Loveless Fan Fiction ❯ Beloved ❯ Cherished ( Chapter 1 )

Beloved

 

Chapter 1: Cherished

 

I don't know why I don't have ears.

 

It just seems like I've never had them. My only memories of when I still had ears are very fuzzy and distant; surreal, almost. I was very young when I lost them—four, maybe five at the most. It's almost like they were there one day, and gone the next. I've always gotten mixed reactions for them not being there. Generally, adults pity me and whisper when they think I can't hear, saying things like “A child so young? Who could do such a thing?” and children always tease me about it. They don't know why people do or don't have ears.

 

Neither did I, for a while.

 

I remember once when I asked my mother why I didn't have ears. She started crying and told me she would tell me when I was older. She still hasn't, but I think I know. I mean, I'm 13, so I obviously know why people loose their ears. My only question is how something like that could happen to me when I was so young. Did a pedophile kidnap me? Or was I a willing participant? Could I even make such a decision at that age? I probably said yes without knowing what I was agreeing to. I just wish I could remember, but . . . I think I've repressed the memories.

 

Then again, do I really want to remember something like that? It must've been very painful or traumatic for me to simply `forget' the whole thing. But . . . it would be better than not knowing anything. I'm tired of trying to guess and not getting anywhere. Maybe I should ask my mother again? But I don't want to make her cry. She always cries when we talk about the past.

 

And anyway, what will happen when I do remember? Will it change my personality? Will it scar me all over again? Or will the whole thing just remain oddly distant and not influence my life at all?

 

I guess . . . I guess I'll just continue on until something cracks this wall in my memories.

 

 

I think I almost remembered today.

 

I met this little boy. He said his name was Seimei. Such a grown up name for such a little boy. He couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old, but he seemed so much more mature than his age. He even reads the same books as me . . . but then again, he also carries around a teddy bear. And he has the cutest ears I've ever seen. They're long and black and velvety soft. I'd never touched anyone's ears before, but he insisted, saying his were the best. I can remember it so perfectly.

 

“C'mon, Soubi!” He whined at me, bedraggled bear hanging from the crook of his arm as he tugged at my sleeve. “You don't have ears, so you gotta touch someone else's, and mine are better than anyone's!”

 

“Fine.” I sighed as I reached over and dragged my hand over the top of his head.

 

He immediately pulled away with a yelp. “Be gentle!” he cried indignantly, “Ears are sensitive! If you just pet them any which way, it hurts! You have to do it real soft, like this:” he ran his tiny fingers over the backs of his ears, watching me carefully to make sure I was paying attention. Once he was certain I was ready, he removed his hands and gestured at me. “Now you try.”

 

Tentatively, I reached out again, this time stroking my fingers over the jet-black fur. I could've cried, it was so perfectly soft. I pulled him a little closer and did it again, also petting his shiny black, almost curly hair. A little purr escaped his throat and he looked up at me. “Wow, Soubi, you're good at that. It feels so much better when you do it.”

 

My stomach gave an odd little flip-flop, and I felt myself blush, though I have no idea why. But . . . he just looked so cute, staring up at me like that. I hugged him, leaning close and saying, “I like your ears,” then I kissed each of the said ears, and when I pulled back, was most pleased to find that he was blushing too.

 

That's when I almost remembered.

 

It felt like the bottom of my stomach had dropped out, and a rush of confusing images crowded my mind. I remembered an oddly faceless man, and I remembered a lot of pain, immediately followed by a lot of pleasure. It was over almost as soon as it began.

 

Short as it was, I must've fainted or something, because the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground with Seimei hovering over me, shaking my shoulders and crying for me to wake up. He looked so beautiful when he was crying. His face didn't get all puffy and red like most kids' do. The tears just fell like clear water from the corners of his eyes, leaving glimmering trails on his cheeks. I blinked slowly, awed by the site, and his lips immediately curved into a shaky smile. “You scared me!” he cried, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his sweater, “What happened?”

 

“I'm not sure.” I sat up gingerly, and at that moment, I discovered the wet spot on the front of my pants.

 

Confusion and embarrassment warred in my mind. Of course I knew what the thick, sticky fluid gluing me to my underwear was. I had recently discovered the joys of masturbation myself, but I wanted to know why it had happened. What could cause me to cum so quickly and forcefully? I pushed my hands forward to cover myself, but I wasn't quick enough, and Seimei saw it. His eyebrows knitted together and he asked, “Did you wet yourself?”

 

“Not exactly,” I muttered, face aflame.

 

Still staring at me with that unnervingly concerned look, he said, “It's okay, Soubi, you don't have to be embarrassed. It happens to everyone.”

