Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ The Unexpected ❯ Chapter 2
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: deadlydiva 
Anime/Manga: Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.19.2005 | Updated On: 08.06.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 374 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.19.2005 | Updated On: 08.06.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 374 | Status: Work In Progress
The hoots and screams from the crowd drowned out the pulsating beat in Misao’s ears as she ran off stage. She could feel the energy in the air; it was intoxicating. Misao now understood why Megumi continued to this when she had other means to pay her tuition. The rush was addictive. It called in a way that no drug could compare.
As she walked into the dressing room, Misao could hear the crowd chanting her name. They wanted her to return to the stage. Misao giggled. She had no intention of getting back on stage in that capacity. She had done it to get Kamatari out of a jam. Though pleasurable, Misao had greater expectations for her life.
She threw a robe over her exposed body and sat in front of a mirror. The ritual of removing her stage make-up was tedious. In search of cold cream, Misao did not hear the dressing room door open behind her. She slathered the thick white cream all over her face, avoiding her eyes by closing them. Misao massaged the cold cream into her skin when something caught her ear. Sandstorm began playing loudly in the background, drowning out the approaching footsteps. Misao rocked to the beat; the pulsating bass line always put her in a good mood. She was certain that Kamatari requested Yahiko play it to improve her mood. As Misao rubbed her temples, a cold hard hand clamped onto her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open. Slowly, she turned around to see who accosted her.
“Goodness, you scared me.” Misao laughed as she saw who touched her. “You should know better than to sneak up on me like that. Don’t forget, I can still beat you.”
Misao grabbed a face towel to wipe the cold cream off her face. She stood up and walked over to the bathroom to thoroughly rinse her face. The bathroom was the most extravagant that Misao had ever seen. Kamatari had installed marble counter tops and gold inlayed mirrors. He truly spared no expense to make sure that his girls were comfortable on stage and off.
She turned the faucet on, adjusting the temperature just the way she liked it. Leaning down, Misao began splashing water on her face. The cool water felt good as ran down her neck. All her troubles went down the drain along with the cloudy water. Well, at least for that moment they did. Misao dried her face and returned to the person she had left only a few minutes ago.
She threw her arms around his neck. Looking into his crystalline eyes, Misao could see that something was troubling him. He was stiff, unresponsive. She brushed his bangs from his face.
“Come on. Tell me what’s wrong.” Misao poked him in the side. Normally, that would have made him squirm and beg for her to stop.
This time was different. He grabbed her wrist and held it tight. With his free hand, he slapped Misao across her face. To say she was stunned would have been an understatement. Staring incredulously at her companion, Misao rubbed the inflamed cheek.
“What the fuck was that? Have you lost your mind Enishi?” Misao sat at the vanity and took a look at her face. It was bright red, but there would be no bruising.
Beneath his black-rimmed glasses, Enishi rolled his eyes. “After the performance you just gave, you have the gall to ask me if I lost my mind. I could ask you the same thing.” He lifted his hand to Misao’s face, causing her to flinch. Enishi gently stroked the very same cheek that he assaulted.
Tears threatened to spill from Misao’s teal eyes. It was happening again and like every time before this she was powerless to stop it. She knew it was wrong; she deserved so much better than this. Despite the fact that their relationship was the archetype for dysfunctional living, she loved him. Misao wondered how many more times she would have to forgive Enishi for an unprovoked outburst. His excuses had become stale and meaningless. There was only so much he could blame on Tomoe.
Yukishiro Tomoe. That name loomed over Misao ever since she met Enishi.
At first, he seemed like the troubled sensitive type. He was staring blankly into a cup of pretentious European coffee. His slender fingers were wrapped around the cup, clinging to it as if he were afraid it was going to disappear. Misao casually walked up to him. Artist types frequented Tia Maria, so Enishi seemed to fit right in. She looked down into his cup. Noticing that it hadn’t been touched and was most likely ice cold, Misao offered to get him a fresh cup. Enishi looked up at the sound of Misao’s voice. All he saw was dark hair and wide expressive eyes. Those eyes. He hadn’t seen such perceptive, sincere eyes in so long.
