Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ She Will Be Loved ❯ Chapter 10 ( Chapter 10 )

She Will Be Loved

 

By Tituba

 

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

 

(A/N: Hi everyone. This chapter is Ichigo's POV, so I hope you guys can get some perspective from his side.

Please tell me what you think. I adore everyone who has taken the time to review. Hugs and kisses.)

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

 

Ichigo lifted his bento box and stared at the food inside. He didn't feel like eating it. Yuzu had gone through a lot of pain to make it for him but he still couldn't bring himself to put those little balls of fish and sweet rice inside of his mouth.

 

“Hey Keigo,” he said tonelessly, “Do you want some of my lunch?” He silently commended himself on the use of the word `some,' because he knew that Keigo would wolf down the entire thing.

 

“Yeah!” Keigo answered enthusiastically. He reached across the table and grabbed the box from Ichigo's waiting hands. He sniffed the box and sighed lovingly at its contents, then all but chastised Ichigo for not eating anything. “Why would you deny yourself the pleasure of your sister's lovely cooking?” He asked, tears racing towards his eyes.

 

Ichigo just shrugged and sighed, his hand finding its way to the back of his head and scratching ruefully. “I'm just not very hungry.”

 

Beside him Orihime giggled and nodded happily, “He's saving his hunger for dinner tonight! I'm going to mix bean paste, onion soup, and rice!” She gazed adoringly at him and smiled, “It'll be a feast for my Ichi!”

 

Ichigo tried to smile back at her but found that he couldn't. Honestly, the thought of her cooking for him was rather revolting. It always was. Normally he just tried to say that he wasn't hungry whenever she cooked for him, but it made her happy when he ate whatever she made so he usually forced down a few bites.

 

Orihime didn't seem to mind his lack of conversation. She simply turned to the rest of the group and started talking to Ishida about sewing patterns. Orihime was a member of the sewing club, just like Ishida, and it was the one thing they had in common that made Ichigo want to run whenever they started talking about it. Now his girlfriend was saying something about a flowery pattern for a dress that would look modest, but would really be cut short enough so her large breasts would be accentuated enormously.

 

“For my Ichi,” she purred and stroked his arm again.

 

Ichigo tried not to flinch.

 

His mind began to wander as the conversation turned from sewing to sewing stuffed animals to what fluffy animals were the cutest when turned into toys. His mind shifted over to the topic it had been on constantly for the past three and a half days…

 

Rukia.

 

It was Friday, she had been gone since Tuesday, he couldn't remembered another time when he felt such a whirling pit of snakes in his stomach for such a long time.

 

He sighed and shook his head, for the longest time he had been forcing himself not to think of her. It would only bring on feelings that he didn't want to deal with. Not now.

 

He stood up and swiftly excused himself to go to the bathroom. Orihime smiled and waved at him as he went by and he ran off without returning her gesture. He moved into the quiet halls and silently slid past the bathroom. His moves were stealthy as he plodded towards the front doors to the school and opened them softly. He just needed some fresh air. Air that wasn't filled with Orihime's consistent prattling, Keigo's happy dances, Ishida's annoying logic, and Chad's silence.

 

He pushed through the portal gently and stepped outside, careful to lead the metal doors back to their positions quietly so as not to alert a few teachers in classrooms nearby. The air outside was crisp and clean. The year was already well into October. The leaves were turning beautiful colors, different types of reds, oranges, pinks, and even purples. There were still a few greens though, enough to make Ichigo long for spring. He sighed and sat down on the front of the steps, his long body occupying about seven of them. But winter had to come before spring.

 

Rukia loved winter. When they were younger and it snowed she would come over to his house as early as possible, sometimes even at five in the morning, just so she could drag him out into the snow.

 

“Ichigo!” Rukia screamed into his still-sleepy brain. He immediately pulled his fluffy hat down further over his head and wondered how she had managed to get him up and dressed this early in the morning. He squinted at the sun and scowled, it must have been only seven o'clock… and on a Saturday!

 

“Come on Ichigo!” She cried, bounding in front of him and skipping in the snow, it was unsightly behavior for a fourteen year old to exhibit but Rukia didn't seem to care. “Do you want to make a snow-bunny first? Or we could make a whole snow bunny family! Or maybe we can go on my Chappy sled down the hill! How about we build a snow bunny fort and throw snow-bunny-balls? See, we can put little ears on the snow balls to make them little bunnies!”

 

Ichigo picked up a fistful of snow and hardened it into a soft ball. The snow was great for packing, nice and wet but still dry enough for sloshing through freely. As Rukia continued to blather on about snow bunnies Ichigo cocked his arm back and flung it at her.

 

Bulls eye.

 

The snowball hit her square in the face, the cold, white ice splattering wildly across her features; a few bits of it even entered her mouth.

