Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Your Memory is My Revenge ❯ The Diary ( Chapter 1 )

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

 

(A/N: Hello peoples, I would like to welcome you to another story. I would also like to beg you to REVIEW. I know this might sound like I'm pleading, and get this, I am. Seriously, I need to know what people like so I can write about it. Just give me your thoughts.

 

Also, due to the massive amounts of SAT prep, homework, AP practice, work, and some type of recreational activity I will not be able to update every day, or so. Hence my chapters will be coming less frequently.

 

Well, I hope you enjoy the story.)

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

Rukia Kuchiki shifted her head from side to side, examining the deserted hallway. The moon reflected peacefully off of the impressively luminescent floorboards and the cherry trees outside shook their branches in the cool night air.

 

Clutching her robe tighter Rukia swallowed slightly and quietly slipped down the hallway. At the first turn she met she cautiously looked around the edged, her heart speeding slightly.

 

Kami, it's my house too. She thought ridiculously, creeping further along. Well, not really. This house belonged to Byakuya Kuchiki, the Captain of the Sixth Squad, and the noble leader of the Kuchiki Clan.

 

It certainly didn't belong to his adopted sister.

 

Rukia crept cat-like across the wooden beams of the house, trying not to make a single noise. Kami knew her brother had some type of extra sensory perception. If even an inkling of sound—or even her spirit energy—touched the tip of his pinky finger, she would be done for.

 

Rukia bit her lip as a slight creaking sound echoed from her spot. She froze and felt her limbs shake slightly as the minutes passed by.

 

Nothing.

 

Releasing her pent up breath Rukia continued.

 

The Kuchiki house was grand, larger than any house in the Serietai Rukia had ever encountered. It was made of the most solid wood and stones and decorated in stark blacks and whites, cherry trees lined the outside and pools of water caressed the sides. Veranda's wrapping around the house made gazing at the moon, the stars, or the trees in bloom a pleasurable activity for any season.

 

And then there were the rooms; the innumerable amount of rooms. Rooms for study, rooms for strategy, rooms for cooking, rooms for cleaning, rooms for resting, rooms for sleeping, rooms for weapons… Rukia had barely enough time to visit half of them in her explorations.

 

However, none of those rooms were the one that she wanted. Sliding her frame towards the one door she had opened at least more than twice, Rukia reached forward and grasped the door knob. She slipped through the small crack she had made and shut the door behind her.

 

With a grand exhale she felt the pressure inside of her chest release and her nervousness vanish. Stepping forward she once again felt her gaze sweep the entire grandeur of the Kuchiki Library.

 

Hundreds upon hundreds of documents, books, pamphlets, novels, and papers all stacked in neat shelves that were thrice as tall as her brother. Rukia had been stunned almost into silence when she came upon the room three days before. She had been told that the Kuchiki family records were some of the largest and oldest in the Soul Society, but she never thought all the documents would actually be in the house.

 

Rukia came forward and gently ran her fingers over the darkened paper. Three days ago she had been afraid the documents would crumble underneath her fingers, but their age was no consequence to her now. She could feel the large spirit energy that wrapped around them and felt free to touch them as she pleased.

 

Rukia smiled slightly and moved her way towards the back of the room. After walking for what seemed like hours she reached the back, the very back.

 

Finally, reaching lower and lower onto the shelves, she backed herself into a corner, her fingers stretched as she probed through the cases. Finally, her fingers found what she was looking for.

 

Rukia held her breath in anticipation as she brought the book before her, softly, she blew the dust off the cover and lightly touched the cover, it was made from soft and dark leather, the sheets were made using soft vellum and was held together using sinew. It was a very old fashioned, rather western book but Rukia enjoyed the feel nonetheless.

 

Gently, she opened the book and flipped to the page she always visited first:

 

The Diary of Kuchiki Hisana.

 

Rukia smiled at the page and even bent her nose down slightly to smell the musty vellum and dried ink. There was also another smell, a deeper smell, embedded directly into the page. It was cherry blossoms; the scent of cherry blossoms seemed to coat the entire book and swirl inside her head like an addictive drug.

