Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Falling to Pieces ❯ Chapter Five ( Chapter 5 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Dark Hunter 
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense / Romance / Occult / Hentai / Drama / Comedy / Angst / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 04.23.2003 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.2K | Visits: 412 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Suspense / Romance / Occult / Hentai / Drama / Comedy / Angst / Action | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 04.23.2003 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.2K | Visits: 412 | Status: Work In Progress
Just beat Final Fantasy X. All I can think about is getting to play the sequel to Kingdom Hearts that will supposedly be coming out soon. DAMN you Squaresoft!!!!!!
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Things return to usual. The familiarity is almost nice, the semi-regular schedule soothing in some ways. They show up, beat me, rape me, burn me, drown me, whip me; you know the routine. Then they leave for a set amount of hours for me to recover. Then they return and it begins again.
Breathing is usually the biggest effort I can make. They move me where they need me, they don't ask me anything, don't give me an option to stop the pain. I feel helpless, knowing that this is my new existence and I am powerless to end it, to even tolerate it.
My mind has separated itself, the core just safely tucked away. What remains is a blank, base being, completely bent towards stoic bearing of life, towards taking the pain and tolerating it. The remaining entity in me craves the pain, suffering in silence and playing the mourning martyr.
They leave me in handcuffs now. Lying on my back, because it makes them laugh when I can't keep the cries inside. My raw back bleeds, oozes. It's infected I think. A great deal of the wounds inflicted on me aren't healing correctly. It's making me physically ill. I'm still looking forward to the release of death. Nothing else to hope for.
The door is opening. It's early! This is wrong. Not supposed to happen. There is an established system. I turn my face into the arm stretched up and bolted to the headboard of the cot, trying to stifle the exhausted sobs for breath, for pain. This isn't supposed to happen. They don't show up for a few more hours. This is wrong.
"You're not supposed to be here." I whisper hoarsely, trying to hold onto even a semblance of normality, trying to will everything away. Nothing remains as it should. It's not supposed to be like this, counting only on myself again. Why did they have to go and change the schedule? Something has to stay the same.
Footsteps shuffle to my side, stopping by my head. I squeeze my eyes as tightly shut as they can be, anticipating the starting blow. Careful fingers undo the handcuffs, both of them. Knowing the routine, I hold my hands out side by side, trying to still the pained shaking, waiting for the cuffs to go back on.
"I don't want to put them back on you, moron." The voice sounds achingly familiar. I force my eyes open, making out the old remembered figure in the twilight.
"Aya?" I try to sit up, winding up doubled over in agony instead, my back burning, my sides a seething white-hot mass of pain. Hesitant hands rest on my shoulders, either not seeing the damage to my flesh in the darkness, or simply not caring.
"Uhn!" I twist away, bringing down more suffering upon myself. He crouches down next to me on the filthy bloody bedding, not touching, just watching. "I sure hope you made this all fucking worthwhile. You get enough money to keep you in katanas for a long while?" I snap at him bitterly, the old Youji attitude snapping up to defend me on this new front.
"What money?" He seems confused. I watch dispassionetly as he uneasily tugs at his now bare earlobe. It looks so odd, unbalanced without the familiar bar of gold.
"You sold me out. Does that make you feel better?" I try to shift away from him, unable to move on my own. The pain tears still streak down my face, the sobbing gone though, replaced with self-righteous anger. "I know you never liked me to begin with, but isn't this a little extreme even for you? Did they let you in so you could gloat?"
I gesture towards myself with great difficulty. "Well, here I am, feast your eyes for as long as you need. You hurt me more than they ever could, all of you." My voice breaks again with the admittance. I look down, waiting for him to lose his temper and take it out on me.
I can't help but flinch back as gentle cool fingers cup my face, violet eyes studying the bruise patterning in the low visibility gloom. I can't meet his eyes, can't let him see that he's won. I take deep shuddering breaths, trying to control myself. He broke the schedule; upset me. I can deal with it. I start to shut down the vital functions of my mind.
He pulls me into a careful embrace, pressing my face not ungently to his neck. I struggle, crying out in pain as every inch of my body screams for it to stop. He panics, letting go, apologizing profusely, an odd light in his eyes, hands hovering as if unsure whether or not to touch me again.
"I don't know what they told you, but I never sold you out, we never did. They found us through your work records, doing background research and putting two and two together. The shop, the house, it's all gone." He eyes are flat. He doesn't let go of the grip he has on my arm.
I shut mine, covering my expression with shaking hands. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have been trying to do your job. If I'd just minded my own business then you would have been there and you'd still have a home."
"It's not your fault-it was a-"
"Can you please kill me?" I interrupt, the sudden hope flaring anew in my chest.
"No! Why would-?" He's stunned by the proposal. I choke on the wave of disappointment. No rest for the weary. "We tracked you down to rescue you." He holds out a hand, "We have to leave now. There's no telling how many more men we can afford to kill to cover our escape before someone notices and sends a real army down here after us."
I ignore the proffered assistance and fall back, not even feeling the fresh tearing of battered flesh. "No. Kill me. End this. I'm not playing along." I painfully bare my neck, waiting for the final moments.
He roughly lifts me up in his arms, one under my knees, and one under my shoulders. It's time to give up. I've completely lost. I don't know who to believe. I muffle the gasp of pain against his shoulder. Don't touch my back; I plead silently.
"Wait." I struggle to free myself. Somehow I manage to break free, painfully thudding down on my knees. Unheedful of discomfort or the vulnerable line of my back I'm leaving wide open, I frantically prod under the bedraggled mattress, weak hands trying to push aside the heavy mattress.