 

The two of them stood still for a moment, his arm was still in position from the after effects of his throw, her body was immobile yet her face was red and heated to the point that it slowly began to melt the snow resting on her milky skin. Her livid eyes turned to him and fear instantly settled into the pit of his stomach. Her lips arched into a feral snarl and in less than a second she was running towards him, her small body being propelled intensely by her tiny, muscular, legs.

 

He started to run away but she was faster. Then she was on top of him, her body straddling his back, her hand had knocked his hat off and her fingers were now digging into his hair.

 

“Throw a snowball at me will you?” She screeched, pulling his head back viciously and rubbing it so far into the snow that Ichigo's nose hit the hard dirt below. Over and over she drew his head back and slammed it back into the snow, ignoring Ichigo's cries of pain and abject suffering.

 

Only when she was sure he was either exceedingly for his actions, had a broken nose, or simply couldn't breathe anymore, she let go of his head and crawled off of his back. Frowning softly she walked to the front of him and stared down at his prostrate form. She crouched down a bit lower and poked at his orange head of hair.

 

“Ichigo?” She asked, her voice was filled with suspicion. She poked him once more and sighed, “Well, if you're dead then it's not my fault.”

 

Suddenly, he launched himself from the ground and tackled her. She fell back cursing at him and spouting other animated sounds. The two began to wrestle in the soft snow, turning it into a muddy brown.

 

Their bodies were bruised and scratched by the time they collapsed in the snow. Their breathing was heavy and their bodies were sweaty.

 

They lay side by side for a few moments, taking in the glistening snow and the skeletal trees above them.

 

After a few minutes Rukia turned towards Ichigo and sighed. “So… do you want to make a snow bunny?”

 

Ichigo sighed as the memory wafted through him and then fell into the recesses of his mind. A small smile appeared on the front of his face, erasing the frown that had been there moments before. A tiny breeze wafted over his body and his face and it relaxed the muscles of his forehead just a bit more.

 

He missed times like those, times when they were carefree and happy, times when he was allowed to let his mask of hardness slip from his face, times when he and she romped around aided only by friendship and imagination.

 

But he guessed that he was the reason those times came to an end.

 

The path of his mind was now taking a dark turn. Ichigo's hand rose to his face and he tried desperately to stop it. But he knew he couldn't. He knew that sooner or later he was going to have to stop and think about what he'd done. Of what he'd done to Rukia. His friend Rukia. His Rukia.

 

He directly pinpoint the time when he decided he needed her body. It must have been some time before that fateful day when they had been in her room studying, as per usual. He snorted and shook his head, he could barely remember a time when they had been apart. Not since she moved here. Not since he had met her in kindergarten. Everything was perfect then… but now.

 

He could have sworn that the day he first had sex with her his hands had had brains of their own. He had pulled off her clothes inch by inch but had barely even looked at her. He didn't know why he hadn't stared at her like he should have. He should have had some sort of decorum. It was her first time as well as his… he should have kissed her, petted her, pleased her. He should have done something other than thrusting into her like a mindless caveman and only allowing himself to release. He should have…

 

What he didn't understand was why he kept doing it.

 

Each time he went to her window late at night, each time he tapped on the screen and asked for entry, each time he undressed before her… not one of those times had he actually known what he was doing.

 

At least, that's what he needed to tell himself.

 

It was his mother, he told himself after the first time, his mother had just died two months ago. He needed contact. He needed the touch of another person to soothe him so he wouldn't feel so hollow inside.

 

He needed Rukia in the way a man needed a woman because once he had her, once he was busy thrusting inside of her, the world around him didn't exist. The only things that ever existed were the excruciatingly pleasurable feelings that came from him being inside of her. He would get such a high from being inside her.

 

That high was what he needed to keep him alive. It drowned out all the sensations of his dead mother, of her body lying prostrate over his, of her blood on his face, of his tears mixing red until he thought his eyes were bleeding as well. She gave him the ability to forget his mother, if only for a few days.

 

But it wasn't real. None of it was real. This… thing… that they had between them, this occurrence where he was the only beneficiary, did not exist. Neither of them spoke whenever he came to her. It was like they had some sort of silent agreement never to breathe a word of this out loud—even to each other. He never allowed her to kiss him. Kissing meant affection, it meant love, it meant commitment. Kissing was a way to see deeply into another persons' soul. So deeply that nearly nothing could pry its gaze away.

 

He never wanted a window into her soul. He just wanted to forget.

 

He never let himself hold her afterwards, even though he knew it was what he was supposed to do, what he wanted to do even. He just wouldn't—couldn't—allow himself. No matter how much her body craved for his affections and vice versa he wouldn't give them to her. Many times he hadn't even given her the pleasure of reaching her own orgasm.

