Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Shards of Me ❯ Prologue: Frayed Edges ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Characters of Rurouni Kenshin are the property of Nobuhiro Watsuki and he is gracious enough to not slap me with a law suit when I use them. Like he'd get any money anyway. Story rated for future violence, gore, and adult situations.

 

Shards of Me

 

Prologue: Frayed Edges

 

Could he do nothing but fidget? He shifted in his seat anxiously, picking at a none-existent piece of lint on the sleeve of his uniform. He adjusted the collar for the millionth time, trying to ignore the fact that his choking feeling was probably no fault of his uniform. His fingers stroked the frayed edges of his ancient leather suitcase, pulling the threads into even further disarray.

 

Why was time moving so slowly? Surely the seconds must be ticking by at a million miles an hour. With every breath he was closer, but his destination was still so far from him. His mind could not decide. Was time trapped in a slip? Were minutes hours, or were they nanoseconds?

 

His eyes scanned the scant other passengers on the train warily. Not all of his old habits had died yet. Even though he was now free to live a normal peaceful life, his eyes could not help but assess the people around him. Any one of them, in the world he'd just come from, could have been a dangerous terrorist with explosives stowed and ready to use. Desperately he tried to concentrate on a countryside he could not see in the inky blackness of night.

 

He did not want to see her again. Every fiber in his being yearned to look upon her, touch her, but he did not want to look her in the eye and reveal what he had become. He wanted to rewind time to that night three years ago when he had left and never looked back. If he could change one thing, he would've looked back. He would've kissed her. He would've done something to reveal his feelings so that she could at least have the comfort of knowing he did indeed love her. Now, if he had any say in the matter, she would never know.

 

The sound of someone clearing his or her throat startled him. He looked up into the isle and met the irritated but amused eyes of a matronly woman with her gray hair pulled up into a fly-away bun. “Care for something to drink, dear?” she asked, motioning to the small trolley she wheeled in front of her.

 

Kenshin nodded, asking with a rough, tight voice for a ginger-ale. Perhaps the liquid would loosen the knot in his throat as well as ease the butterflies flying a tango through his gut. The woman handed him a can of the soda and continued on her way, humming a sad tune which he knew, but could remember no words to.

 

He popped the tab of the can a little too roughly and the metal snapped, scratching his fingers but not drawing blood. He took a sip of the liquid and swallowed…or tried to swallow. The knot would give him no peace. He struggled and little by little, won out enough to swallow the first mouthful.

 

This is a nightmare, he thought to himself, running a nervous hand through his red hair. His bangs stubbornly refused to smooth away from his face. The train was drawing nearer. Supposedly their arrival time was one o'clock. His watch informed him that the time in the Middle-East was early afternoon. He swore softly to himself and tried to see if a clock with local time was available. There wasn't one.

 

He took another sip of ginger-ale, concentrating on swallowing the liquid so he would not have to think of blue eyes or blood, shinai or screams. Surely she would take one look at him, see the taint war had left on his entire being, and turn her back on him. He would not be able to blame her. Perhaps he should just continue on—stay on the train and move on to the next city. She'd be happier without him.

 

Yet at the same time, he wanted to see her so badly his body physically ached. He could not longer remember what her hair felt like in his fingers. He could not remember if her scent was closer to jasmine or orange blossoms. The sparkle in her eyes was as distant in his mind as the twinkling stars he could just barely make out through his window. Just those memories, he told himself. I'll stay long enough that I'll never forget another thing about her and then I'll go. It will be for the best.

 

But once he had her, would he be able to let her go? He fingered the embossed letters on the suitcase, shuddering again as he remembered the second case hidden within the first—the one that held his shadows, his blood, and his nightmares. Surely he could let her go.

 

The train whistle sounded and he jumped, hand going for a hilt that was not there. His fingers clenched and unclenched, knuckles groaning under the strain. So close. He did not want to face her. He wanted to kiss her.

 

His chest tightened and the knot in his throat grew, threatening to choke him. He could not breathe. He could face a man willing to kill him and not even feel his pulse rise, but to face her, his heart was thundering. The other passengers could hear it, he was sure.

 

The train was slowing. Other passengers were stirring. A few glanced in his direction. One man smiled encouragingly as if to say, “Good luck, young man.” Kenshin swallowed convulsively, nearly coughing as the knot disappeared in a breathless instant to leave him with the bitter taste of bile. His palms were sweating and he prayed he would be able to stand without wobbling.

 

The train shuddered to a stop, everyone lurching forward with their own momentum. Kenshin remained seated as others filed off. He was alone on the train. Get up! his mind screamed at him. Get up and face her. You will not hide from her like a coward.

 

But I am a coward, he whispered in response, even as his legs began to move. Before he knew it, he stood at the sliding door. The ticket conductor sweeping the cars gave him an odd look. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner before facing the sterile white platform. Now or never… Kenshin stepped onto the platform.