“Tomoe,” he whispered. The instant the name escaped his lips, he realized his error. Tomoe was gone, never to return. Darkness overtook the temporary brightness of his green eyes. He apologized for his error and returned to his cup.
Misao waved down another waitress. She whispered into the young woman’s ear, and then took off her apron.
“Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.”
Enishi did not have time to refuse her request. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Misao was seated next to Enishi. She extricated the cup from his grasp. He looked up, marveling at the nerve of the young woman who he momentarily mistook for Tomoe.
“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Misao smiled at Enishi. He could see that her concern was genuine. Even though she did not know him, she actually cared about what he was going through.
Enishi sighed and told Misao of his hardship. She listened as he told her how he had spent the last two years trying to find his older sister, Tomoe. He had tracked her to a nightclub in Tokyo where she was working. By the time he got to the club, Tomoe was in the middle of a full-blown heroin overdose. It seemed that the club owner, Takeda Kanryuu, had started Tomoe off using to help her lose some of her inhibitions. While under the influence, the owner managed to get Tomoe to strip, among other things. This same man stood back and watched as Tomoe’s life slipped from her. Enishi clutched his sister dying body and begged for her to hold on. He called the paramedics, hoping that she would ride this out like Kanryuu claimed. When the first emergency worker arrived, Tomoe was already dead.
Misao remembered feeling sorry for Enishi that day. She wanted to take away his pain. Oh the pain she saw his eyes. Misao would have given anything to see the light Enishi had in his eyes before his sister passed away. Now, all she wanted was to be rid of him.
“Enishi please. I’m tired of fighting with you.” Misao was emotionally drained. It wasn’t enough that she had just stripped in front of a club full of people. She now had to deal with Enishi psychoses.
“Then don’t.”
Enishi kissed Misao’s bruised cheek. He trailed kisses down her neck. Misao mouthed a no, but not even a whimper escaped her lips. She inwardly cursed her body for reacting to Enishi’s touch. He pushed the robe off her shoulder, exposing a breast. His hand slid down her side and traced the curve of her bosom. Misao’s back reflexively arched to allow Enishi more access. She could hear herself moaning against her will. Misao silently berated herself as her mind and her body clashed over the proper course of action. Misao’s mind swore that this would be the last time that she would give in to Enishi. Her body was actively mocking her with every shudder.
Misao did not have the resolve to stop Enishi for she knew what he went through. She could remember drying the tears that Enishi did not know he shed while he slept. Somewhere in his jaded being lived the young man that cared for Tomoe. Misao hoped beyond reason that she would be the one to heal Enishi’s wounds.
“Enishi,” she whispered.
He mischievously shook his head. Enishi fingered the collar of Misao’s semi-sheer garment, ready to disrobe her altogether. In a last minute attempt to bring to Enishi’s advances to a halt, Misao’s hand held her robe tightly. An airy laughed escaped Enishi’s lips.
“Why are you trying so hard Misao? I know you want me.” Enishi lowered his mouth to hers. Before he could fully take advantage, the slamming of the dressing room door changed the situation.
Kamatari cleared his throat. He wondered what Misao was still doing with Enishi. Kamatari could see that Enishi meant her no good. Why couldn’t she?
“Misao, I need you on the floor.” He shot Misao a look that warned her to stay away from the troubled young man.
Misao wriggled away from Enishi and pulled her robe onto her shoulders. “I have to get back to work.”
Enishi pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he glared at Kamatari. Enishi knew how Kamatari felt, for the cross-dressing man was quite vocal.
“I’ll see you at my apartment later.” He bent down and placed a possessive kiss in Misao’s cheek.