Triumphantly I fish out the object. I clench it once more in my fist before spreading my palm out, burnished gold catching the faint light from the hallway.
Aya kneels next to me. "My earring!" He plucks it from my hand, pocketing it. "When we finally got to safety, the building was burnt down, it wasn't in my ear anymore." He clasps my grimy hand between his two unblemished ones. I wonder if he's grateful or trying to make up a pathetic excuse for how I have it in my possession. Who cares?
Embarrassed and still more than a tad unsettled I attempt to return to being plain old Youji, pushing him away and clambering to my feet, swaying but still upright. He catches my elbow, helping to steady me, willing to play human crutch.
Ken and Omi wait in the corridor, gasping at my appearance. Aya stops to examine me in the improved lighting. Reeling, I grasp onto his sleeve, unable to hide the dizziness.
"Youji?" Omi all but tiptoes forward, afraid to touch me; afraid I'll break. Maybe I will. "Oh, gods! We couldn't go back for you! They were after us, and when we cleared things away, you were gone." His eyes are actually filled with tears. I really must look scarier than fuck.
Ken hesitantly grabs onto my wrist, the only uninjured spot he can find. "I'm sorry!" He whispers, shamefaced. Only Aya doesn't go all gushy and guilty on me. He knows I deserve this somehow. I shouldn't have pried into his business; if I hadn't, this never would have happened. I start up my newly altered self-depreciating refrain.
We try walking a few steps, but I'm not doing so well, and in the end, Aya just hoists me up again, ignoring my grimacing and yelps of pain. Deciding to make the best of things, knowing I can end it all quite soon if things progress as I hope, I loop my aching arms around his neck and try to keep from making him struggle with my full weight. There is no penance left to pay. I give up.
I don't know how we manage but somehow or another we don't come across a single living soul. We pass by a few dead bodies, previous work of my teammates, but nothing more. I feel like sobbing with relief as the fresh outside air hits me, free at last. I loose consciousness on the ride home, curled up against the window, still hoping to deny my existence.
My eyes open again to an unfamiliar bathroom, overdone and far more luxurious than the one I'm used to. Ken's running a bathtub full of water. Aya helps me collapse against the counter, letting me lean against him while I try to readjust to my surroundings, to my own body.
"Where are we?" I mumble groggily against his shoulder.
"We rented a place. We have more than enough money to keep us going for several lifetimes." Ken looks up, blowing hair out of his eyes. "We'll stay here until you heal up enough to go country hopping, set up a new shop or residence somewhere."
I shrug, unconcerned with the reasons for any of this.
"I'm sorry, this is going to hurt a lot, but we need to get you cleaned off, I don't think we have enough rags to get all the grime off." Ken apologetically smiles, completely unaware of any of my inner turmoil.
How can I be that filthy? I spent a hell of a lot of time in water; I've got the fever to prove how well it helped the cold set into my body. A bath? I'm NOT getting anywhere near liquid again, not even a damned cup of it.
"I don't want to be clean." I try to keep my voice steady, concentrate on single things through the haze around my mind, muffling my thoughts.
"You don't have a choice." Aya tells me, flat out. "Your back is infected, I'm assuming more of you has suffered permanent damage as well, and this is the only way to efficiently remove several layers of who knows what before even attempting to patch things up." He gestures towards the stiff and filthy pants clinging to my skin. Those are going to hurt coming off, dried to any number of stiff wounds as they are.
"I won't get in that water." I grab a fistful of his coat lapels, trying to make him see in my eyes how against this I am, trying to spare what little pride and dignity I have left for a time when I might need them even more.
Aya shrugs, the age-old "yes dear, whatever you say" expression of vacancy and inattentiveness on his face. He doesn't care. I won't lower myself to pleading with Omi or Ken. Those two at least still maintain some belief that I'm close to being sane, unlike Aya. They can't do this; I'll fight with all I have.
Panic starts to set in as Aya shucks his coat, leaving to toss it out in the hallway. I curve in on myself, flashes of memories going through my mind. Unable to breath, the icy murky water above my head, around me, muffling my movements.
"Can't I take a shower!?" I gasp out, knowing I can't do this.
"You've deluded yourself into thinking you can stay upright that long?"
I try to stand on my own to prove that I can. I almost pitch head first into the counter before his arms steady me. "You can't get up without falling over."
I close my eyes, shuddering. "Aya. I can't do it, please!" The closest I've ever come to begging in my entire life. He can't do this, he's not them, he can't do this, can't hurt me like this. Why didn't he kill me? I don't want to be pathetic. I want to be dead. What's the point of living broken and useless.
The tub fills, the water within gently steaming. I watch in horror as Ken runs to get a towel, refusing to meet my eyes still. He's on some sort of guilt trip alright, but still willing to help Aya with this new torture.
"Do you want me to take care of all this?" Aya asks the brunette when he returns, flushed and nervous. I can see by the almost desperate relief in his brown eyes, that Ken too is abandoning me as well. Ken looks, apologizing profusely for more things not his fault before escaping from the room, closing the door behind the rush of cool air he lets in, swirling through the mist of water in the air.
Aya manages to peel the blood caked denim off my legs with a great deal of effort on his part. Even if I can't stop him, I can at least have the satisfaction of defying by refusing to helping.
He drags me towards the tub, overpowering my meager resistance.
"You can't do this!" I latch onto his arm, ignoring the pain, ignoring my vulnerable nakedness. I can't do this. I'll die. My eyes ache with the remembered pressure, cold in my nose, my mouth, filling my lugs, choking me.
