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5 PM

    Pawing at his eyes, his bare eyes, with the heels of his hands. Scraping palms roughly down his face, his right hand soaked and slippery with thin, dark red blood. The tiled wall is cold against his back through the thin fabric of his shirt - the floor, too, but it's wet, he can feel liquid seeping into his pants. He hazily realizes that the stall smells like piss, he didn't even notice before he forced his way in and threw himself onto the ground next to the filthy toilet. It's the least of his problems, he's gonna be soaked with blood by the end of the hour anyway, it's not like he can bring himself to care too much besides thinking that Kitani will have to wash his hands after carrying him home.

    Zenya curls in on himself and collapses against the wall, his overheated body grateful for how fucking cold the bathroom is. He tries to make himself as small as he possibly can, knees forced hard against his chest with shaking arms, as if he's trying to rip his legs off at the joint and pierce through his own chest. He lets out a furious, guttural moan, like a dying animal. His insides are frothing. They pulse against his skin, screaming to be let out.

    "Shut the fuck uuppppp," he seethes through gritted teeth, his sight blurry and pale red from the liquid gushing out of his eye. He wishes he had a knife, a pencil, anything, anything that might pierce a hole in his stomach and just let them out so they'd finally crawl out and leave him alone. But Kitani had found his pocket knife that morning and given him a talking to, and so he'd left it at home, and he curses Kitani under his breath for being such a fucking narc and then apologizes, apologizes twice for good measure, feeling his bottom lip tremble. He starts crying, the biological sort of a cry where the tears fall but you don't sob. He presses his hands against his abdomen and tries very hard to be kind to them for a moment, wondering if they'll take pity on him. It's not his fault they're in there.

He feels movement deep in his belly, and something presses itself up against his skin, bumping against his fingers on the other side. Something about the proximity, of being separated by this creature only by the thin, taut membrane of his own skin makes him hiccup and then, eyes watery, he heaves. Heat and bile rise in his throat and he vomits almost instantly, unable to even lean over the edge of the toilet bowl directly next to his head. The contents of his stomach lay in a soupy mess in his lap, quickly sinking into the fabric of his pants, even down to his underwear. Fucking gross. Zenya coughs twice, sucking in breaths as deep as he can manage, and blinks, and for a few moments he almost feels better. He feels lighter. His stomach roils tentatively. He spits the bile left in his mouth out onto the floor, and scrapes the rest off by running his front teeth backwards along his tongue.

For several blissful moments, he sits there covered in blood and vomit, his abdomen still and absent of any activity. He catches his breath, and outside, he can hear the peal of the church bells beginning to die down. He wipes his cheek with his sleeve and it comes away with reddish-brown spots. Kitani was going to have to do a shit ton of laundry when they got home, anyway. A little blood was nothing.

Zenya swallows, and then grimaces, tasting the acidity leftover in his mouth. He spits again.

They seem to have quieted down. Zenya shifts his position slightly, wincing as he feels the wet, heavy fabric slide across his skin under his clothes. Sitting in the car caked in puke for a twenty minute ride home was not an option. Besides, Kitani always brought spare clothes, just in case.

He begins to unbutton his shirt, pausing halfway as another body-stiffening cramp bites at him from the inside. When it finally passes, he resumes his steady pace, exhaustedly pulling his shirt off and throwing it over the toilet bowl. His pants come off slowly next, and he gags a little as he sees that some of his vomit has soaked into his underwear too. Humiliating. He feels like a fucking child. But he has to sit and wait for Kitani to get here, and he's not going to have him walk in to get a view of his naked ass soaked in a puddle of bodily fluids, so the rancid boxers stay on.

Zenya, once undressed, makes the mistake of looking down at his body. He feels sick just looking at it. Not muscled or powerful enough to be a Male, lacking the broad hips or gentle curves of a Female. It's a good-for-nothing body.

His skin is sickly pale and covered with ugly bruises from where he beat himself rabidly a few days ago, trying to clue in the things inside of him to the fact that he didn't want them there just as much as they hated being there. He didn't even know if they were sentient. Probably not. The disdain he felt emanating from inside his body was probably just his own disdain for himself.

Zenya tightens his jaw. He pushes his fingers against his stomach firmly, watching his skin give way to the pressure, and then pulls them away. He presses against a particularly wicked bruise just above his belly button, perfectly matching the size of his fist, and drinks in the stinging pain until it stops being interesting. He sucks in a deep breath and exhales, feeling his body deflate.

"Kitaniiiii," he groans to no one, the sound of his voice echoing slightly off the tiled interior of the bathroom. "Hurry up... I gotta feed Kristi."

As he sits there, wet and cold, still occasionally wracked with painful spasms as the creatures inside his gut fall silent for another twenty-four hours, Zenya has the strange and comforting thought that Kristi is just the very perfect size to be a baby. He wonders if she would fit inside him, if she would lay flush and still inside his belly without causing any problems. Perhaps if she were asleep. He would much rather have Kristi inside him than the clump of his father's parasites that are in there now.

When Kitani finally arrives, he finds Zenya half-asleep, exhausted and soaked to the bone. He stands him up and gently talks him through getting dressed, helping him step into a fresh pair of pants and pulling his shirt on for him, one sleeve at a time. Zenya wraps his arms around Kitani's neck and softly, sleepily, says that he wants to go home and feed his baby. Kitani feels something deep and heavy weigh down his heart at those words. He gently picks up the boy in his arms, cradling him until they arrive at Kitani's car parked outside the school. Kitani takes him home, cooks him dinner, and spends the rest of his night sleepless, unable to forget the chunks of deep red flesh in Zenya's vomit as he cleaned it off the bathroom floor.