 

Flipping to the page she had vacated yesterday, Rukia smiled and wiggled into a smaller corner.

 

“I remember the very first time I saw my husband. It was a memorable meeting and one that has become engrained in my mind for all eternity, him simply walking down the street, and me, sitting near the edge of it, working.

 

At that time I was no nobler than a piece of string, lower than dirt even, but I still had the opportunity to look at him, he bypassed me, a casual glance was all I gave to his treading footsteps, a silly noble had gotten himself lost again, I thought to myself, silently chastising the man as he left. He did not look at me and of course simply strode away. At that time I did not think I would ever see the silly noble again, so I left the meeting—is that what it was?—to the recesses of my mind.

 

He came to that street twice more and I grew confused; perhaps nobles had horrid sense of direction. However each time my eyes happened upon him my mind rang `I met him once more today!' It seemed strange that I should have seen such a powerful man thrice. What he was doing so far into Rukongai I have no idea but I did not question it. This time he was walking down the street, simply walking, but oh, how he walked. His back was so straight and proud and the white dressings in his hair made his strong face look even stronger. His jaw was set into an unforgiving position of authority. He looked like a god! But I was being silly; as he walked down the street I was dressed in a simple kimono two sizes too large with faded flowers garnishing the front, not to mention I had a simple rag tied around my head and a bucket of dirty laundry in my arms.”

 

Rukia's heartstrings pulled slightly at this description of her sister. Not even she had lived like that. She had grown up with Renji, not alone and working as a washer woman.

 

“It was the fourth time he came by that I grew afraid, to think I was afraid of someone as gentle as Byakuya! I was in the back of the laundry room and was washing something wrong. Apparently it was a Death God outfit and I had put too much soap in the washer tub. The Man Who Paid Me, (I did not know his name, only that he gave me the money I desperately needed for water) slapped me across the face and pushed me out the door. I was flung into the street and in the process badly hurt my ankle. The bone was not broken but it felt as though a knife had been plunged through it. I must have whimpered but I did not cry out, and even though it was painful I stood and faced the Man Who Paid Me. There were tears in my eyes but my frame did not shake. I remember quite clearly how angry his face was, but he did not move, actually, no one moved at all.

 

Then he was before me and I gasped. He had not been there one moment, and then suddenly he had appeared. The noble man I had seen in the streets. I felt a rush of spirit energy but was so fatigued it was all I could do to simply stand limp. Then Man Who Paid Me balked at the sudden presence; I felt my eyes widen as the man before me pulled out his katana, he drew it against the man's throat and narrowed his eyes slightly, even from my position I was stunned, to think a noble would do such a thing to a lowly piece of trash! Then he spoke one word, one single word that sent my heart racing beyond proportions:

 

`Apologize.' He said quietly, the blade slipped down the man's throat and drew a small trickle of blood. I stood there, completely amazed, that such a nobleman would say something in defense of a washer woman! But he did, and when the Man Who Paid Me stuttered an apology, the man released his throat and turned to look at me for a moment, only a moment, a single fleeting glance, but at that moment I saw deep into his wonderful eyes.

 

At that moment I knew I had fallen deep, so deep I did not believe I would ever be able to dig myself out of their colored depths. I loved him at that instant.

 

However, I believe my face betrayed the furious beating of my heart. His eyes left mine and he turned away, his Death God uniform sweeping the streets.

 

My heart was beating so fast he was nearly out of my sight before I was able to shout, “Arigato!”

 

He stopped slowly and turned around, just so I caught the glint of something softer than steel in his eyes. I saw the slight inclination of his head and then he disappeared, not to be seen again.

 

Afterwards the Man Who Paid Me was constantly looking over his shoulder, forced to watch his back for any sight of the Steel-Eyed Man. I was watching for him too. Everyday I would look out at the street, my heart longing to see him. The days felt like years and the minutes like millennia as I did my work. My mind was occupied with everything that had to do with him, the swish of his Death God outfit, the dressings in his hair, the soft sound of his voice, the noble tilt of his chin, everything…

 

I told myself I was being stupid, silly, and acting utterly hopeless. He was a nobleman! Of all people for me to fall—in love? Was this it, was it love?—with. He was beautiful and powerful and I… I was a washer woman.