"Aya please don't do this. I'm sorry about following you, I'm sorry I fucked up. Don't do this! I'm sorry! Whatever I did wrong, I won't do it again. Please!" Gods, I feel the urge to start bawling like a baby come on, and I'm helpless to stop. Shuddering deep breaths, it's okay, they can only hurt you, fear is only soul deep.
He tries to make me step into the tub; I grab hold of him, tumbling him down into the octagonal bathtub with me. I can't breath, his weight crushing the air out of me, aggravating new and old pains, pushing me under. No!
My arms thrash wildly against the air, the water, anything, trying to find a handhold. He hauls me up, coughing himself, hair plastered to his head, absolute rage beaming out of his eyes.
"Sorry, sorry!" I gasp out clinging to him for support, to prove to myself that I can sit in the water, that I'm not going to die. My face burrows into the space between his neck and shoulder without my consent, gasping sobs filling the air. I hold on for life, arms locked around his neck.
In return, his wrap around me, holding me. I give up, going limp against his body, not caring about the rough fabric of his soaking clothes against my raw skin, the water around me, just concentrating on the fact that he's not asking me anything, not hurting me, gloating over my fear. I give up and just try to accept that even though it's finally over, it really won't ever be.
---
"Youji?" The hesitant whisper makes me look up from Aya's careful ministrations. Omi's back in the doorway with his good old tray. Some things never change. I like that in an existence. Stability. He smiles tentatively again. "I thought you might be hungry when this is all through."
He sets the take-out down near the mattress and creeps out of the room, leaving Aya to continue to pick up the pieces. He returns to smoothing some sort of medicinal crème over one of the worst burns on my torso. I let out a slow breath as some of the heat fades.
He finishes up with my front before moving onto my legs, taking care of any fixable breaks in the skin, or smoothing numbing solvents onto bruises large enough to warrant attention. We use up almost an entire tube on my ribs before they eased enough to let me breath semi-freely, he assures me that this time they really are broken.
He saves my back for last, having to slice open the infected, inflamed flesh to drain the wounds before smothering them with enough anti-bacterial cream to fill up a bathtub. Why don't I just bathe in the foul smelling goop? I muffle my grunts of pain against a fistful of bedcovers.
I wonder how much blood I'll get on the blankets I've been allotted before it's all over. A hell of a lot more if Aya isn't a little more careful. I close my eyes, somehow managing to drop off into a cloudy slumber in the midst of having my back spliced and diced and everything niced.
I wake from a dream about drowning, smothering in red water, in my own blood. Stone-face smiling at me, fire behind him, feeding off of the light. His hands tangled in my hair, pushing me back under. My legs unable to push against the quickly solidifying mass.
I kick the blanket off, shivering in the cold air. Everything is silent, deathly so. I peer around the room in the evening gloom. The room is empty. The brand new mattress is on the floor; a lamp rests on the floor next to me, off, of course. Clicking it on, I scowl at the blank white walls, hating the pale color and the memories it brings on. What will it be like, to now forever associate white with evil and pain?
Wrapping my arms around myself I look around for something to cover my nakedness. Considering the way I look right now, wandering around with nothing on at all is an atrocious thought. A pair of dark blue, cotton pants are at the foot of the mattress. Neatly folded. Left by Aya, I assume.
It takes a lot more pain and effort, but I get the loose pants on, having to actually hold up the waist to keep it from falling down off my bony hips. Too long without eating. Omi's tray is gone, as is the food originally on it.
I consider how much it would take to get myself down stairs to look around for food. My stomach growls, letting me know how much it would appreciate that effort. I look around for something to light the way in this unfamiliar building, or even a weapon. It's too quiet.
For all of my current unease, I'm feeling a hell of a lot better after my long rest. The thoughts of suicide have currently resigned from the positions they held in the committee of my mind. I don't' know how long I've been sleeping, but it's been long enough for the painkillers and the various other drugs Aya woke me up to make me swallow to have kicked in.
I finally find the scissors from the disbanded first aide kit. I hold them before me like a dagger as I silently push open the bedroom door, peering up and down the dark hallway. My hand searches out the light switch, quickly finding it to my relief.
Pale yellow light floods the wood paneled corridor, shut doors here and there along it. I swallow and slowly head for the end not stopped by a wall. Stairs down. Everything below is pitch dark. I freeze. What if he's down there? What if they're down there, waiting for me? I can almost see shifting forms in the blackness.
My stomach growls again. I strengthen my resolve. Nothing has changed. I own the dark. I am an assassin of the night. I have nothing to fear. I grip the scissors more tightly in my sweating palm, ready to drive forward. I pad down the wooden stairs, feet unsteady.
My free hand grips the smooth wooden rail, gliding down without a hitch. My eyes dart around again, searching out any threats. Nothing moves, no sound anywhere. I swallow and run my hands along the walls in search of a way to illuminate the situation. My palms make a horrendous rasping noise along the textured wallpaper. I suck in harsh breaths, trying to keep calm.
My fingers brush against hair. Oh fuck! NO! Pushing me down, knocking me down, smothering me. I kick back. Panting, terrified. Lifeless, it's just a coat. A parka with a fur lined hood. Omi's. Oh hell. I cover my face with shaky hands, breathing harshly. I thought it was a person, I thought it was a body. Oh hell.
I slowly pull myself to my feet against the wall, feeling along the wall more, cursing when I bump into furniture. I finally find the plastic switch. I flick it up, nothing happens. My mind starts jumping to conclusions and screaming nonsense.
Ping. Ping. The florescent lights flicker on, delayed. I cover my mouth and lean against the wall, shaking from exertion. Oh bloody hell. I take in the sparse furniture in the bare living room. A brand new television is set up under a curtained bay window. I look around for the room leading for the kitchen. My grip on the scissors doesn't ease in the least.
