Fruits Basket Fan Fiction ❯ Constants In Motion ❯ Chapter 2

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

TWO:

I think what affected me most over the next twenty-four hours was how unaffected everyone else seemed to be. Oh, Tohru was confused and for a brief while hysterical. And I'm sure the Prince's fan club at the school must have cried into their pillows that night. But the rest of the Sohmas, once the initial shock wore off? At some point, all of our cursed relatives came by to visit, sitting rather awkwardly at the Rat's bedside and not really speaking. And they left, and went back to their own lives, not really seeming that disturbed or surprised about the entire thing.

Which left me to wonder, suspicious sort that I am, what they knew that I didn't.

As for me, I watched. I couldn't bring myself to go to school-- didn't want to face the endless questions and concerns, or see the shaken faces of the other students walking around in the halls. It would have been far too annoying-- and I just didn't want to. So instead I lay on the roof, sat in my room, occasionally visited the kitchen when the urge took me-- sometimes haunted around the outside of Yuki's door and listened for sounds inside.

In the afternoon, a dark car pulled up in front of the house, and out of the back stepped none other than our illustrious clan head, the fruitcake himself, Akito. The few times I'd seen him, the guy seriously creeped me out, and for those short moments I remember being almost glad I was an outcast, if it meant not having to deal with him. I'm not stupid-- of course I'd heard what he did to Hatori, and I'm perfectly able to draw my own conclusions when everyone talks about him in these quiet little voices most of the time, like they're afraid-- despite the fact that he looked like he was about to fall over at any second, I knew perfectly well that there was something weird about him, and so when he showed up on our doorstep I did my best to stay out of his way.

Shouldn't have been surprising that he was there. Little Yuki was his favourite, after all. Of course he'd come to visit.

It truly is quite amazing, the way sound carries in that house of Shigure's. Sometimes, you can't hear someone screaming for you from down the stairs even with your door wide open-- and yet, it seemed as though all of those uncomfortable conversations in Yuki's room wafted right in through my window, as if I were right next to them. I usually retired to the roof once one of them started. This time, however, I found myself staying, moving closer to the window to perhaps hear better.

It started with Hatori, who as usual had come along with the nutty bastard. I heard him moving around, checking things, asking questions to which Yuki replied with single syllables. Then, the sound of the screen closing, followed by a silence that made me wonder if anyone was even in there anymore--

"What have you done to yourself, Yuki?"

It sounded like a rhetorical question. It should have been a rhetorical question, because no one should possibly have needed an answer to it. So I was surprised to hear Yuki replying, his voice quiet and very neutral.

"Tried to die."

Akito made a faint sound-- surprised? Horrified? Disapproving? "Why? Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I don't want to live like this."

There was a brief silence-- broken by the sharp sound of a slap. I jumped.

"'Like this'?" Akito's voice said, suddenly brittle with anger. "What's wrong with 'this'? I let you go to the school you wanted. I let you live outside the main house. I even let that little bitch stay. Didn't I?"

"Yes." A whisper.

The angry voice gentled slightly. "It's not that bad. I don't ever hurt you unless you provoke me. Do I?"

"No." All but inaudible.

"See, then?" His voice was back to its original tone, smooth and somehow oily in a way that made me squirm. "Now, you just concentrate on getting better. We'll talk about all of this when you're well." I heard the sounds of movement, the slide of the door yet again before the voice sharpened briefly once more. "Do not do anything like this again."

The door slid closed. A few moments later, I saw Akito and Hatori through my window, as they got back into the car and drove away. Next door, I could hear Yuki breathing heavily in what sounded suspiciously like sobs.

And I-- well, I couldn't do anything but sit there and wonder just what the hell I'd overheard.

Eventually I got up, and before I fully realized what I was doing I found myself leaning on the open frame of Yuki's door. He never even looked up at me, just lay there staring towards the window. He was breathing normally, and his face was dry, which made me wonder briefly if the entire thing had just been my imagination. But one of his cheeks was definitely redder than the other, and I remembered the sound of a slap.

"You could drop that piece of shit on his ass even with both your arms cut up," I accused. "If he ever hit me, I'd do it in a heartbeat. So why did you take it?"

For a moment, I thought he wasn't going to answer. But then his eyes slowly turned towards me, and he might have looked a bit puzzled. "Because I had to."

"That's bullshit."

He shook his head, and that dark something crawled across his eyes again. "You don't understand."

Up to that point, I might have been willing to let it go, given the proper motivation. But the moment he said that-- dismissing me, it seemed, shrugging me off-- it became a challenge. And suddenly he was just the Rat again, and like hell I'd ever back down from a challenge from him.

