sure I heard him right.

After we kill you... what did I want them to do with my body? Did I have family or friends who would want to claim it? I remember having to swallow back bile before yelling at him to go fuck himself. He just said he'd come back later.

I got the news two months ago. And a week ago they moved me to another cell. It's in a place they call the death house. There are six cells in this wing but I'm the only one here. They schedule things so they only have to keep one prisoner here at a time. It's easier on the staff. Some of the guards don't say much, so you're basically alone with your thoughts for up to a week. Less if you're calm. Depends on how concerned they are over your mental status. They move us here so we don't upset the other prisoners, and so they can put us on death watch. There are two guards watching you at all times so you don't try to off yourself. You know it's supposed to be in your best interest, that it's done on the off chance that you get a stay of execution. But you really feel like it's just so they can do the dirty deed themselves. So they can force you to bend to their will one more time. Have the final say in your life.

As the days pass, I wish I had a piece of rope or a knife. If they want me dead, fine. But I'd like to die on my own terms. Not theirs.

It's not even the indignity of stripping down to your shorts and dying in front of witnesses that gets to me. It's the freedom to choose how I go out that they took away from me.

I deserved it. I know it. I took a life. Two in fact.

I was ordered by my gang leader, Aizen, to kill a girl. She'd seen our stash and knew our business and threatened to open her big mouth to the wrong kind of people. She was going to cause a lot of trouble for my family if she wasn't silenced.

So, I did what I was ordered to do, and I shot the bitch in a drive-by. I did my job to protect my family.

And if I'd chosen not to do it... If I'd grown a backbone, dug down deep and stood up for my true morals... I would have been the one in the body bag.

Aizen may have been our leader and claimed to love us as his family, calling us brothers and sisters, but he wasn't known for taking crap from his subordinates. Disobedience and fuck-ups meant a severe beating and sometimes death. In my case, it would have been.

Two days later I got picked up during a raid on a house party. We had been living the good life that night. Someone had even toasted to my first kill. I didn't raise my glass to that, though. I was just happy my friends were safe. I focused on that. The bitch was just a job that needed to be done. It was my mantra. She'd brought it on herself. It was done, and I wasn't going to look back.

Right after I was dragged out of that party in cuffs and formally charged with first degree murder, the news came out.

Bitch was pregnant. Just six weeks. How was I supposed to know? I never signed up for that.

...

I'm supposed to consider myself lucky. Executions happen differently in different institutions, and this place is one of the better ones. Kurosaki Isshin, the warden who runs the joint, believes in being as kind to his condemned prisoners as he can. He says, considering what we're going to go through, he doesn't want to make it any harder than it already is. He has no anger towards us. It's not his place.

Right after they moved me to the death watch cell, a guard handed me a last meal request form and asked me if I had any other last requests. I told him, yeah, I want to see the sky when I die. He closed his eyes and shook his head and replied that I knew they couldn't do that. So, I said fine, don't kill me then.

He told me to call him if I had a last request.

So, I thought about it, and I really couldn't come up with anything worth doing. It's not like I'd be carrying the memories very far anyway, and anything that made me think of the good old days would just remind me of what I'd never have again.

But the sky thing, I'd been serious. I love the sky. It's so blue. Open. Endless. It's freedom.

When I was a kid, my mom had to drag me inside just to eat, and I'd nearly throw the food down my throat just so I could get back outside again. That's why, even after she died and I got lost in the system, I spent so much time running away. The streets appealed to me. I didn't have to sit in a classroom, or get hauled in at night. I didn't mind life out there. It wasn't easy but I found a place to belong. I've spent a lot of time lately, travelling back in time to my former life, the sites and sounds, seeing the faces of my friends, re-living the good times.

Re-living...

Living...

Christ. Even the bad times seem worth remembering from this vantage point. It was rough, especially for a guy with hair like mine. It always attracted so much attention. Really. You have no idea how much trouble it got me into.

I got teased about my hair sometimes. Still do. It's blue, like the sky. Like my eyes. Everything about me belongs up in the air, like I'm just a lost puzzle piece that fell to earth. And I haven't been able to find my way back up since.

Fuck.