 

Was it wrong for me to hope for him? Was it wrong for me to wish to be near him? Just to be near him would be enough. Just to hear him say a word, any word to me would make me happy. All I wanted to do was be close to him and that would be fine. Everyday I chastised myself, cried myself to sleep, it was if I were drugged or underneath a spell, a spell that could only be broken by him.

 

He came.

 

He came one week after he had terrified the Man Who Paid Me; I was standing alone outside, hanging the wash on a line to dry. It was near winter and I was so cold. It had just begun to snow and my thread bear kimono barely covered my body. He appeared beside me, instantaneously, almost like a miraculous angel. I gazed up at him with my eyes as wide as saucers; he looked so gorgeous in the falling snow. Only this time his image differed from the one I had memorized earlier. This time he was wearing a coat, it was white and had a number six on the back. I did not understand at first what the coat meant, what I did know was how he saw me, standing on the ground and shivering, my bare feet beginning to turn blue, and he took off that white coat and draped it over my shoulders. I was so surprised I could not think of a single thing to say.

 

What he did next was so astounding I nearly faint at the memory; he bent down, bending that straight and noble spine of his, and picked me up. My hands immediately went to clutch the front of his robes, partly in desperation, partly in terror. He looked down at me and I looked up at him. The steel in his eyes melted at the same time as my heart. His eyes did not move from mine, and for a moment I felt a spike in spirit energy and suddenly we were near a grand house, larger than any I had ever seen. Only he did not put me down when he moved towards the house, a servant such as I should have walked. He kept me pressed to his chest and I was shaking, from the cold, from fear, from excitement, I did not know what… but the shaking would not stop.

 

The noble man took me towards a room, there were two other women standing there, dressed in finer garments than I had ever seen.

 

Slowly, he set me down, I reluctantly let go of his shirt front, and stood on my trembling feet. With a single nod towards the women in the room, he left; no words, no expressions.

 

There was nothing I could have wanted more than to just see him, my eyes were hungry and feasted upon his back as he left the room, he needed no words to speak, he did not need to give me expressions, just his presence was enough.

 

The women turned me away from him and set about undressing me. At first I was afraid, but they smiled warmly and assured me what they were doing was right. I acquiesced and allowed them to take my dirty clothes, they took the noble man's white coat as well but I longed for it to be placed back on me. They saw my expression and smiled but placed a different robe over me, drawing me into a bathing room.

 

It was the first time since the days of my death that I was cleansed so thoroughly. My hair was washed until it shined like new, the dirt was scrubbed from my skin until it appeared a creamy white, the toughness of my skin was erased from the bottom of my feet, and the tears I cried were washed away in the water scented with cherry blossoms.

 

When I was cleansed and dried the ladies dressed me in a kimono set for a princess; I tried to object, to tell them that I was not worthy of such a dress, but they simply smiled and continued. I was silent from then on and did not complain.

 

The kimono was of sparkling white, cherry blossoms and snow were embroidered into the cloth. When the women escorted me out of the room I was able to pass a looking glass, the simple glance I had of my appearance was astounding. I looked like a princess just as much as I felt like one. I would have stayed to cry at my appearance but I did not, I could not, the women nudged me forward and took me to a room containing two sitting cushions. They indicated to the first one and I obeyed, sitting down I fidgeted nervously with the hem of my sleeves, trying my best to keep my nervousness hidden.

 

I sat for only a few moments before the door opened behind me and I felt him. My back straightened and my heart began to pound so furiously I knew he could hear it. He walked slowly before me and sat so I was across from him.

 

The two of us sat, not saying a word. The most profusely confusing feelings running through my mind and my body; excitement and heat, nervousness and cold, fear and sweat. It was all I could do not to start swooning before his regal form.

 

He simply stayed where he was, watching me. I could not even bring myself to look at his eyes—not here, here I was somewhere I didn't belong in clothes I did not deserve to look at. Yet I found it amusing that in the street I was able to stare at him, to thank him, and to wish for him… in the street, where I deserved to be, where I was supposed to be.

