Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Perpetual ❯ Past ( Chapter 11 )

Tite Kubo owns Bleach and the characters and gets paid for it. I don't. I just write these to amuse myself.

 

Note: Some readers have mentioned that Kaname Tosen is blind and he doesn't seem to be in this story. I draw your attention to Tite Kubo's treatment of the alleged blindness in chapter 250 Five Ways to Three Figures (Volume 28 of the published manga). Tosen is in the monitor room and appears to be able to see what is happening. Even the conversation between Tosen and Ichimaru indicates that Tosen is viewing what is occurring. This story is following that precedent.

 

-------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------

 

Past

 

Someone was lying, but whom? After the recorded scene played out Grimmjow rounded on Aizen, accusing, ready to fight the guy. He didn't believe what he'd seen, not trusting Aizen was second nature to him now. Tosen didn't matter. He hadn't touched the girl, which was obvious. The man couldn't take his eyes from the monitor even after the scene had played through twice. For some reason he had shaken his head, his braids sweeping over his shoulders in denial of either the reality or the constructed vision.

 

He decided to stay calm and wouldn't show how much these images disturbed him. Ignoring Tosen, he began to resist Aizen who was once again trying to force him into obedience using his reiatsu or any other force he could. In some ways Grimmjow understood why they were always at odds. The man was, supposedly, the real power here and he constantly resisted his power, orders and influence. Ichimaru and Tosen followed the guy's orders and showed little ability to do anything without his direction, but all the same, he observed the withdrawn Shinigami out of the edge of his eye. During this interview he'd acted according to the normal script at first, but once the encounter had been shown, he'd changed. Rather than taking the usual accusatory and punishment approach, he'd stopped talking and seemed to be standing there in a dream, not interfering or actively participating in the regular harassment that Aizen staged.

 

Curious, Grimmjow baited Aizen further, using any trick he could think of, most of his attention on the man, but Tosen didn't seem to notice anything. Grinning inwardly, Grimmjow increased the level of insult, absorbing all of Aizen's attention. One thing he knew, if you hit enough weak points, either with words or fists, your opponent would forget all else in the attempt to overcome you; and if they showed a cool front like Aizen, it was even more important.

 

With a swift grace that almost defied his eyes, Tosen did something to the monitors and flitted out of the room. Watching him leave, the possibility that the man was visiting the girl crossed his mind. Why? But any interference in Aizen's plans was only to be supported. Grimmjow determined to keep Aizen busy, for a little while. The more insubordination in Las Noches, the better. Hell, maybe he and Tosen might end up on the same side, hard as that was to believe. Previously he'd have killed anyone who suggested he'd be allied with Ichimaru and Ulquiorra, for whatever reason, and yet he was, because of the girl.

 

************************************

 

Dreams. She was certain she was dreaming because if this was reality she wanted to die. Half-formed memories were surfacing, twisting through the drifting fog of the illusions created by her mind, driving her to recollect those images she thought she had chased from her psyche.

 

Flashes of her childhood were breaking through; that time before her brother had rescued her from the hell that was her parents. Together they attempted to forget; expunge the memory of the two people who had given them life and then through their action and inaction made them wish they had squandered their gift elsewhere.

 

While her brother had been alive they had talked only once about their parents and on that occasion they had agreed it was best if they forgot and did not mention the subject again. There had been a brief reference to counselling, but the cost was prohibitive and besides, it was all behind them now. The ugly scenes and people were gone from their lives and in the future they would do everything they could to wipe those stains of their existence from memory and reality. She thought it had worked.

 

After her brother's death, the dreams had begun. The morning after each dream she pretended that they were the result of the books she'd been reading, too much study or a movie she'd watched. It was easier to push them to the back of her mind if she attributed them to an external agency, rather than personal experience. It created a necessary distance. Over a week the dreams had faded as she struggled to cover the cracks left by her fears, dreading each night the images that would present themselves before her. After a week the dreams stopped, suddenly, and happy that they were gone she refused to think of them any further.

 

Now, for the first time the memories were returning with all the horrible details uncovered. Any pain she experienced she deserved. The memories proved that. Her parents had seen fit to treat her in that manner because she was damaged goods. From her birth they had known what she was and treated her accordingly.

 

She twisted in the bed, crying hopelessly. The older memories being overlain by her more recent experiences only reinforced the early teachings. She hated being touched and hands were on her skin, her back, her arms and elsewhere, holding her down, pressing into her flesh. Escape was impossible from those possessive hands. Intolerable as it was, she made an attempt to accept or escape, but couldn't.

 

In her dream, her father wiped her face as he had done in reality, mopping up the tears, the sweat and mucus. The touch of the cloth made her feel sick but she bore it as she had to bear it. To fight back would only cause further hurt and she didn't want that. Then he sat on the bed and her body tensed further, waiting for the slap and the pain. She smothered the scream rising in her throat and frantically tried to work out if she had any weapon available that would permit her to kill her father; permanently defending herself and preventing him from touching her ever again. Even after all this time she still desired his death. Then when she dreamed of him in future she could assure herself that he was no longer living and couldn't ever touch her or hurt her again. The things he had done to her were evil, but hard to prove. Children were so flexible, so easy to contort into any position, so ready to feel pain.

 

There was nothing. No weapon or method of fighting presented itself to her. Of course, she could summon her powers, but what use were they except to heal? Yammy had shown her how insignificant her strength was, and all her training was more for passing the time and trying to reassure her own ego that she could do something. Since she had arrived at Hueco Mundo she had only summoned them for healing. That was all they were good for. That was all she was good for.

 

Without knowing why, she sat up, startled, thinking that this wasn't a dream. All the memories had crowded through her mind and it was obvious she was in Los Noches, in her prison and someone was with her. Someone who she didn't recognise by their scent. Just as quickly she lay down, ashamed she had exposed her body to the stranger's gaze and wondering what she should do.

 

Then the man, because it would only be a man, patted her on the shoulder. In reflex her body tensed and she looked through her eyelashes at the man sitting on her bed.

 

Nothing she saw reassured her. It was the man she had been told was blind, the Captain who spoke about honour and then committed treason. Until now she had not focused on him, but he was here.

 

“I will not harm you.”

 

Words were words. How could she trust him? She didn't know him. He had been in the company of Aizen each time she had seen him and that was a reason for caution and concern rather than acceptance.

 

“I want to talk to you.”

 

The words made her shudder. Her father would often start one of his sessions with those words, then he didn't talk to her at all. Fear of the man grew. Each action had brought the image of her father closer to the surface of her memories.

 

“I won't touch you again.”

 

After one experience when she had been taken to the hospital because of the severity of her injuries, her father had promised that. The fear that she would tell the medical staff about her home life had initiated the promise. As soon as they got home, he broke it.

 

“Orihime, I want to protect you.”

 

The tears that were spilling from behind her closed eyelids, increased. Her brother, her beloved brother Sora, had used those exact words the day he took her from her father and mother. The sobs wracked her body as once more she recollected the joy of feeling his gentle arms around her, the smell of the new home and a firm assurance that her parents could no longer harm her.

 

A pair of arms embraced her again, pulling her up and holding her against a warm, firm chest and for a glorious moment she hoped it was her brother, but the shape was wrong, the scent was wrong and fear invaded her completely.

 

“No! No! Let me go. You said you'd never touch me again. You lied, like all the other times you've lied. Leave me alone. Leave me alone!”