There are no windows in my cell. I'm used to that now, though. There's no sunlight in here, no reference to time, so I can't tell whether it's day or night, whether it's sunny or raining. I don't get any outside time any more. For the entire week I'm confined to my cell. There's a radio and a tv mounted on the wall outside of the bars, and I tried using them but I can't focus on all the pointless images and sounds. It all just turns to static in my head.

My execution is set for 9pm.

My lawyer has less than fourteen hours to find a way to get me a stay of execution.

We both know it won't happen, but he's still going up to bat for me. He's not that much older than I am, but he looks a hell of a lot older than he did just six years ago, and more disillusioned.

I'm not the same as I was when I got here either. I'm not even the same as I was before my date was set. It feels like the life has already been snuffed out of me. The person who showed up here is a memory. Back in the day, I was defiant and cocky, and I spent a lot of time in solitary my first two years here. Took me a long time to get it, that fighting and hurting and demanding respect don't get you anywhere inside this place. I'm not so cocky now.

When he first took my case, Starrk was confident that he'd have the noose off my neck in a matter of months. Grimmjow, he said, I'll get you off death row and you'll serve out your time in a maximum security penitentiary.

That honestly didn't sound much better. One option did exist, though, which would've really made my life a lot easier. But I wouldn't do it. The state wanted me to name Aizen. If I did that, they'd take me off death row, and with good behaviour, eventually I could become eligible for parole. It would be an easy way to see him behind bars, for awhile.

It sounded like a fucking fantastic idea, but it also spelled my death the minute he got out. There was no way I was gonna roll over on him.

I almost did it twice, though, gave him up. After my first two years, my appeal was denied. Starrk explained that the girl's mother was waging a campaign to keep me on death row.

She wanted to watch me fry in the electric chair. She said she hoped my dick caught fire. Fuckin' cow.

Joke's on her. They don't do electrocutions here.

So, Starrk started another appeal and my case dragged on for nearly four more years. I hated this place so fuckin' much. And after watching older guys I'd come to know from our daily one hour breaks in the common room, and our twice-weekly outdoor time, give up on their appeals and fucking ask to be executed... Jesus Christ.

I was willing to risk my life on the outside just to get out of here. At least if I died, I'd die free.

And that's when Aizen, the fucking bastard, went and got himself shot. Killed dead.

That was it. The deal was off the table. Fucking Aizen got sloppy.

And he killed me along with him.

...

The morning drags on, actually drags, and at one point I find myself yawning, but I don't take a nap. I refuse. I finish a book I'm reading. The only reason I can is because there's less that half a chapter left, and it's a really good book, but I have to read every line three times for it to make any sense. I call Starrk a few times, but I know he won't have any good news for me. I finish filling out some last minute paperwork, delegating my personal belongings. I pick at the prison breakfast but in the end all I've eaten is a piece of toast and an egg.

It'll give me something to throw up later.

...

At noon they let me out of my cell, one of the warden's compassionate gestures, and I'm allowed to spend the rest of the day, the rest of my life, in the private day room, next to my cell block. I can have visitors if I want, but I've lost touch with my "family" for the most part. I get a few letters from my closest friends, but they won't be coming to the execution. I don't want them to. They don't need to take that memory with them. They have to remember me the way I was, free, cocky, mouthy as fuck, a holy terror, and a blue-eyed sexual god. Not a condemned prisoner strapped to a table.

And I don't ask them to visit me either, because none of them want to set foot in a place like this unless they have to.

I didn't ask to see a priest but in this case, Isshin insisted. I don't know why he did that. I'm an atheist. I don't believe in god or the afterlife, angels and demons, or any of that shit.

But shortly after noon, this guy walks in. And I just stare. He's got this messed up hair. It's bright fucking orange.

He introduces himself as Kurosaki Ichigo. He's dressed in a black suit and the traditional white collar. The black looks good on him. The white part though... there's a spark in his eyes that tells me he had to make some changes in his life to earn it.

The priest, Ichigo, sits with me for hours. He doesn't have to, though. He's only required to come in for an hour or two a few hours before the execution. But he said, he wants to be here for me. I ask him why. He doesn't know me.

Why waste his time on someone who's gonna be dead soon? Why bother with a guy who doesn't even believe in God?