 

He did not speak.

 

I needed to speak.

 

I brought my head up and felt my eyes meet his, my violet drowning in his steel gray. Instantly I felt helpless, but I knew, I knew I needed to continue.

 

“Please sir,” I began, “Allow me to ask why you have bestowed this kindness upon me, for I do not deserve it and I wish upon you no trouble.”

 

I bowed my head and felt tears well up in my eyes. I did not want to leave him but I knew what I was: I was trash and he was a god. I did not deserve to look at the dust left on the floor by his sandals.

 

“Look up.” He said softly, after I sat wallowing in my despair.

 

I obeyed.

 

He looked at me and I returned the gaze, my body trembling.

 

He spoke slowly and I savored every word, watched as they formed at his lips and swallowed them as they came toward me. He had the most beautiful voice.

 

“My name is Kuchiki Byakuya; I am the Captain of the Sixth Squad of the Thirteen Protection Squads; I am the leader of the noble Kuchiki Clan.” He said slowly.

 

I took in every word and felt faint; all of the blood in my body rushed into my heart and tears welled into my eyes. I did not speak, it was not my time.

 

“I wish for you to be my wife.” He said softly.

 

It was all he needed to say.

 

My body was frozen and my hands were clenched in my lap. I do not know how, but I found the words I needed.

 

“Hai,” I said, my entire body trembling now. “Arigato, Kuchiki-san, I will be your wife.”

 

Then he smiled at me, and at that moment, I knew my life would begin.

 

If only she were there with me.

 

“So you feel you must sneak into the Kuchiki library to read?”

 

Rukia jolted upwards and felt her throat constrict, preventing her from emitting a small scream of terror at being discovered. Her eyes grew terribly wide as she gaze up at her brother, standing regally in his Shinigami robes, the captain's jacket over his shoulders, and his katana, ever present at his waist.

 

“Nii-sama!” She croaked, clutching the book tight. “I—I—”

 

Kuchiki Byakuya stood while she stuttered; he gave a small smile, slightly amused at catching his sister in such a state.

 

“I am sorry, Nii-sama, I will ask permission before I intrude into the Kuchiki library once more!” Rukia managed, bending down and bowing for forgiveness.

 

The book was still in her hand as she bowed and Byakuya inclined his eyes so he might read the title.

 

“Hisana…” His mind and mouth murmured softly. His eyes hardened and he looked at Rukia. “How did you find that book?” He asked, his voice cold.

 

`Oh no…' Rukia thought, she slowly came up from the bow and swallowed, staring at her brother's shoes, not able to look him in the eye. “I do not know how I found it.” She admitted after a moment. “One minute I was standing, admiring the Library, and the next I was being drawn towards a shelf. I felt… compelled… towards this book. I do not know why.” She looked to the side, “I am sorry, Nii-sama.”

 

Kuchiki Byakuya looked down at her again and gave a small smile. “No, I understand. Hisana herself drew you to her diary.”

 

He turned and began to walk towards the door, “You deserve to know about your sister, and I shall not keep it from you. However,” he paused, “Captain Ukitake needs you to go another assignment, you will be leaving this evening.”

 

“Hai, Nii-sama.” Rukia answered, rising from the floor.

 

“You are to stay with Kurosaki Ichigo while you are in the human world.” He added and left.

 

Rukia balked, “W-What! Again?” She groaned and leaned against the shelves in the library. “Lovely,” she muttered, “Simply lovely.”

 

Grumbling curses, she stretched lightly and headed towards her room to pack.

 

 

 

Ichigo was sitting on his bed, his CD player plugged into his ears, when Rukia slid through his window. He felt the slight vibrations on the bed as she landed before him. Blearily he opened his eyes and swallowed nervously at the sight of her.

 

She looked down at him, steel hardening in her eyes, and nodded coldly. She sprang off his bed and exited his room; Ichigo took off his head phones and heard the door to his sister's room slam shut, he winced at the sound and flopped back onto the bed.

 

“Great,” he muttered, “She's still mad?” He turned the music back on but didn't listen to the lyrics…

 

This was not going to be fun.