 

Kissing her made it real. Touching her in intimate places made it real. Holding her made it real. Speaking to her made it real. Pleasuring her made it real. Everything made it real. He just couldn't handle it. He simply couldn't. Reality meant sacrifices. Things were gained at the expense of losing others. He could not give himself the allowance to make what he had with Rukia Kuchiki real… if he did… who knew what, or who, he might have to sacrifice in return?

 

Ichigo bent his body and pressed the bases of his palms against his closed eyes. A swell of hatred was rising in his stomach. But not for Rukia, not for his mother, not for his friends. It was for himself.

 

He hated what he had become. All he did was take and take and take and then take some more. But Rukia… Rukia just kept giving. She didn't know how hard it was for him to stop. To steel himself against the clawing inside of his chest and the memories of his dead mother inside his mind. She gave herself to him so that he might be free of what he was feeling. If she wanted she could stop. She could tell him to go away and to never come back through her window again. It would have been hard but he could have done it. Somehow, someway he could have succeeded. She just needed to tell him to go… like she did the night before she left.

 

Ichigo's mind whirled to that darkened night and he pressed his hands even harder into his eyes. Every night except that one she had let him come in. Every one. But now… her refusal… he didn't know what would happen if she did it again. Her body was like a drug to him, and if he didn't have it… the after effects would be chilling. He was already beginning to feel it: the nightmares were coming back, flashes of his mothers face distorted with broken glass from the windshield, her eyes open but bleeding red… there were even dreams when his mother's body was replaced with Rukia's and it was her body that was lying, dead, on top of his.

 

Chills racked his body.

 

Everything seemed to be falling apart. Not just his life without Rukia but Rukia's life as well. His mind reverted back three days ago. How could he not have noticed her when she was falling apart at the seams?

 

She knew whenever he needed her. She was able to sense his desperation. She always seemed to have a sixth sense about it. Yet how could he be so crass? His own actions disgusted him to the point where no mere apology would suffice as an act of repentance.

 

And her kiss…

 

His hands went to his mouth briefly and traced the soft firmness of his own lips. He remembered how hers had felt against his. Even though it had been made out of anger and sadness and desperation he still felt hot as fire whenever he thought about it. How her tongue had delved into him so unobtrusively and so unabashedly that he knew he wanted to kiss her back. Had it not been for the tears streaming down her face and his friends watching his every move he would have kissed her back. He was sure of it. He recalled how his blood had howled when he felt her tongue push against his. How his nerves exploded inside of his body when her lips tugged at his. How his heart burst when her hand dug into the back of his neck, crying more… more… more!

 

Yet she had pulled back to slap him. A slap he had deserved. A slap he had earned for the past two years night after night. How ugly she had made him feel… how disgusting…. She made him feel as though he were a leech stuck to her skin, milking her pure blood of its warmth and goodness. He was lower than dirt itself to her and he knew he deserved it.

 

And yet to him… she was higher than the gods above.

 

Ichigo closed his eyes tightly. How? How could he use her and revere her all at the same time? Was it even possible? How could she be the most important thing in his life when she was exploited and thrown aside again and again? How could he want to be with her more than anything else but have Orihime by his side all the time?

 

Pain slammed into his gut and for the first time in years Ichigo Kurosaki felt like crying. How could he do this to her? She had been his best friend for the longest time… and now, because of a string of stupid and selfish mistakes he might lose her forever.

 

Ichigo could feel the heat pricking behind his eyes. For once he thought about how it might feel to be in her position: to have to see him with Orihime each day, to see how she cuddles his arm or calls him `Ichi,' to see the affection that he, in turn, grants back to his girlfriend but denies to his lover. Her life had been a torment for the last two years. He saw it in the way she changed. Her body grew thinner, her skin grew paler, her eyes had larger circles beneath them… everything about her was lessened… even her spirit. The fiery hellcat that had once occupied Rukia was gone. She had been replaced by a timid, shy, and damaged girl.

 

Inside the building he heard the bell ring, signaling the end of lunch and the beginning of their sixth period class. Ichigo's skin stood at attention as the sounds of the bell swam through his blood. He needed to go back.

 

He needed to go back…

 

But not back to school. Not back to Orihime. Not back to falsities and lies. He needed go back to the way things were. He needed to go back to Rukia… his Rukia. He needed to find her. He needed to know that she was okay. He needed to know that somewhere, deep in that spacious heart of hers, she held the power to forgive him.

 

Where was she? He needed to see her. Her manservant had said that she went to Hiroshima to visit someone… her old tutor? But where in Hiroshima? Was there a train leaving at this time of the day?

 

Ichigo lifted his body from the concrete steps of the school and began walking towards the exit. He didn't care. He'd look all over Hiroshima if he had to. He'd ask every drunkard pedestrian on the street if it came to that. He just needed to see her.

 

His powerful legs began a steady walk towards the end of the schoolyard and the moment he cleared the low brick wall and reached the street he began to sprint. He simply needed to get home, get some money, and then go to the train station. He needed to see Rukia.

 

His Rukia.