What does it matter to him if I go in screaming and panicking, or if I go quietly and peacefully, all resigned 'n shit to my fate?

He just looks at me and says, every man has a heart and a soul, and no one deserves to die alone.

I don't say anything for awhile after that.

I just stare at the table, trying to breathe. It keeps hitting me in waves. The knowledge. The cold, hard truth. That what's coming is final. Absolute. My heart speeds up again, and at the same time everything in my body seems to slow down and freeze over. Wave after wave hits and I'm drowning. It's like it's trying to break through a barrier I've put up, smash down a solid rock wall of denial. It's my own mind doing this to me. Why can't it just fucking leave me there behind my barricades? I don't want to know this truth. I don't want to think about dying any more.

I don't want any of this.

He speaks again. My eyes find his and he holds them. And this time I listen without interrupting. He takes back what he just said and it shocks me. He doesn't sit with everybody, just the men who have remorse.

There is evil in the world, he explains. And then there are people who made bad choices.

I ignore that last remark. It sounds to close to pity.

Aren't your types supposed to love everybody equally, I ask him.

No, he says. That's God's job.

I snort and cock my head at the priest. I say, yeah, he loves ya, but he still sends ya to hell.

You're making fun of me, he says calmly.

My eyebrows take a nosedive and I lean across the table and glare at him through my too-long bangs when I snarl at him, you know what asshole, the last thing I wanna do today is be stuck in a room with a priest having some bullshit theological debate.

I'm angry. And I'm taking it out on him. He doesn't seem to mind. Somehow that irks me further.

You should just fucking go, I say, because I don't have remorse. I tell him I did what I was told to do, and if I didn't kill that girl, then somebody else would have.

He tilts his head full of spiky orange hair and smiles at me. He fucking smiles. Doesn't say a word. Because he knows. He knows I'm full of shit. He knows I wish I could take it back, not just because I ended up in prison, and not just because I'm on death row. But because if I'd felt like I had a choice back then, I would have said no.

I crush the urge to dive across the table and use my fist to wrinkle that white collar. It'd look more fitting. But he really seems to want to be here, so eventually I cave. I'm reluctant to let myself go at first, like I'm not allowed to feel anything good on a day that's about ending feelings. But pretty soon we're just talking about random shit. He even manages to force a genuine laugh out of me. He's quite a guy, this Ichigo. I want to know him more.

I don't realize how late it's gotten until a guard comes in while we're talking and asks me if I'm sure I don't want to order a last meal. I never gave them that sheet of paper. And after tossing up my breakfast part way through the morning, my stomach's the size of a walnut. I ain't putting anything else in there.

I stand up from the table and slam my hands down while I give him a blast of shit. The guard's hand goes to his side, but Ichigo stands up and steps between us. He turns to the guard and tells him, Grimmjow isn't hungry right now, but thank you.

I peel one hand from the table top and rake it through my hair. Last meal? You gotta be fucking joking. It's like they're mocking me. Making fun of this whole fucked up scene. Who in the fuck could eat anything just...

And I turn my head to check the clock that's been silently moving forward behind me this whole time.

... five hours...

... before...

I'm up and pacing across the room with my arms folded tight across my stomach as Ichigo watches me from his spot on the other side of the metal table. The safe side.

You gotta go, I say. You gotta go. Gotta go. Gotta go.

Are you sure, Grimmjow, he asks.

Yeah, I don't wanna talk to you no more, I growl. You see what you did? You see? I point violently up at the clock. It was fucking noon when you came in here and now look at it! I'm screaming at him.

The guards are at the door right away but Ichigo just raises his hand and they both hesitate. He nods at them with that soft smile of his and those hazelnut eyes, and they step back out. It's like he's got some kind of power I can't see. But I can feel it.

Then he asks me this. Would you rather sit alone and watch the clock, Grimmjow?

Would... I... rather...

I'm seeing red in an instant. Then I'm seeing Ichigo up close because my fist is wrapped in that stupid fucking white collar of his.

And suddenly I'm seeing stars because Ichigo, it turns out, is a hell of a lot stronger that he looks, and my head connects with the wall hard enough to stun me.

