Crescent Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Fidelity ❯ Turn ( Chapter 4 )

Summary: Not only did he hate her for being her and being human, he hated her for making him care.

Rating: PG-13 (Rating may change in later chapters)

Fidelity

Chapter 4: Turn Mahiru stood staring at the cloud of exhaust the truck had left behind, her hand still extended to where the door handle had been. Her fingers twitched, slowly it dawned on her that they were stranded with Dawn’s Venus less than an hour away. As the hairs on her neck stood up, she realized she didn’t feel safe anymore.   “Let’s go.” A gruff male voice, an echo of another she never wished to remember, came from behind Mahiru. She flinched involuntarily at the close proximity. It was only Mitsuru, though, and he was giving her an odd look, one she couldn’t quite place. In less than a second it was gone, and his normal defensive look took its place. He turned around and headed for the garage. Forgetting that Mahiru didn’t like to talk to anyone, she blurted out her worries to the one person who infuriated her enough to forget what happened over the past few days.   “Oboro just drove off!” She squeaked, starting after him.   “So?”   “So, what are we going to do? Take a taxi?” She hissed as she matched her steps with his. How were they supposed to get to Chino if the only two cars the Moonshine owned were suddenly gone? Her nerves were getting the best of her as she quickly looked up and down the street.   “Hell no.”   “Are we going to walk, in the snow? All the way to Chino?” She snapped. “’Cause if we are it’s the other way.” She threw her arm in the general direction of the street, granola packaging crinkling in her hands.   “Calm down.” Mitsuru snapped back. “We’re not that stupid.”   Mahiru fumed. She hated it when people told her to calm down, because ninety-nine percent of the time she was calm. Like now, for example, she was as calm as the ocean during monsoon season. She was only a little upset because; one, people weren’t telling her what was going on, and two, because she couldn’t believe that Mitsuru would think that she thought they were stupid. They weren’t, because, obviously, if they were stupid they wouldn’t be alive right now.   Mitsuru reached the garage, with its doors wide open, Mahiru growling in tow, holding three motorcycles—one red, one dark green, one blue—and a black mustang.   Mitsuru kept walking until he reached the back table full of riding gear, but Mahiru stood dumbfounded, staring at the motorcycles and sexy, sleek mustang. How in the world did they get these-these…these? Where did they get the money to buy them?   “Are you just going to stand there looking like a fish?” She turned to Mitsuru. “Get over here.”   “I didn’t know you had these.”   “No one does, except for us.”   “How…” She stopped speaking a little out of awe but mostly out of embarrassment because Akira and Keiko were giving her not-so-discrete glances.   “We built them.” Mitsuru mumbled as he pulled on a leather jacket.   * * * *     Keiko walked up to the red motorcycle. The metal was cool to the touch as she ran her fingers over the handlebars to the seat. It had been years since she had ridden a motorcycle, let alone seen one as powerful as these three. There were black bats covering the red plating and a metal bat of simple design was welded to the conjuncture of the handlebars. With a bit of sprucing and feminine touch, this bike would look like it came to earth as an angel from hell. She smirked mischievously.    “Can I have one?” She whispered to Akira, still in awe of the bikes. These were good bikes. Akira gave her an odd look. “I mean, well, one has to be Nozomu’s right?” He nodded. “So, he can’t really drive it, and we’re not going to let a good bike go to waste are we?”   Akira whispered back. “I guess so…” He paused, unsure if what he was saying was the right thing. The bike was Nozomu’s, and as much Akira hated that Nozomu betrayed them, he was still a brother to Akira. Giving away Nozomu’s bike was like giving away his best friend, because that was all he had left of him.   “If you can ride it, Keiko, then yes, you may take the bike.” Misoka answered heading to the Mustang. “Make sure you remove the homing device, and you’re going to have to paint it before you get to Nagoya.”   Keiko put on the helmet hanging on the bike. Akira grabbed his jacket and helmet. He grabbed Nozomu’s jacket and handed it to Keiko.   “You’ll need this.” He stood by his blue bike, covered in running wolves, and shrugged into his jacket.   * * * *     Mahiru stood looking at the forest green bike with apprehension. Mitsuru, who was irritated and annoyed that he had to take her with him, snatched her food from her hands and stuck it in the back compartment. He mounted the bike, failing to notice that Mahiru was still staring at the bike.   Mitsuru glared at her after a couple seconds of waiting. “We don’t have all day, princess.” Mahiru just looked at him. “Get on already!” He snapped.   There was no way she was riding on a motorcycle with two feet of snow outside. There was no way she was getting on one in the first place. Moreover, there was no way she was going to ride the bike with another person on it, especially a male.   “Why can’t I go in the mustang?”   “Because.”   “Because, why?”   Mitsuru growled. “Because Misoka has to pick up some stuff. The car will be full until he can transfer the junk to the van, and that won’t happen until Otsu. So get on.”   “It’ll be cold.”   “I’ll be blocking the wind.”   “Do you know how many crashes involve motorcycles?” She asked as if it would decide whether she’d ride the bike.   “No, do you?” was Mitsuru’s gruff reply.   “Lots.” She stated as if it was the most scientific fact she’d ever known.   Mitsuru rolled his eyes. “I’m a good driver. So just get on.” His gloved hands gripped the handles tight, the leather squeaking at the rough treatment. If he hadn’t promised Misoka to be nice he would have thrown her over his lap and pealed out the garage all within seconds. But no! He had to make a stupid promise to Misoka to keep her safe and be patient with her. Mitsuru hated promises.   “That’s not it. I-I—”   Mitsuru understood. Anger swarmed through his veins, pounding to be let out. She was afraid, not of the bike, but of him. There was nothing to be afraid of! He protected her for a year now, reluctantly of course, but he did. He’d die for her if it came down to it—not that he’d admit to that. Ever. He still would rather have everyone think he hated her. It was so much easier for Mitsuru to just hate someone and have them hate him back. Friendships were too complicated.   Mitsuru took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of his ricocheting emotions. Misoka’s voice echoed through his head, Be patient with her. That is all I ask.   With effort he schooled his voice to a low, semi-calm, murmur. “I won’t hurt you.” It offended him that he even had to say it in the first place. “You can trust me.” He closed his eyes tight. He was going to make another promise, one he knew he would have to keep no matter what. Thank God he was wearing a helmet to hide his self-loathing. He hated promises. They always came back to bite him in the butt. It was the only way to get her on the damned machine though, and if that was the only way, he’d do it, for her safety and no one else’s. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”   As irritating as it was to say it, to promise safety to this human, to her, he found he meant every word. He felt a little confused. Was he getting soft?   Her hands shook violently.   “Mahiru, what’s wrong?” He didn’t notice her eyes welling with unshed tears, but he did notice her fingers gripping each other, her knuckles white. “Mahiru?”   “I can’t.” She whispered almost too soft for him to hear.   “What?”   “I just can’t, okay.” Her voice cracked.   Mitsuru took off his helmet and got off the bike. He started towards her intending to calm her down, but every step he took she backed away. He could feel her fear growing, reaching out to all corners of the garage, reaching for a way out.   “Don’t.” she shook as her arms wrapped around her thinning body. Pleadingly, she stared at him. Her forearm still stung, ghostly fingers wrapped around flesh, muscle, and bone, closing in tighter and tighter. She could see him… Taste you… coming nearer, pressing her against the wall, picture frames digging into her back. Memories… Need to taste you… One’s she’d like to forget… You will be mine!  Flashed past her eyes. Don’t “Don’t.” Please don’t…  “I don’t—I don’t… I don’t want to remember.” Her back brushed the wall. “P-Please… Please, can I go with Misoka?”   Mitsuru started at her, numb. He never thought he’d cause her this much pain. He nodded, seeing every ounce of fear in her eyes, and knowing he was the one to trigger her memories. He looked over at Misoka, who was already inside the mustang waiting to make sure everyone was ready to go. Without a word, he turned from her.                             .