So I planted myself at the foot of his bed and fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare. "Then explain."

He just looked at me for the longest time, and again I thought he wasn't going to answer. "We can't disobey him," he eventually said. "If he's really serious about something, we can't say no, we can't fight back, we can't do anything." His eyes hardened. "No matter how much I may want to drop him on his ass," he said pointedly, "I can't."

I blinked, then blinked again. "That's--" I started, but broke off. That's crazy, I wanted to say. That can't possibly be true.

But then the logical part of my mind kicked in, and pointed out that it should be impossible for a person to turn into a cat. Or a rat, or a dog, or a rabbit-- a lot of things that should have been impossible were anything but.

And once I was thinking like that, well-- suddenly it seemed a lot more impossible for someone like Yuki, who I knew all too well could stand up for himself, to just roll over and take a hit. Suddenly, there were a lot of little things that seemed to make a bit more sense.

"Damn," I muttered. "Why did no one ever tell me about this?"

He shrugged again, just a faint little movement. "I don't know."

I could feel myself scowling. "Don't you think I kind of had a right to know?" I demanded.

"I thought you already knew. It's just-- something we don't really talk about."

It was logical, but I didn't want to accept that. I may not have been one of the twelve, but I was still cursed, and therefore the entire mess involved me, and I had a right to know about what involved me, dammit. I was about to say so, too, when a subversive little thought wormed its way into my head. "Is that why--" Appalled by how small my voice sounded, I stopped, then took a deep breath and tried again. "Did he tell all of you to shun me?"

He shot me a sharp look, and I wished I could take it back. But it was too late for that, so I just set my jaw and waited for him to answer.

"No."

I might have flinched. Funny thing-- I hadn't even realized that small hope had been born, but I sure as hell felt it when it died.

Yuki was watching me, though, so I shoved it all down where I wouldn't have to look at it until later. It took a moment, and during that time he never took that sharp, deadened gaze off me. I have to wonder just what it was he saw that made him say what he did then.

"I don't really hate you, you know."

I flinched again, though that time I wasn't really sure why. "What?"

He looked for a moment like he was considering something, then nodded faintly, absently, before continuing. "It's easier to make it seem that way. If he thinks I hate you, then he won't think he needs to tell me to keep away. And things can stay the way they are."

It really wasn't necessary to say exactly who he was-- like I said, I'm not stupid. Though I did have to pause for a moment and untangle the logic that was being presented to me. "You-- like fighting with me?" I asked eventually. It wasn't really a conclusion that made much sense to me, but it was all I could come up with.

Yuki shook his head, though. "It's not that," he started, looking frustrated. "It's not really the fights. It's-- everything about the way you react to me is-- real. In a way nothing else really is. At school, I've been ordered to do well in my classes, make a good example so that it reflects well on the family. Anywhere in public, I've been ordered to keep the secret of the curse, be polite, don't draw attention. Even with Haru, or Momiji, or any of the others-- even there, I have to be friendly, but keep my distance. It never ends." He closed his eyes, face falling carefully blank. "This supposed hatred for you-- it's the only thing in my life that is fully my choice."

I had to admit-- in a twisted way, it did make perfect sense.

It was a lot to absorb, though, and hard to wrap my mind around. Part of me didn't want to believe him-- just a trick, the voice whispered, just another lie. It was likely that part that put the suspicious note in my voice. "Why are you telling me all this?"

He shrugged slowly. "Why not?" was his tired reply.

"You haven't before," I insisted. "So there must be a reason. Why now?

He opened his eyes again, staring at not much of anything. "Because it doesn't really seem to matter anymore," he answered softly.

He was silent after that, turning to look towards the window again, and after a moment I just got up and started to leave-- I sure as hell didn't know what to say, and he seemed to be done, and it would have been awkward as hell to just sit there.

But as I was closing the door behind me, I heard him sigh. Very faint-- I almost missed it in the noise of the door moving. Just this tired little sound. And suddenly instead of going to my room I found myself in the kitchen, putting together a tray of tea and grabbing one of the smaller, lighter mugs that hopefully wouldn't be too hard to hold. And then I was pushing back that door screen again, setting the tray down beside his bed. Ignoring the surprised and bewildered-- and ever so faintly grateful-- look on his face, just as I ignored the odd little tight feeling that the look created in my throat.

I poured the tea in silence, and he took his cup the same way. And we sat there, not speaking-- and somehow, it wasn't awkward at all.