Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ She Will Be Loved ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

She Will Be Loved

 

By Tituba

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates.

 

(A/N: Please enjoy reading and honestly tell me what you think.)

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

There was a light tap on her window.

 

The hairs on the back of Rukia's neck rose fitfully and she lethargically looked towards the double-paned window.

 

It was dark; at least one or two in the morning, but Rukia hadn't looked at the clock since she had gotten home from school.

 

“I need you tonight.”

 

Her fingers twisted in the ties of her robe and she rose unsteadily to her feet. She was nervous, pale, her stomach was writhing with twirling snakes and she swallowed in an attempt to settle them. It was no use.

 

She didn't know why she was nervous. She shouldn't be. This wasn't the first time he had needed her.

 

“I'll be waiting… for you.”

 

She reached her window and futilely attempted to push that one obstinate strand of hair out of her face. It was no use. She sighed and moved closer to the window.

 

He was there, sitting on a tree limb directly outside of her window. She remembered that she had used to use that limb countless times when she wanted to sneak out of her spacious house and escape the suffocating pressures of high class expectations. Normally, during these escapades she went to his home, where she would usually find an air of normalcy that was quite unlike anything she could have experienced in the Kuchiki household.

 

Her mind drifted back a bit and she thought to the countless hours she used to spend giggling with his little sisters, rough housing with his dad, sprawled out on the floor doing homework. Her smile widened and she sighed, those were good times. She remembered she had felt so accepted by his family that his father had taken to calling her his “third daughter.”

 

Warmth spread through her lower stomach and she smiled. She really did miss those days.

 

Another tapping sound appeared on her window and she immediately went to it. Her knee bent into the softness of her window seat as she reached her small arms up to the latch.

 

One year ago she would have never locked the window. She had always left it open for him in case he needed her during the night. Ever since his mother died he had been like that. He would need her at the strangest times. She remembered that during the first few months without his mother he would call her at odd times in the day. Two in the morning, three in the afternoon, eleven at night, it didn't matter; he simply needed to talk to her, listen to her speak, or just stay on the phone without saying a word. The whole idea of being connected to another person was what he needed the most; listening to her breathing and knowing that she would not hang up until he was ready to say goodbye.

 

He used to come and visit her as well, during that painful time. She would have come over herself but her brother had ridiculous rules about curfew: she had to be home by ten on school nights and eleven on weekends. She had tried escaping a few times so she could see him, terrified that if she did not show he might do something terrible, but after being caught she had to tell him that she could not make the two-in-the-morning house calls or stay with him until midnight on any given day. At first he had been pained to hear such a thing, but after a few days he simply reversed their situation. Now he was the one climbing the tree in the dead of night to come and see her. He was the one who skinned his knees and scraped his elbows just so he could be near her.

 

She twisted the window so it unlocked before them and smiled softly as he entered her room. As always his bright orange hair stood out in the hollow blackness of her dour chamber.

 

His feet stepped softly onto her window seat and he jumped down from there. His body was tall and lanky and she felt the nervous fluttering come inside her stomach once again as she stared at him.

 

She had been his friend for so long…

 

She wondered where she had gone wrong.

 

He turned to her and his molten amber eyes seemed to pierce her, body and soul. She felt a familiar queasiness come into her stomach again and slowly moved her hands down to the tie in her robe. His gaze followed her and she coughed lightly in her throat. Her cheeks burned crimson and she knew that the light red marks would span throughout her body, creating a delicate rose color over her flesh.

 

She turned her eyes away from his as the folds in her white robe parted, revealing her milky skin underneath and the small patches of midnight hair that covered the more delicate areas.

 

She swallowed once more and allowed the robe to slip from her shoulders.

 

It pooled onto the floor and she stepped out of its encircling terry cloth halo. She stood, stark naked, in the center of the room, the boy's eyes on her lithe body.

 

She rested uncomfortably for a few moments and sighed fruitlessly, no matter how many times she did this she seemed to never overcome the shyness that came with letting him see her body. Naked as the day she was born.