As Enishi left the dressing room, he bumped shoulders with Kamatari. The effeminate man stood his ground. Though dressed in woman’s clothing, Kamatari was a fierce fighter. He had to be. All too often some wise-ass would try to rough him up, simply because of the lifestyle he chose. The men’s eyes met and a brief stare-down ensued. Neither was willing to relent. Enishi sighed. There was no point in challenging Kamatari. He was no threat. Giving him one last condescending look, Enishi left.
Kamatari glanced over his shoulder and could see the tears threatening to fall from Misao’s eyes. Grabbing a nearby box of Kleenex, he approached.
“When are you going to learn?” Kamatari departed for the wardrobe room.
Staring in the mirror, Misao checked out her reflection. Gone was the independent free spirit. In her place was a broken co-dependent shell. Worst of all, she could not bring herself to blame Enishi. Misao saw all the warning signs, yet she chose to ignore them. A combination of naïveté and foolish pride led her to believe that she would not become a statistic. As she dried her tears, Misao swore that she saw a barcode materialize on her forehead. It was almost like an invisible statistician was using her as his personal ledger. Slowly, she composed herself. Those drinks weren’t going to serve themselves.
* * * * *
Kaoru gave Tia Maria another once over. There were thirty minutes before she was scheduled to open the doors. Glancing down, she noticed a water spot on the table. Pulling out a cloth, Kaoru began scrubbing the offensive blemish into oblivion. A gentle tap at the door stopped her assault on the poor spot.
“One o’clock,” she yelled.
The tapping became a more persistent bang. Kaoru huffed. She had some choice words for the pompous, yet illiterate person who would not take no for an answer. There was a sign with the café’s hours in the middle of the door. There was no excuse for such behavior. She stomped to the door and pulled it open with such force that it was nearly removed from its hinges.
“Listen, I said one o’clock. I would love to let you in now, but that would be my job.” Kaoru did not bother to look at whom she addressing. A deep throaty laugh alerted her to the fact that this was no ordinary patron.
“It’s nice to see you’ve learned some manners while you’ve been working here.”
The voice was so familiar, too familiar. Kaoru looked up to see a pair of clear deep blue eyes that made hers look like cheap colored glass. Only one person had eyes that blue.
“Aoshi…”
As she walked into the dressing room, Misao could hear the crowd chanting her name. They wanted her to return to the stage. Misao giggled. She had no intention of getting back on stage in that capacity. She had done it to get Kamatari out of a jam. Though pleasurable, Misao had greater expectations for her life.
She threw a robe over her exposed body and sat in front of a mirror. The ritual of removing her stage make-up was tedious. In search of cold cream, Misao did not hear the dressing room door open behind her. She slathered the thick white cream all over her face, avoiding her eyes by closing them. Misao massaged the cold cream into her skin when something caught her ear. Sandstorm began playing loudly in the background, drowning out the approaching footsteps. Misao rocked to the beat; the pulsating bass line always put her in a good mood. She was certain that Kamatari requested Yahiko play it to improve her mood. As Misao rubbed her temples, a cold hard hand clamped onto her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open. Slowly, she turned around to see who accosted her.
“Goodness, you scared me.” Misao laughed as she saw who touched her. “You should know better than to sneak up on me like that. Don’t forget, I can still beat you.”
Misao grabbed a face towel to wipe the cold cream off her face. She stood up and walked over to the bathroom to thoroughly rinse her face. The bathroom was the most extravagant that Misao had ever seen. Kamatari had installed marble counter tops and gold inlayed mirrors. He truly spared no expense to make sure that his girls were comfortable on stage and off.
She turned the faucet on, adjusting the temperature just the way she liked it. Leaning down, Misao began splashing water on her face. The cool water felt good as ran down her neck. All her troubles went down the drain along with the cloudy water. Well, at least for that moment they did. Misao dried her face and returned to the person she had left only a few minutes ago.