I fumble for the switch in the kitchen, my toes curling on the icy tile. The kitchen is more modern, puts off a homier, more lived in air. There's a big note pinned to the fridge.
"Hey, Youji!
I don't know if you'll see this note. If you're reading this, Youji, then you should get your butt back to bed. ^_^ I put your food in the fridge when it became apparent you weren't going to wake up. Hope you're doing all right. We went out to get some food and more medical supplies for you. Eat plenty and get lots of rest. ^_-
-Omi"
I smile. How Omi like. Cheerful. I take one more suspicious look around before pulling the fridge open, leaving the note where it is. Sure enough. There's a big bag of greasy hamburger and fries with those familiar golden arches all over. I swear, I could be trapped in the center of the earth and I'd still see one of those restaurants.
I make my ungainly way over to the microwave, just popping the whole paper bag in for a few minutes, smiling at the steam coming off it when I take it back out. Leaving the lights on, knowing that someone will pop out at me the second it's dark again, I tread back up the smooth stairs.
I peer in my room, looking at the blazingly white walls, the shadowy poorly lit corners. I look down towards the darker end of the hallway. Taking a deep breath, bag still in hand, I go to briefly explore the rest of this rented house.
The first door I open off of the upstairs hallway leads to the horrid bathroom. I quickly shut the door, thinking that if I look away for only a moment the enormous whirlpool tub will be full of bloody water and Stone-face will be behind me.
The next door across the hall is obviously Omi's room. Computer technology litters the floor, but the bed is neatly made and the clothes are resting in neat folded piles against the wall. Next door down is Ken's. I doubt I could even walk across the floor. I don't know how he managed to completely obliterate such a large room in such a short time, but I never would have put him past it.
This leaves one more room; I'm assuming it is Aya's. What else could it be? Again repressing the feeling that I'm invading his privacy yet again, I flick the switch and look around. It's almost as bare as the living room. A made up mattress on the floor, just like all the others, a stuffed chair with a coat slung over it, and a neat pile of clothing. That's all.
I rub at my eyes and look back down the hall at the bright light still emitting from my open doorway. I look back at the dim, soothing luminescence from Aya's room. No contest. I shuffle into his room, perching on the end of the mattress to wolf down as much of the food as I can, glad to have found a place to settle before my wobbly legs gave out on me.
It feels beyond sacrilegious to push back the blankets and sheets and slide under the cool covers. I burrow my face into the pillow, feeling calmer and safer already. Everything around me smells like Aya, from the leather of his coat to the shampoo scent on his pillow. I close my eyes and snuggle down deeper, trying to escape from the rest of the world and just sleep.
"Youji? Oh hell! He's gone! Aya!" Ken shouts loudly, startling me from a sound slumber. I rub at my bleary eyes and prop myself up painfully on one elbow, listening to the chaos down the hall.
"What do you mean?" Omi's voice is worried and exhausted.
Their footsteps go pounding down the stairs. I consider dragging myself down after them, letting them know I wasn't off on my own. I let the idea drop, much like my head does. I'm warm and comfortable for the first time in I don't know how long. I'm not ruining this for anything.
"All right. I hear you. We're going to have to look for him." I catch Aya growling angrily, stomping up the stairs. "Can I get my fucking coat first?" He whirls into the room, face terse, muttering all sorts of angry things under his breath.
"Fucking three in the morning. Won't ever get to sleep now. Fucking inconsiderate-" He's almost out the door before the delayed reaction sets in and he whirls around.
"Youji?" He drops down next to me. "What are you doing in here?"
I uneasily grin and let my eyes sink closed again. "Just getting some rest. I couldn't stay in the other room."
He snorts and throws the coat back on the chair, hurrying off to assuage Omi and Ken's concerns. Well, that went well. Maybe he'll let me stay, or switch bedrooms with me.
I expect Aya to return with the other two, but only he comes stomping back up the stairs and into the room.
"Do you need help back into your room then?" He asks brusquely.
I shake my head. "I can't stay in that room. I mean literally, I cannot stay in that room."
"Then where am I supposed to sleep?" He looks irked to say the least. How am I supposed to explain this?
"I don't know. I'm sorry! Do you want my room?" I grab fistfuls of the covers, hoping it won't come to some sort of struggle. I'm not going back. It's that simple.
"There is blood all over the mattress in your room. A lot of blood. Your blood. I don't want to sleep in your blood. That's your job." He hauls off the covers, prepared to do what I'd most hoped he wouldn't.
I shiver and try to hunch down. Not this, not someone dragging me off to a new hell. I close my eyes, drawing back when I feel rather than see the arm coming at me, unable to stop the flinch.
No contact is made. When I finally venture to crack one eye open, Aya has hunkered down next to me, not looking my way. I let out my breath and snatch up the blankets, hugging them to my chest as partial armor.
"Why not?" He asks, turning in my direction, but not looking at me.
"You wouldn't understand even if I could explain it. I can't stay in there. I'm sorry. Do you want me to stay downstairs? I could do that." I eagerly look for a way to make this all blow over and stop.
"No." He shakes his head, tugging on his newly replaced earring pensively. "You're in no shape to stay on that piece of shit sofa we bought." The phrase seems out of place in his mouth, Aya rarely stoops to slangish profanity, but I understand the sentiment behind it.
I start to fidget with my newly cleaned hair, twisting the strands between my fingertips. "What then?"