 

I didn't answer, instead opting to hide behind my long hair. He looked about rather helplessly for several moments. Suddenly he seemed to have been struck by an idea because he perked up, and began tugging at his sweater. He wrestled the dark blue cotton away, revealing a crisp white T-shirt with blue horizontal stripes underneath, and presented the article to me. I stared at it and didn't move. “Here,” he said by way of explanation, “you can hide it with this. Just hold it in front of you when you walk and no one will notice.”

 

Gratitude flooded me, and I couldn't help but hug him again, accepting the offering in the process. “Thank you, Seimei,” I murmured, rubbing my cheek against his ear, “You're so nice to me.”

 

The only response was a cute purr and the warmth of a blush filling his cheek against my neck.

 

And he is nice to me. Not many people are nice to me because they're put off by my lack of ears. I'm old enough that people are starting to think I'm some sort of slut, rather than a victim of some pervert. I hear them talk about it at school. Whispering about me. Teasing me. Shunning me . . . But Seimei's nice to me. He doesn't care about my ears. He tells me I look cool, just like a grown up. He lets me pet his ears instead. I hold him dear already, and we've only just met.

 

That's why we're meeting again tomorrow. Not just because I have to give him his sweater back, but because I want to see him again.

 

I cherish him.

 

 

I waited a really long time for Seimei today. I was afraid he wasn't going to come. It was almost time for my curfew when he finally showed up at the park where we'd arranged to meet. I'd been sitting on the swings, looking like some sort of delinquent for at least two hours before he ran up, panting and red faced.

 

“I'm sorry!” he gasped, bending at the knees to suck in air more efficiently, “m-my brother needed me!”

 

“Brother?” Was that jealousy in my voice?

 

“Yeah,” his smile as he looked up at me was positively angelic, “Ritsuka, my little brother.”

 

Ritsuka? I thought with a faint frown, That sounds like a girl's name. “What happened to him?” I asked, hoping I didn't sound like I was prying.

 

“He got real upset over something. I'm not sure what, since I wasn't there,” Seimei's lip jutted out thoughtfully, “it was probably our mom. She's . . .” he trailed off, as if looking for a delicate way to put it, “she's . . . not very nice to Ritsuka.”

 

My brows furrowed in honest. “Not nice? What's that mean?”

 

He looked away, seemingly ashamed. “She . . . hits him. A lot. He doesn't even do very much. I do a lot more than him and all she does is tell me not to. She's never hurt me the way she does him.”

 

“Oh . . .” What else could I say? How do you tell a ten-year-old that his mother is abusing his little brother?

 

The awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments before Seimei perked up with a very forced smile and said, “So how are you?”

 

“I'm—uh—I'm good.” My mind scrambled desperately for a moment for something suitable to talk about before latching on the obvious. I swung my backpack from my shoulders and set it on the ground before me, unzipping it and rummaging around, “I have your sweater here . . . somewhere . . .“ my fingers closed on the prize and I let out a cry of triumph, “Ah! Here it is! I washed it, too!”

 

He accepted the neatly folded bundle with a smile that was grateful for more than the return of his sweater. I patted the swing next to me in invitation, and he sat promptly, arranging his burden so it balanced on his lap. Using the heels of his feet, he began to rock slowly back and forth. I mimicked him and the next several minutes were spent in a silence that was much more comfortable than you might think. I don't know what was on his mind, exactly, but I let my thoughts wander. I found myself thinking of the strange incident yesterday, and what might have triggered it . . . I think it was the way I felt when Seimei blushed at me. I was happy, and warm, and embarrassed, all at once. I've read about feeling like that . . . a crush is what they always call it. Do I like Seimei? I mean like like Seimei? It's a little weird and confusing—I mean, he's a boy, first off, and second, he's three years younger than me. He's not even in middle school yet! He's just a kid, and I have no right to think about him that way.

 

But still . . . he's so cute . . . those ears and tail, that slender little body, his kind brown eyes . . . how could anyone not fall for him? Every time I see him, I just want to hug him close and never let go. It's electric, this feeling. How did it develop so fast? I haven't even known him for a week and I feel as though I might die if I were to never see him again . . .

 

Without thinking, I reached over and began stroking Seimei's ears, running the tips of my fingers over the fuzzy edges, then pulling them gently through his hair. He turned to me, impossibly beautiful eyes questioning, but I simply smiled and scratched softly behind his ear. His lids immediately lowered half way and he let out a throaty purr and pressed into my touch. I leaned toward him, bringing our faces close and brushed my lips against his forehead, right above his left eye. I wanted to kiss him for real, like they do in the movies, but he's way too young. Maybe in a year or two, when we're both a little older . . .

 

I can't wait.

TBC

 

AN: Before anyone says anything, yes I know the tenses here are a little awkward. I wrote this like Soubi would write it in a journal or something like that, so it switches from past to present tense fairly regularly. Just thought I'd mention that before anyone points it out to me. ^^ So anyways, I hope it's good! Reviews would be mucho appreciated!