She threw her arms around his neck. Looking into his crystalline eyes, Misao could see that something was troubling him. He was stiff, unresponsive. She brushed his bangs from his face.
“Come on. Tell me what’s wrong.” Misao poked him in the side. Normally, that would have made him squirm and beg for her to stop.
This time was different. He grabbed her wrist and held it tight. With his free hand, he slapped Misao across her face. To say she was stunned would have been an understatement. Staring incredulously at her companion, Misao rubbed the inflamed cheek.
“What the fuck was that? Have you lost your mind Enishi?” Misao sat at the vanity and took a look at her face. It was bright red, but there would be no bruising.
Beneath his black-rimmed glasses, Enishi rolled his eyes. “After the performance you just gave, you have the gall to ask me if I lost my mind. I could ask you the same thing.” He lifted his hand to Misao’s face, causing her to flinch. Enishi gently stroked the very same cheek that he assaulted.
Tears threatened to spill from Misao’s teal eyes. It was happening again and like every time before this she was powerless to stop it. She knew it was wrong; she deserved so much better than this. Despite the fact that their relationship was the archetype for dysfunctional living, she loved him. Misao wondered how many more times she would have to forgive Enishi for an unprovoked outburst. His excuses had become stale and meaningless. There was only so much he could blame on Tomoe.
Yukishiro Tomoe. That name loomed over Misao ever since she met Enishi.
At first, he seemed like the troubled sensitive type. He was staring blankly into a cup of pretentious European coffee. His slender fingers were wrapped around the cup, clinging to it as if he were afraid it was going to disappear. Misao casually walked up to him. Artist types frequented Tia Maria, so Enishi seemed to fit right in. She looked down into his cup. Noticing that it hadn’t been touched and was most likely ice cold, Misao offered to get him a fresh cup. Enishi looked up at the sound of Misao’s voice. All he saw was dark hair and wide expressive eyes. Those eyes. He hadn’t seen such perceptive, sincere eyes in so long.
“Tomoe,” he whispered. The instant the name escaped his lips, he realized his error. Tomoe was gone, never to return. Darkness overtook the temporary brightness of his green eyes. He apologized for his error and returned to his cup.
Misao waved down another waitress. She whispered into the young woman’s ear, and then took off her apron.
“Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.”
Enishi did not have time to refuse her request. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Misao was seated next to Enishi. She extricated the cup from his grasp. He looked up, marveling at the nerve of the young woman who he momentarily mistook for Tomoe.
“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Misao smiled at Enishi. He could see that her concern was genuine. Even though she did not know him, she actually cared about what he was going through.
Enishi sighed and told Misao of his hardship. She listened as he told her how he had spent the last two years trying to find his older sister, Tomoe. He had tracked her to a nightclub in Tokyo where she was working. By the time he got to the club, Tomoe was in the middle of a full-blown heroin overdose. It seemed that the club owner, Takeda Kanryuu, had started Tomoe off using to help her lose some of her inhibitions. While under the influence, the owner managed to get Tomoe to strip, among other things. This same man stood back and watched as Tomoe’s life slipped from her. Enishi clutched his sister dying body and begged for her to hold on. He called the paramedics, hoping that she would ride this out like Kanryuu claimed. When the first emergency worker arrived, Tomoe was already dead.
Misao remembered feeling sorry for Enishi that day. She wanted to take away his pain. Oh the pain she saw his eyes. Misao would have given anything to see the light Enishi had in his eyes before his sister passed away. Now, all she wanted was to be rid of him.
“Enishi please. I’m tired of fighting with you.” Misao was emotionally drained. It wasn’t enough that she had just stripped in front of a club full of people. She now had to deal with Enishi psychoses.
“Then don’t.”