He heaves a sigh. "I suppose I can sleep on your bed; I'll just get a new set of sheets and try to cope with it, if worse comes to worst, I could sleep downstairs." He looks more than a little unhappy with this idea.
I twist my hair some more. "There's room for two." I finally squeak out, immediately hating how pathetic I sound. It's not like I NEED someone to be around in case I wake up with another nightmare. It's not like I need someone to be around to protect me from my own thoughts.
Aya sighs deeply, obviously NOT considering the idea, before surprising me by replying, "I could give it a try." He almost smiles at my shocked look. "I bought this mattress for ME for a reason," by way of explanation.
I don't blame him actually. It is comfortable. And he's staying, so it's not a problem. I'm not putting anyone out of his room, and I don't have to go back in mine. Mission accomplished, I guess.
"Do want something to drink?" He looks around, trying to find something to do.
"Maybe." I shrug, still gripping the covers tightly, almost convinced he's playing some sort of trick on me. The trust is gone.
He clomps back downstairs, heavy footsteps echoing up and down the hallway, fully telegraphing his buried resentment. Moments later he returns with a glass of iced tap water, handing it over carefully.
Aya kicks off his boots, taking one more glance at the time on his alarm clock. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed, trying not to jostle me. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his reaction. I don't know if it really would be better for me to just sleep outside his door on the hallway floor. At times I'd rather face my own thoughts than Aya's wrath.
I snort as Aya removes his long sleeved sweater, grasping it first under the arms and than pulling it up over his head revealing a smooth expanse of pale back.
He gives me one of those black looks when he catches me staring blankly and goes about setting the many layers of blankets and sheets nice and straight and symmetrical again. Obsess much? How like him. Scary but true.
Now that everything once again meets his requirements for neatness, apparently that means he's now allowed to get into bed. Looks like he needs the sleep too. The exhausted lines of his face are more apparent in the soft lighting than they should be.
When he flicks the light switch I have to physically bite back a cry. Eh, not liking this at all. He moves in the dark, socked feet whispering against the bare wooden flooring. His weight dips down the edge of the mattress again, pausing.
His feet, when they accidentally brush against mine, are bare. He automatically jerks back, arranging himself so that he has the prerequisite two feet between us, not impossible on this large of a bed. Well, mattress, not bed. You need box springs and at least a frame to make it a real bed.
"How did you get hold of this house so quickly? Why did you buy only mattresses? Why not a whole bed?" My words sound too loud in the dark. Judging by Aya's growl, he thinks so as well.
"With our kind of money, housing is not an issue." He states flatly. "We shouldn't be here longer than it takes for you to heal, why bother buying an entire bed. It's just that much more money and hassle."
I start to chew on a strand of my hair, catching myself as soon as I notice what I'm doing. A bad childhood habit. My eyes feel like sandpaper. They always do. Even shutting them brings on more pain, not to mention blackness, inescapable.
"Why do we bother?"
Aya sounds puzzled. "What?"
"Why do we bother with any of this? Whatever happens, whatever we do, it always comes out to the same end, it's always a hopeless pointless endeavor. Don't you get tired of it all?"
"This is my life now. This is what I am good at. Seeing it as nothing but bleakness just depends on your personal point of view." He tone implies that it's my turn to be quiet so he can sleep.
I can't let the idea go. I did just recently spend a hell of a lot more time thinking than I wanted to. Do I not even have a purpose in life any longer but to end the lives of others? How does that make me any better than Stone-face? Just because I don't personally sit around and ruin someone's life, I still kill people important to them, leaving a big hole in their lives.
"Aya?" I roll over, half hoping he's still awake, half hoping he's not so I won't pester him and risk being kicked out.
"What?" Anger apparent in his voice, slicing through the dark.
"Never mind." I try not to sound as defeated as I feel. I never know when to stop. He's tired; I already saw that. What right do I have to even bother him? I'm taking up space in his bed, inconveniencing him.
The springs creak as he shifts his weight my way, the uncurtained window casting enough light to outline the perfect lines of his shoulders as he sits up. Shit. I've done it now.
He leans over me. "No never mind. Either I need to stay awake longer and answer questions, or you're going to be quiet and go to sleep. Make up your mind so I know what I'm supposed to do."
I sigh, bone tired, wanting to just leave the face of this planet. "Nothing. Just go to sleep. I'm sorry. I talk too much; you know that. I'll be quiet."
He gives me a few seconds to change my mind before lying back down, a bit closer this time.
I scrub at my eyes, stuck on the same thoughts again and again. I will be quiet though. He wants me to, and if I want to stay then I'll go along with that. Where else would I go? He could always drag me back to the horrendously white room they put me in and lock the door; leave me there until I really did go all the way insane.
"All I want is some good news, something that made what I went through worthwhile." I whisper, knowing I shouldn't, unable to stop myself. Self-control, something I should work on. No one wants to listen to my whining, least of all Aya, who's been nice enough to let me share the bed with him. "Tell me something good. Tell me something important."
"The girl in the hospital, Aya. She is my sister." He speaks so softly I almost don't hear the words.
I hold my breath and hope he'll keep talking, or if that's the only tidbit he'll throw to me, an attempt to shut me up.
"She's in a coma. There's a slight chance she'll wake up though. I fight in her honor, borrowing her name for this short while. I know I'm just staining it with blood, but when she wakes up..." His tone changes, hope evident in his voice. "When she wakes up to take her name back, when I can stop with this bloody charade, then everything will be as it should."
When he stops I venture a question. "What is your name?"
Silence. Shit. Have I stepped over my boundaries again. He never came out and said it, maybe that's something private, for only him to know. I start tugging on my hair, wondering if it will actually wind up detaching from my scalp from the vicious force.
