Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Seireitei Monogatari ❯ Neat Little Boxes ( Chapter 64 )

Title: Neat, Little Boxes

Characters: Ichigo

Rating: T

Warning: Possible Spoilers

Words: 622

Description: Everything has its placed, locked inside where it is easy to bear and forget… if only for a little while.

 

 

He's like a hero to them, strong and certain. Unbeatable. Unbreakable even, though he does bleed and hurt like any ordinary mortal. But his strength seems unending, as if it's pulled from a wellspring of eternal victory. And he's never really lost. Not where it counts. No one has ever died who shouldn't, the loss of his mother notwithstanding. But he can't be expected to be responsible for that. He was only a child, after all.

 

He seems as if he cannot be shattered, as if he can shake off anything because he knows what must be done. He's gone through countless battles and sufferings, only to emerge stronger than before. Seemingly unscathed. Seemingly unbothered.

 

But that's all on the surface; that's all on the outside, where it's painfully easy to see. It's better that way for them all. It's better that they believe him untouchable; otherwise, they might try to protect him. It's better for himself because he would break. He would shatter. He would fall apart if he tries to think about any of that right now.

 

He packs it away where no one can see, everything that's happened to him. He puts it all inside his brain, shoved into neat, little boxes. Carefully marked and categorized. It makes it easier to bear, easier to handle.

 

He shoves “becoming a Shinigami” into Life-Altering Experiences.

 

He tucks “defeating my Hollow” within The Far Corner, the dark place that he doesn't want to remember anytime soon. Possibly never, if he could manage it.

 

The time everyone thought he and Renji were lovers, even that's been tucked into Memories I'd Rather Never Remember... Ever. Or the one unfortunate incident when he caught a glimpse of Rukia's panties, his sister's underwear, it's been locked up, too. Thank heavens.

 

He's been bitten and slashed, stabbed, sawed at, blown up, broken, and beaten more times than he could count. Some of the scars are still there. Some aren't thanks to Orihime. He doesn't know which he would rather have. But the memories are always present, lurking in the back of his mind. They stay within The Times I Bled. There's even a separate category for The Times I Bled For Myself. And one for The Times I Wished I Could Bleed.

 

Understandably, the last two are rather sparse.

 

It's no surprise that he's resorted to this method. He's fought more battles in the past year than he's ever had to suffer at school thanks to his hair color. He's gone through more changes than he can adapt to, has nearly died more times than he has really managed to live. He's almost lost people dear to him, and that's just not something a person wants to live through more than once.

 

He knows. He's been there.

 

And it's not as if he's Superman or any other superhero. Just because he doesn't crack and break under the obvious pressure doesn't mean it's not still there, seething beneath the surface. He just hides it better than others. Categorizes it. Locks it away until he knows he can look at it safely.

 

Maybe someday he will open them up, one by one, and learn how to deal with the pain involved in each memory, each moment he lived through. Perhaps by then, they won't be so difficult to see. Maybe he might even find a smile.

 

Right now though… right now, he knows he can't. He can't afford to lose it at this point in time. He can't afford to look weak, to fall apart when there are so many who need him. He can't protect everyone if he's jagged, large edges rather than neat, little boxes.

 

And there's even a box for that, too. Someone Please Save Me.

 

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