Enishi kissed Misao’s bruised cheek. He trailed kisses down her neck. Misao mouthed a no, but not even a whimper escaped her lips. She inwardly cursed her body for reacting to Enishi’s touch. He pushed the robe off her shoulder, exposing a breast. His hand slid down her side and traced the curve of her bosom. Misao’s back reflexively arched to allow Enishi more access. She could hear herself moaning against her will. Misao silently berated herself as her mind and her body clashed over the proper course of action. Misao’s mind swore that this would be the last time that she would give in to Enishi. Her body was actively mocking her with every shudder.
Misao did not have the resolve to stop Enishi for she knew what he went through. She could remember drying the tears that Enishi did not know he shed while he slept. Somewhere in his jaded being lived the young man that cared for Tomoe. Misao hoped beyond reason that she would be the one to heal Enishi’s wounds.
“Enishi,” she whispered.
He mischievously shook his head. Enishi fingered the collar of Misao’s semi-sheer garment, ready to disrobe her altogether. In a last minute attempt to bring to Enishi’s advances to a halt, Misao’s hand held her robe tightly. An airy laughed escaped Enishi’s lips.
“Why are you trying so hard Misao? I know you want me.” Enishi lowered his mouth to hers. Before he could fully take advantage, the slamming of the dressing room door changed the situation.
Kamatari cleared his throat. He wondered what Misao was still doing with Enishi. Kamatari could see that Enishi meant her no good. Why couldn’t she?
“Misao, I need you on the floor.” He shot Misao a look that warned her to stay away from the troubled young man.
Misao wriggled away from Enishi and pulled her robe onto her shoulders. “I have to get back to work.”
Enishi pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he glared at Kamatari. Enishi knew how Kamatari felt, for the cross-dressing man was quite vocal.
“I’ll see you at my apartment later.” He bent down and placed a possessive kiss in Misao’s cheek.
As Enishi left the dressing room, he bumped shoulders with Kamatari. The effeminate man stood his ground. Though dressed in woman’s clothing, Kamatari was a fierce fighter. He had to be. All too often some wise-ass would try to rough him up, simply because of the lifestyle he chose. The men’s eyes met and a brief stare-down ensued. Neither was willing to relent. Enishi sighed. There was no point in challenging Kamatari. He was no threat. Giving him one last condescending look, Enishi left.
Kamatari glanced over his shoulder and could see the tears threatening to fall from Misao’s eyes. Grabbing a nearby box of Kleenex, he approached.
“When are you going to learn?” Kamatari departed for the wardrobe room.
Staring in the mirror, Misao checked out her reflection. Gone was the independent free spirit. In her place was a broken co-dependent shell. Worst of all, she could not bring herself to blame Enishi. Misao saw all the warning signs, yet she chose to ignore them. A combination of naïveté and foolish pride led her to believe that she would not become a statistic. As she dried her tears, Misao swore that she saw a barcode materialize on her forehead. It was almost like an invisible statistician was using her as his personal ledger. Slowly, she composed herself. Those drinks weren’t going to serve themselves.
* * * * *
Kaoru gave Tia Maria another once over. There were thirty minutes before she was scheduled to open the doors. Glancing down, she noticed a water spot on the table. Pulling out a cloth, Kaoru began scrubbing the offensive blemish into oblivion. A gentle tap at the door stopped her assault on the poor spot.
“One o’clock,” she yelled.
The tapping became a more persistent bang. Kaoru huffed. She had some choice words for the pompous, yet illiterate person who would not take no for an answer. There was a sign with the café’s hours in the middle of the door. There was no excuse for such behavior. She stomped to the door and pulled it open with such force that it was nearly removed from its hinges.
“Listen, I said one o’clock. I would love to let you in now, but that would be my job.” Kaoru did not bother to look at whom she addressing. A deep throaty laugh alerted her to the fact that this was no ordinary patron.
“It’s nice to see you’ve learned some manners while you’ve been working here.”
The voice was so familiar, too familiar. Kaoru looked up to see a pair of clear deep blue eyes that made hers look like cheap colored glass. Only one person had eyes that blue.
“Aoshi…”