"Ran." A name on a small puff of breath. "My name is Ran." The mattress shifts as he turns his back to me and pulls the top blanket up higher.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I think that's as good a cutting off point as any for this chapter. More to come, of course! Yay! -claps hands- Okay, you know the drill! E-mail me! Or something! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com Woot woot! More to come, but only if you give me feedback.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Things return to usual. The familiarity is almost nice, the semi-regular schedule soothing in some ways. They show up, beat me, rape me, burn me, drown me, whip me; you know the routine. Then they leave for a set amount of hours for me to recover. Then they return and it begins again.
Breathing is usually the biggest effort I can make. They move me where they need me, they don't ask me anything, don't give me an option to stop the pain. I feel helpless, knowing that this is my new existence and I am powerless to end it, to even tolerate it.
My mind has separated itself, the core just safely tucked away. What remains is a blank, base being, completely bent towards stoic bearing of life, towards taking the pain and tolerating it. The remaining entity in me craves the pain, suffering in silence and playing the mourning martyr.
They leave me in handcuffs now. Lying on my back, because it makes them laugh when I can't keep the cries inside. My raw back bleeds, oozes. It's infected I think. A great deal of the wounds inflicted on me aren't healing correctly. It's making me physically ill. I'm still looking forward to the release of death. Nothing else to hope for.
The door is opening. It's early! This is wrong. Not supposed to happen. There is an established system. I turn my face into the arm stretched up and bolted to the headboard of the cot, trying to stifle the exhausted sobs for breath, for pain. This isn't supposed to happen. They don't show up for a few more hours. This is wrong.
"You're not supposed to be here." I whisper hoarsely, trying to hold onto even a semblance of normality, trying to will everything away. Nothing remains as it should. It's not supposed to be like this, counting only on myself again. Why did they have to go and change the schedule? Something has to stay the same.
Footsteps shuffle to my side, stopping by my head. I squeeze my eyes as tightly shut as they can be, anticipating the starting blow. Careful fingers undo the handcuffs, both of them. Knowing the routine, I hold my hands out side by side, trying to still the pained shaking, waiting for the cuffs to go back on.
"I don't want to put them back on you, moron." The voice sounds achingly familiar. I force my eyes open, making out the old remembered figure in the twilight.
"Aya?" I try to sit up, winding up doubled over in agony instead, my back burning, my sides a seething white-hot mass of pain. Hesitant hands rest on my shoulders, either not seeing the damage to my flesh in the darkness, or simply not caring.
"Uhn!" I twist away, bringing down more suffering upon myself. He crouches down next to me on the filthy bloody bedding, not touching, just watching. "I sure hope you made this all fucking worthwhile. You get enough money to keep you in katanas for a long while?" I snap at him bitterly, the old Youji attitude snapping up to defend me on this new front.
"What money?" He seems confused. I watch dispassionetly as he uneasily tugs at his now bare earlobe. It looks so odd, unbalanced without the familiar bar of gold.
"You sold me out. Does that make you feel better?" I try to shift away from him, unable to move on my own. The pain tears still streak down my face, the sobbing gone though, replaced with self-righteous anger. "I know you never liked me to begin with, but isn't this a little extreme even for you? Did they let you in so you could gloat?"
I gesture towards myself with great difficulty. "Well, here I am, feast your eyes for as long as you need. You hurt me more than they ever could, all of you." My voice breaks again with the admittance. I look down, waiting for him to lose his temper and take it out on me.
I can't help but flinch back as gentle cool fingers cup my face, violet eyes studying the bruise patterning in the low visibility gloom. I can't meet his eyes, can't let him see that he's won. I take deep shuddering breaths, trying to control myself. He broke the schedule; upset me. I can deal with it. I start to shut down the vital functions of my mind.
He pulls me into a careful embrace, pressing my face not ungently to his neck. I struggle, crying out in pain as every inch of my body screams for it to stop. He panics, letting go, apologizing profusely, an odd light in his eyes, hands hovering as if unsure whether or not to touch me again.
"I don't know what they told you, but I never sold you out, we never did. They found us through your work records, doing background research and putting two and two together. The shop, the house, it's all gone." He eyes are flat. He doesn't let go of the grip he has on my arm.
I shut mine, covering my expression with shaking hands. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have been trying to do your job. If I'd just minded my own business then you would have been there and you'd still have a home."
"It's not your fault-it was a-"
"Can you please kill me?" I interrupt, the sudden hope flaring anew in my chest.
"No! Why would-?" He's stunned by the proposal. I choke on the wave of disappointment. No rest for the weary. "We tracked you down to rescue you." He holds out a hand, "We have to leave now. There's no telling how many more men we can afford to kill to cover our escape before someone notices and sends a real army down here after us."
I ignore the proffered assistance and fall back, not even feeling the fresh tearing of battered flesh. "No. Kill me. End this. I'm not playing along." I painfully bare my neck, waiting for the final moments.
He roughly lifts me up in his arms, one under my knees, and one under my shoulders. It's time to give up. I've completely lost. I don't know who to believe. I muffle the gasp of pain against his shoulder. Don't touch my back; I plead silently.
"Wait." I struggle to free myself. Somehow I manage to break free, painfully thudding down on my knees. Unheedful of discomfort or the vulnerable line of my back I'm leaving wide open, I frantically prod under the bedraggled mattress, weak hands trying to push aside the heavy mattress.
Triumphantly I fish out the object. I clench it once more in my fist before spreading my palm out, burnished gold catching the faint light from the hallway.