And I feel fire run through me that I haven't felt in six years. I reach up and come around his arms with my own, bring my hands to the back of his neck, ignoring the pain of his knuckles grinding against my collar bone. And I kiss him. It's completely inappropriate and ridiculous and insane, and I'm surprised that the guards don't already have me on the floor in cuffs, but for some reason they don't and I'm not questioning it.

I kiss him. And for a second, he lets me. Warmth shoots through me and I moan as I feel the touch of another human being again. And it's beautiful. I don't resist as he slides away from my lips and pulls me into him, his hand resting on the back of my neck, fingers tangling in the loose strands of blue hair at my nape.

I won't let you die alone. He whispers it with more conviction that any state could ever impose.

I'm shaking from the inside out, and he comes with me to his knees as mine give out and I slide down the wall. His words are like dynamite, and the levee breaks. I'm in no state of mind to be embarrassed or care. Pools of salt sting my eyes before breaking free and running down my face to seep into the black material on Ichigo's shoulder. He just holds on. He takes my tears.

They're for me. And my mistakes. And they're for every guy in here that lost his mind, every guy that gave up the fight and lost his life, every person I've ever lost, every person I've ever killed... Fuck. Because I can't take it back. I can't change it. I'm caught up in the flow of time like everybody else and there's no getting out of it until you reach the end.

And that's what I'm coming to.

Minutes pass. Ichigo waits with me by the wall in silence. After awhile my head clears. Everything dark is drained away. I can see who caught it. He's watching me with amber eyes. His warm eyes remind me I don't have time to fall apart. I want to enjoy the time I have left. I collect myself after a moment, and we sit and just talk about everything and anything.

He doesn't see me as a heartless murderer, as a horrific crime committed on a piece of paper.

He looks past all that. He sees me.

He lets me in on his own past, lets me learn about the life he's lived. The losses he bears, his desire to protect, the strength he finds in those who think they have none. It turns out, Ichigo is really cool. He makes me feel worthy of life again. Of love. He makes me think we could have been good friends. His soft smile grips me. His amber eyes. I can tell he feels the same.

I feel the overwhelming weight of the darkness that's been pressing me down lift just a little bit. The next four hours don't go quite so fast and I'm thankful for it. I want to make this last as long as I can.

He makes me feel something I haven't felt since I was a child.

Like it's the first time I've ever felt connected to anyone.

...

I have to go back to my cell an hour before the execution. They walk me back in cuffs and ankle chains and I turn to look at the common room where Ichigo is still standing.

I'm quiet on the outside, but I'm fighting a rising tide of panic on the inside. They're ripping me away from him. He's my only comfort.

He says, he'll be there waiting for me. He means the chamber.

...

The hour passes by and I'm just numb. My brain is too tired to think anymore. It's done trying to find away out of this nightmare. It's been trying to do to many things all day, taking me back to the past, showing me the future, trying to find a solution to the problem it faces. And at least for now, it's exhausted.

This is better in a way. Like I'm sedated.

I don't have to think about the lethal injection process. The lethal dose of sodium thiopental, a fast acting anaesthetic will knock me out. It's supposed to be given in a high enough dose to kill a person on its own, but just to be sure, there are two more drugs.

The second one is a paralytic to stop my diaphragm and keep me from breathing. All of us here know though, that it's really done for the witnesses so they don't have to see the prisoner's body convulse as it dies. Makes the whole scene less... ugly. But if the first drug doesn't take effect, you'll be aware and unable to scream as you begin to asphyxiate.

And the last one's a doozy. Potassium chloride. It will throw a person's heart into cardiac arrest. A terminal excruciating cramp. And if that isn't enough, if you still aren't out when they inject it, it's like fire in your veins.

But I can't think about that right now.

I can't think about that. I'm a zombie. I'm already dead.

I almost wish I was. Wish it was over already. Then it starts.

The hour passes like minutes, and two guards appear at my cell door and my brain begins to work again, and I'm instantly wary of them. They're here to pick me up. They're my escorts to the prom I never went to. Grimmjow's everybody's favourite inmate tonight.

I don't really glare at them, but at the same time I raise my chin and wait for them to enter. Fuckers are gonna have to work for it.