 

Her arms rose to cross over her stomach and she coughed lightly, allowing her fingers time to patter across the flat expanse of skin. Her small but pert breasts were propped above her arms and she shifted her limbs slightly so they would bulge, remembering bitterly that he enjoyed women with larger breasts. Her legs budged to the side; closing the intimate space that was now growing slightly damp the longer he stared at her.

 

She didn't know how long she stood there, naked, in the center of her spacious room, the boy with the bright orange hair staring at her. He seemed to almost be staring through her, as though he wished she were not there, or worse… that she was someone else.

 

The girl felt a pressuring throb in her chest and told herself harshly that her heart was not indeed breaking.

 

Slowly, she turned, granting his eyes a full and luxurious view of the smooth planes of her back and the gentle curve of her spine. She shivered as though cold, but she knew she wasn't chilly in the slightest, she just despised feeling so vulnerable.

 

She walked to her large bed deliberately and with the ease of many practiced nights. She didn't even bother to remove the sheets from their stoic place and rested her body gently in the very center. Her legs drew up until she was resting them at a sharp angle, her center closed to him but just barely. Her arms were resting against the pillows behind her. When she was finally situated she looked up at the boy and attempted to smile.

 

Except there was nothing really to smile about.

 

He stared at her for a few minutes longer before reaching down and tugging his shirt from its securely locked place within his pants. His long arms worked slowly to tug the garment up his well defined chest and over his brightly lit head. Once the offending garment was off of his body he grasped it in one hand and glanced back up at the woman sitting on top of the bedding. She smiled queasily at him and nodded her head just once, as if giving him her permission to continue.

 

Yet continue he did. His strong fingers moved to the button of his jeans, and slowly afterwards, he pulled the zipper down and allowed the slim fitting piece of clothing to rest at his ankles. He kicked them off silently, both of them were careful not to make a single sound during the entire endeavor.

 

She saw him swallow as his thumbs hooked inside the waistband of his dark boxer shorts. She almost smiled at his nervous complexion before reminding herself that he had no right to be nervous either. They had done this before. They were seasoned veterans. Besides… this was all for his benefit.

 

His undergarments pooled at his ankles just as his pants had done a moment ago and she swallowed stiffly before glancing at his length, then shifting her eyes away. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment and she had to force down her quivering nerves with a swallow.

 

She had seen him before. Many times.

 

His footsteps were slow and deliberate as he padded across the soft, carpeted floor to her bed. His knees left an indentation as he bent onto the large divan and sat beside her. Her heart was beginning to flutter insistently and her legs began to feel the familiar throbbing sensation now customary to these late nights.

 

He did not touch her as he sat next to her. Their breathing was even, if not a bit short, and they both simply stared at the bone colored sheet. Their stillness lasted for longer than it should have yet still they remained, their thoughts caught in a turmoil of emotions and fears, wants and desires, unhappiness and pain.

 

Slowly, she shifted her body so her eyes were facing him. She stared at his downward face and raised a hand to his dour face. Her lips were trembling as she brought them to his and met him in a sweetly sad kiss. His strong mouth was stiff under hers and she closed her eyes in order to bear it more efficiently.

 

How long would she continue this? It tore her soul whenever she kissed him. Her heart bled with pain whenever she moved her mouth against his and his lips did not respond. He never kissed her back. Never.

 

Tears began to well at the sides of her eyes but she knew he wouldn't notice. She could feel his body growing in hunger and knew that he would need her soon. His arms rose slowly and grasped her shoulders. Her lips were still moving gently across his but he didn't seem to notice. The seam of his mouth would not open and though she tried her hardest she doubted he would ever bare himself to her like she wanted.

 

His hands tightened on her frail shoulders and gently pushed her body against the pillows. She complied without a sound and soon found herself lying on her back, her legs spread wide, and his inquisitive fingers probing her entrance to see if she was slick and ready. She whimpered gently as she felt him test her and silently thanked the gods that the room was so dark he would not be able to see her tears.

 

The moment he slid into her she gasped. Not in pain—no, the pain had been for their first incident. Many, many, many nights ago. She gasped at the feeling of it all. His hard and hot length moving inside of her quickly and gently. Yes, he was always gentle, but never loving. Never loving. More tears welled in her eyes and she clung to him, feeling the sensations building inside of her and truthfully wishing that they would come and go, just so he could leave.