Aya kneels next to me. "My earring!" He plucks it from my hand, pocketing it. "When we finally got to safety, the building was burnt down, it wasn't in my ear anymore." He clasps my grimy hand between his two unblemished ones. I wonder if he's grateful or trying to make up a pathetic excuse for how I have it in my possession. Who cares?
Embarrassed and still more than a tad unsettled I attempt to return to being plain old Youji, pushing him away and clambering to my feet, swaying but still upright. He catches my elbow, helping to steady me, willing to play human crutch.
Ken and Omi wait in the corridor, gasping at my appearance. Aya stops to examine me in the improved lighting. Reeling, I grasp onto his sleeve, unable to hide the dizziness.
"Youji?" Omi all but tiptoes forward, afraid to touch me; afraid I'll break. Maybe I will. "Oh, gods! We couldn't go back for you! They were after us, and when we cleared things away, you were gone." His eyes are actually filled with tears. I really must look scarier than fuck.
Ken hesitantly grabs onto my wrist, the only uninjured spot he can find. "I'm sorry!" He whispers, shamefaced. Only Aya doesn't go all gushy and guilty on me. He knows I deserve this somehow. I shouldn't have pried into his business; if I hadn't, this never would have happened. I start up my newly altered self-depreciating refrain.
We try walking a few steps, but I'm not doing so well, and in the end, Aya just hoists me up again, ignoring my grimacing and yelps of pain. Deciding to make the best of things, knowing I can end it all quite soon if things progress as I hope, I loop my aching arms around his neck and try to keep from making him struggle with my full weight. There is no penance left to pay. I give up.
I don't know how we manage but somehow or another we don't come across a single living soul. We pass by a few dead bodies, previous work of my teammates, but nothing more. I feel like sobbing with relief as the fresh outside air hits me, free at last. I loose consciousness on the ride home, curled up against the window, still hoping to deny my existence.
My eyes open again to an unfamiliar bathroom, overdone and far more luxurious than the one I'm used to. Ken's running a bathtub full of water. Aya helps me collapse against the counter, letting me lean against him while I try to readjust to my surroundings, to my own body.
"Where are we?" I mumble groggily against his shoulder.
"We rented a place. We have more than enough money to keep us going for several lifetimes." Ken looks up, blowing hair out of his eyes. "We'll stay here until you heal up enough to go country hopping, set up a new shop or residence somewhere."
I shrug, unconcerned with the reasons for any of this.
"I'm sorry, this is going to hurt a lot, but we need to get you cleaned off, I don't think we have enough rags to get all the grime off." Ken apologetically smiles, completely unaware of any of my inner turmoil.
How can I be that filthy? I spent a hell of a lot of time in water; I've got the fever to prove how well it helped the cold set into my body. A bath? I'm NOT getting anywhere near liquid again, not even a damned cup of it.
"I don't want to be clean." I try to keep my voice steady, concentrate on single things through the haze around my mind, muffling my thoughts.
"You don't have a choice." Aya tells me, flat out. "Your back is infected, I'm assuming more of you has suffered permanent damage as well, and this is the only way to efficiently remove several layers of who knows what before even attempting to patch things up." He gestures towards the stiff and filthy pants clinging to my skin. Those are going to hurt coming off, dried to any number of stiff wounds as they are.
"I won't get in that water." I grab a fistful of his coat lapels, trying to make him see in my eyes how against this I am, trying to spare what little pride and dignity I have left for a time when I might need them even more.
Aya shrugs, the age-old "yes dear, whatever you say" expression of vacancy and inattentiveness on his face. He doesn't care. I won't lower myself to pleading with Omi or Ken. Those two at least still maintain some belief that I'm close to being sane, unlike Aya. They can't do this; I'll fight with all I have.
Panic starts to set in as Aya shucks his coat, leaving to toss it out in the hallway. I curve in on myself, flashes of memories going through my mind. Unable to breath, the icy murky water above my head, around me, muffling my movements.
"Can't I take a shower!?" I gasp out, knowing I can't do this.
"You've deluded yourself into thinking you can stay upright that long?"
I try to stand on my own to prove that I can. I almost pitch head first into the counter before his arms steady me. "You can't get up without falling over."
I close my eyes, shuddering. "Aya. I can't do it, please!" The closest I've ever come to begging in my entire life. He can't do this, he's not them, he can't do this, can't hurt me like this. Why didn't he kill me? I don't want to be pathetic. I want to be dead. What's the point of living broken and useless.
The tub fills, the water within gently steaming. I watch in horror as Ken runs to get a towel, refusing to meet my eyes still. He's on some sort of guilt trip alright, but still willing to help Aya with this new torture.
"Do you want me to take care of all this?" Aya asks the brunette when he returns, flushed and nervous. I can see by the almost desperate relief in his brown eyes, that Ken too is abandoning me as well. Ken looks, apologizing profusely for more things not his fault before escaping from the room, closing the door behind the rush of cool air he lets in, swirling through the mist of water in the air.
Aya manages to peel the blood caked denim off my legs with a great deal of effort on his part. Even if I can't stop him, I can at least have the satisfaction of defying by refusing to helping.
He drags me towards the tub, overpowering my meager resistance.
"You can't do this!" I latch onto his arm, ignoring the pain, ignoring my vulnerable nakedness. I can't do this. I'll die. My eyes ache with the remembered pressure, cold in my nose, my mouth, filling my lugs, choking me.
"Aya please don't do this. I'm sorry about following you, I'm sorry I fucked up. Don't do this! I'm sorry! Whatever I did wrong, I won't do it again. Please!" Gods, I feel the urge to start bawling like a baby come on, and I'm helpless to stop. Shuddering deep breaths, it's okay, they can only hurt you, fear is only soul deep.