They come up on either side of me and take my arms and I mutter, where's your stunt double when you need him. One of the guards snorts and he actually looks at me with amusement. Haven't heard that one before, he says.

I don't know where this bravado is coming from. Maybe my time with Ichigo has resurrected my inner wild child, the one I thought was long since dead in this place.

We exit the cell and turn to the left. The hall is short and a large grey steel door waits at the end. I know it's the execution chamber. I've been living right next to it all this time.

Exactly twenty two steps takes us to the chamber door. The same number of years it took to bring me to the prison's front door.

A third guard moves to let us inside.

The clatter of a latch hits me like gunshots in the silence, and the door swings open. It's bright inside and I blink before my eyes adjust.

Now I can see what's coming. I see the walls of the small room. I see the table where I'll die.

The smell of antiseptic hits my nose.

Something snaps. All of Ichigo's hard work and comfort disintegrates. My feet plant against the floor and I lean my weight back towards the hallway, twisting and pushing with all the force in my legs against the sterile floor. But they thought of that. Everything is planned out. Meticulous. Diabolical. The stupid sandals they gave me have no grip to them, so my feet don't find much purchase against he floor.

I feel like a mouse dropped inside a glass cage, scrabbling at the sides with frantic desperationand getting nowhere. And the snake is hungry.

The guards grip my arms harder, bruising. One of them tells me to quit fighting. He says my name.

No. Not my name. Please not mine. Not me. Somebody else's. Get somebody else to do this. I don't want to do this.

I want to pull away, lash out, strike out, knock them down and run. They're holding me so tight now I can barely squirm, so I raise my feet and catch the frame on one side of the door. I know my eyes are wild, manic. I'm losing it. I never said I planned to go quietly, without a fight, but I thought that maybe I would... take it like a man. But I've never felt so much like a child. Dependant on others for my very existence. Doing what they tell me, when they tell me, how they tell me. I'm theirs. Fed, clothed, housed. Put to sleep. I just need to feel that I get to make another choice in my life before the end.

One last choice.

I'm panting, and shaking and my face is pressed so hard into the cold floor where the guards have pinned me down, that I'm sure I'll have a bruise on my cheekbone tomorrow. My mind supplies a response to that. There won't be a bruise. There is no tomorrow.

Grimmjow. My name again. Do we have to sedate you? Grimmjow. Again. Quit fighting. Do you need us to sedate you?

I grunt. No.

I'll be good. I'll be good so what's left of me can be whole when they take me in there. For a moment I feel triumphant. I made them give me something. I made them give me a choice.

They pull me up off the floor by my arms and turn me back 'round to face the door again.

A deep breath. I step through the door. As soon as we start to pass that thresh hold, the guards practically have to hold me upright because my legs don't want to work anymore. They're shaking. I stumble a few steps to the edge of the bed. I see white, clean sheets and leather straps. I don't like those straps. But the arm rests that angle out on each side. They terrify me.

Once I'm in those straps I can't fight anymore.

My arms will be spread out and held down. I'll be helpless. Vulnerable. The mental torture will kill me before they can. I'm sure of it.

I look to the room first thing I notice is that there's a hole in the wall at the head of the bed, and a tinted window. I don't know who's behind there, but I know they're going to be my executioner.

I have to look elsewhere again, so instead I study the warden, the priest, two more guards, and another person who looks like they'll be hooking up my lines. I hope they know what they're doing. And I tell the warden so.

He nods and gives me a serious but friendly look, yes Grimmjow. My staff is competent. We don't screw around here.

The warden... Isshin, is a good man. It didn't take me long to figure that out. Most of the inmates here have respect for him, because he does his best to bend the rules and treat us like men. He's been in charge of this place for a very log time. And he's put down a lot of men. Maybe sixty. Maybe less. Maybe more. It doesn't matter. I know that just one life coming to an end at your hands is enough to change you. Sometimes in bad ways, sometimes in good. But either way, you're never the same person that you were before the moment you pulled the trigger.

I nod back and then watch as the guards unclasp my ankles so I can swing my legs up onto the table. I sit on the edge and they remove the cuffs from my wrists. And I know what's coming next. This is the hard part. I have lie back.

Just lie back and relax.