 

He stroked her softly as he began to thrust with a greater urgency and she released a sharp cry when she felt her muscles beginning to contract. His hand immediately came to her mouth and she muffled a sob. She knew that she needed to be quiet, lest her caretaker hear her and decide to come looking. He did not remove his fingers from her mouth as he pumped his final times before coming inside of her. She heard him groan gutturally and selfishly relished the idea that only she could make him sound like that.

 

When it was over they stayed where they were, she was panting and trembling underneath of him and he was crouched and shaken above her. His hand still had not left her mouth.

 

After a few moments her hands came up and she reached for his face. Gently, she smoothed away bits of hair that had fallen into his eyes. Her fingers moved across his skin and worked away the creases in his brow. Her palms cupped his cheeks and loosened the tension in his neck. She continued her progress, alleviating the stress around his jaw, rubbing his chin, touching his collarbone, and finally, pressing her small fingers against his shoulders. She wanted nothing more than to simply hold him. Rock him in her arms until he fell into a quiet and peaceful slumber, only to be broken by the tittering of birds in the morning and the rise of the insolent sun in the east. She wanted him to whisper soft and dangerous words to her. She wanted him to stay in her arms and breathe contentedly. She wanted him to hold her back. She wanted him to… to…

 

His shoulders shrugged off her small hands and he withdrew himself from her quickly. She gasped at the loss of warmth and this time her sound wasn't impeded by the weight of his hand. He slowly removed himself from her bed, the frame protesting silently as he rose and walked over to his crumpled clothes. She watched from her perch as he drew on each vestment, tugging his shirt over his head, yanking up his boxers, buttoning his pants, all of this she watched without saying a single word. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her arms were wrapped tightly around her legs. Her lungs were threatening to burst with screams but she held them in. Afraid that if he heard so much as a peep from her he'd never return. So she held back the tears, the screams, the cries, and the tremors. She needed to hold them until he was gone.

 

He slipped his shoes back on quietly, his eyes buried in the shadows of his hair the entire time. She swallowed as she watched him straighten and move to the window once again. He stepped over her bathrobe, crumpled lightly on the floor, and stepped onto her window seat. She felt a lump form in her throat as he unlatched the window and sluggishly climbed onto the sturdy tree limb just outside.

 

The windows stayed open and Rukia waited until she could no longer hear the sounds of his body shifting down the tree. It was only when she heard his feet touch the soft ground and begin walking away that she stood to go to her window. Her trembling fingers closed it softly. She located the latch by touch, seeing as how her eyes were blurred completely by tears. She cursed herself inside. Why are you crying? It was always like this. He never said goodbye. He was never going to change. What are you crying about?

 

She went to the center of her room and picked up the silken bathrobe she had discarded earlier on the floor. She slipped it around her shoulders and swallowed throatily. She was glad that Ichigo was gone. He didn't have to see her cry like this.

 

She slowly crawled back onto her bed and this time slipped her tiny body under the sheets, her head resting fitfully on the soft, down, pillows.

 

She did not rest that night. Nor did she rest any other night that he appeared in her window, asking for her body. She simply lay there in bed, her mind drifting from one innocuous thing to another.

 

When morning came and her caretaker knocked on her door to wake her, Rukia had been awake for hours. She exited the room fully dressed and came downstairs wearily. She barely touched her breakfast and when questioned simply said she wasn't hungry. She didn't bother telling her elderly butler about her aching heart or her cracked soul. He had simply smiled at her and packed something extra in her lunch.

 

Her walk to school was a slow one, much slower than normal. Her walks were always time-consuming when she spent the night with Ichigo. It was always on these days that she simply wanted to curl back into her bed and cry her soul out onto her pillow.

 

As she stumbled through the gates to her school she was greeted with the occasional cheery grin and wave. Keigo came up and hugged her, as per usual. Ishida pushed his glasses up with his middle finger and nodded in her acknowledgement. Chad looked at her with those inscrutable eyes of his.

 

Only Ichigo didn't look her way. He didn't even glance down at her.

 

He was too busy coddling his girlfriend, Orihime.