I have to let them strap me down. I have to play along and wait patiently while they tie off my the leathers straps around my wrists and swab a spot on each of my arms over one of my veins. I try to think about that. Think positively. If I don't, I'm going to start crying. I have good veins, because I'm young, strong, and well built, and because I never messed around with drugs. At least I can be confident that my veins won't collapse or get punctured. The shit they give me will act like it's supposed to. Quick and painless.

If everything goes right, my death will be quick and painless. If everything goes right, I'll die.

In a few minutes, they're going to murder me.

I'm shaking now, and the guards have to push down on my shoulders because my body refuses to lie down. I'd rather die sitting. Not locked down on that bed.

I have to go willingly. I have to cooperate. The better I am at that, the easier this will be. For who? For me? Don't get me started. Nothing on earth could make this easier for me. For them maybe, but not for me.

I don't like what I did, but what I did, I considered urban warfare.

This is more like fucking ritualistic killing. It's like those Aztecs sacrificing some virgin on a slab. And, no, I ain't a virgin, but it's been a long enough time since anyone's touched me like that to consider myself one again.

It fucking bombs my mind to think how they can do this so calmly.

They're clinical. Efficient. Just like I was. No one looks me in the eye while they tighten the straps. I'm just a job that needs to be done. I'm their job. And I brought this on myself. Just like her.

My heart is beating too fast.

Once upon a time I had all the time in the world. Years to consider. And suddenly in a matter of moments, in a frank manner of words, it was reduced to months, then weeks, then days, then hours...

Now it's down to minutes.

It's eight minutes to nine, and I want to rip the god damn clock off the wall and launch it into the glass window, break it all apart. I know it won't stop time, but at least I wouldn't have to watch it tick down, watch my life dwindle to a few short ticks of the clock's second hand.

The only thing that can stop this now is a last minute stay of execution. But I know that won't happen. I filed two appeals and they rejected both of them. It's the girl's mother. Bitch has been after my blood from day one. She's the reason I was condemned. She wouldn't let up, because I took away the only family she had. Her daughter and her grand kid. I know she's gonna be out there when they're done hooking me up and open the curtain. I hope this makes her fuckin' happy. Then I hope she chokes.

I don't wince at all when I feel them insert the needles that will deliver the drugs. I'm shaking like a leaf and breathing fast, and I test the restraints and bite my lip to give me something to think about. I can't really move much.

My head shoots up when the door to the chamber is closed. It's so loud and I'm so on edge that it nearly gives me the heart attack they want to induce. I exhale harshly, trying to calm my heart as I let my head drop heavily onto the headrest. I stare up at the grey ceiling, then force myself to examine the rest of the chamber, trying to take in most of the last room I'll ever see.

Someone steps up beside me, and I'm thankful that they've obscured my view. I don't want to see this room.

They don't usually let the priest in the room, but Ichigo is here. It was my last request, because something about him calms me.

I hear the curtains being slid open to the witnesses' room. I don't even spare them a glance. It's just reporters, some random witnesses, the bitch, and Starrk. I know he tried. He knows I won't look out there. I thanked him for his help earlier. We said our goodbyes.

Ichigo tells me he can hold my hand, if I want. He's trying to help me through it. I glance up at him and I see the compassion in his amber eyes. I look away and shake my head. The room is a little blurry.

He takes my hand anyway, and I squeeze back as hard as I can.

And then I hear someone ask me a question. I don't register who asked me. I don't care. I just hear the question.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. You have been found guilty of first degree murder and have been sentenced to death by lethal injection by this state, to be commenced at twenty one hundred hours on this day, the twenty ninth of July, two thousand twelve.

Do you have any last words?

I feel the priest, Ichigo... Ichigo... Ichigo squeezes my hand again and I glance into those deep amber eyes one last time. He's apologetic. He has to let go. No one can be touching me once they start the injections. I don't want to let go. I'm not ready. I squeeze back. His hand is so warm. Mine is already cool because I'm nearly in shock from the stress of this moment. His hand is soft and pink and warm with life, and in a few minutes mine is gonna be stiff and cold and blue. I don't wanna be cold. Or blue.

I lose myself in those eyes for a moment, escape there, and even though I had never planned on saying anything other than fuck you all for this, something shifts lose inside me and I breathe out some words, quietly enough that Ichigo leans forward and the microphone above me probably doesn't even pick it up.

"I'm sorry."

I'm looking at him and he's looking at me, and I know he understands. That I'm sorry for what I did. That I'm sorry for sleeping with that girl and being reckless. That I'm sorry that Aizen made me clean up my own mistake. And that I'm sorry I never met Ichigo in time to keep me from screwing it all up. I'm only twenty eight years old. Still in my prime and I fucked it all up.

Where's the goddamn undo button, I ask. My voice is filled with a bitterness that I don't even try to disguise.

Ichigo nods. His face is composed, but there's sadness there too. He lets go of my hand and I reluctantly let go of his.

I don't have time to feel sad.

I crane my neck back to watch where he goes, because I just need to know that he's really still here. That I'm not alone. The warden is off to the side behind me. Ichigo steps back beside him, but his eyes don't leave me. And for the first time it registers that he has the same last name. Father and son. And I realize how alike they are.

Two guards are in the room with us, and I glance over at them. I try not to look at the lines that are leading from my arms. I know they run behind my head and disappear through the hole in the wall.

All eyes are on me, but nobody moves. They don't even seem real, not alive. They're like emotionless statues.

I don't mean to do it, but my eyes pass over the clock and I see the second hand rounding the six and inching up towards the twelve. And another wave hits me. A fucking tidal wave. You don't prepare for this. You try, but you don't. I want to scream and beg for my life, plead for them to stop. How is this fair? She didn't even see it coming. Two shots and she was dead instantly. She didn't have to wait for it.

I don't want to freak out. It doesn't feel good to lose control. But all of my insides are clamouring for a way out, my skin crawling for safety, every alarm in my mind is going off like a thousands sirens.

My heart is jack-hammering.

I'm hyperventilating.

I'm panicking. Like a wild animal caught in a snare. I have to get away. They're going to stop my 're going to stop my fucking heart. I'm pulling at my restraints and bucking against the leather straps. But they don't give. They're secure. Tight. Unyielding.

An angry scream builds inside my throat. And then it just dies.

Somebody pushed the button.

I can taste it in the back of my throat. I can feel it coming.

I don't feel tired. But my eyelids want to close. I fight it. I struggle to keep them open, but they slide shut. And then...

Ichigo isn't with me anymore.

I'm alone now.

I gasp as warmth spreads out over my skin and I'm aware that it's the poison running through me. Heat prickles up my throat beneath my chin. I swallow hard and when I do my throat doesn't want to open back up. Somehow it does, and I gasp again. The stuff goes straight to your brain, and the muscles in the face go first. That's why I can't open my eyes. That's why I can't swallow.

But I'm still here.

Still alive.

I feel my arms and legs begin to relax and my heart is slowing. It's more normal now. Calmer. My thoughts too. Everything is pulling away, and then I'm terrified all over again. Because there's nothing after this. And I don't even know how this could be better than nothing, but it is.

I haul in a deep, desperate breath. I don't care if the strangled sounds I make bother anybody.

I don't want to go.

I think the second injection is snaking through my veins now because I can hardly move my lungs. And it hits me. I'm not out yet. There's too much adrenaline in my veins. My body is fighting the anaesthetic. Because my body wants to live as much as I do. It's young and healthy and strong and it will fight to keep us both alive as much as I will. So, I'm still awake. And they're pumping me full of that shit.

The numbness spreads quickly but I manage to draw in a couple more shallow breaths. But it's not enough. It's starting to burn. My lungs are on fire and my blood pressure is skyrocketing from the stress. I can feel the blood pounding beneath the skin on my face and my neck.

I just want to breathe again. And I do.

I fight with everything I have, and I get one more breath into me before my muscles freeze up and go still. My body is out of my control. Nobody knows. Or nobody cares. I can't even scream as I'm slipping into the abyss. This is supposed to be humane. And even though it hurts and I'm terrified and I know I'm dying now, I hang onto consciousness by the edge of my claws for a few more seconds.

Because they're all I have left.

If this story pulled a reaction from you, I'd love to hear it. And thanks for reading!
Junichiblue.