He tries to make me step into the tub; I grab hold of him, tumbling him down into the octagonal bathtub with me. I can't breath, his weight crushing the air out of me, aggravating new and old pains, pushing me under. No!
My arms thrash wildly against the air, the water, anything, trying to find a handhold. He hauls me up, coughing himself, hair plastered to his head, absolute rage beaming out of his eyes.
"Sorry, sorry!" I gasp out clinging to him for support, to prove to myself that I can sit in the water, that I'm not going to die. My face burrows into the space between his neck and shoulder without my consent, gasping sobs filling the air. I hold on for life, arms locked around his neck.
In return, his wrap around me, holding me. I give up, going limp against his body, not caring about the rough fabric of his soaking clothes against my raw skin, the water around me, just concentrating on the fact that he's not asking me anything, not hurting me, gloating over my fear. I give up and just try to accept that even though it's finally over, it really won't ever be.
---
"Youji?" The hesitant whisper makes me look up from Aya's careful ministrations. Omi's back in the doorway with his good old tray. Some things never change. I like that in an existence. Stability. He smiles tentatively again. "I thought you might be hungry when this is all through."
He sets the take-out down near the mattress and creeps out of the room, leaving Aya to continue to pick up the pieces. He returns to smoothing some sort of medicinal crème over one of the worst burns on my torso. I let out a slow breath as some of the heat fades.
He finishes up with my front before moving onto my legs, taking care of any fixable breaks in the skin, or smoothing numbing solvents onto bruises large enough to warrant attention. We use up almost an entire tube on my ribs before they eased enough to let me breath semi-freely, he assures me that this time they really are broken.
He saves my back for last, having to slice open the infected, inflamed flesh to drain the wounds before smothering them with enough anti-bacterial cream to fill up a bathtub. Why don't I just bathe in the foul smelling goop? I muffle my grunts of pain against a fistful of bedcovers.
I wonder how much blood I'll get on the blankets I've been allotted before it's all over. A hell of a lot more if Aya isn't a little more careful. I close my eyes, somehow managing to drop off into a cloudy slumber in the midst of having my back spliced and diced and everything niced.
I wake from a dream about drowning, smothering in red water, in my own blood. Stone-face smiling at me, fire behind him, feeding off of the light. His hands tangled in my hair, pushing me back under. My legs unable to push against the quickly solidifying mass.
I kick the blanket off, shivering in the cold air. Everything is silent, deathly so. I peer around the room in the evening gloom. The room is empty. The brand new mattress is on the floor; a lamp rests on the floor next to me, off, of course. Clicking it on, I scowl at the blank white walls, hating the pale color and the memories it brings on. What will it be like, to now forever associate white with evil and pain?
Wrapping my arms around myself I look around for something to cover my nakedness. Considering the way I look right now, wandering around with nothing on at all is an atrocious thought. A pair of dark blue, cotton pants are at the foot of the mattress. Neatly folded. Left by Aya, I assume.
It takes a lot more pain and effort, but I get the loose pants on, having to actually hold up the waist to keep it from falling down off my bony hips. Too long without eating. Omi's tray is gone, as is the food originally on it.
I consider how much it would take to get myself down stairs to look around for food. My stomach growls, letting me know how much it would appreciate that effort. I look around for something to light the way in this unfamiliar building, or even a weapon. It's too quiet.
For all of my current unease, I'm feeling a hell of a lot better after my long rest. The thoughts of suicide have currently resigned from the positions they held in the committee of my mind. I don't' know how long I've been sleeping, but it's been long enough for the painkillers and the various other drugs Aya woke me up to make me swallow to have kicked in.
I finally find the scissors from the disbanded first aide kit. I hold them before me like a dagger as I silently push open the bedroom door, peering up and down the dark hallway. My hand searches out the light switch, quickly finding it to my relief.
Pale yellow light floods the wood paneled corridor, shut doors here and there along it. I swallow and slowly head for the end not stopped by a wall. Stairs down. Everything below is pitch dark. I freeze. What if he's down there? What if they're down there, waiting for me? I can almost see shifting forms in the blackness.
My stomach growls again. I strengthen my resolve. Nothing has changed. I own the dark. I am an assassin of the night. I have nothing to fear. I grip the scissors more tightly in my sweating palm, ready to drive forward. I pad down the wooden stairs, feet unsteady.
My free hand grips the smooth wooden rail, gliding down without a hitch. My eyes dart around again, searching out any threats. Nothing moves, no sound anywhere. I swallow and run my hands along the walls in search of a way to illuminate the situation. My palms make a horrendous rasping noise along the textured wallpaper. I suck in harsh breaths, trying to keep calm.
My fingers brush against hair. Oh fuck! NO! Pushing me down, knocking me down, smothering me. I kick back. Panting, terrified. Lifeless, it's just a coat. A parka with a fur lined hood. Omi's. Oh hell. I cover my face with shaky hands, breathing harshly. I thought it was a person, I thought it was a body. Oh hell.
I slowly pull myself to my feet against the wall, feeling along the wall more, cursing when I bump into furniture. I finally find the plastic switch. I flick it up, nothing happens. My mind starts jumping to conclusions and screaming nonsense.
Ping. Ping. The florescent lights flicker on, delayed. I cover my mouth and lean against the wall, shaking from exertion. Oh bloody hell. I take in the sparse furniture in the bare living room. A brand new television is set up under a curtained bay window. I look around for the room leading for the kitchen. My grip on the scissors doesn't ease in the least.
I fumble for the switch in the kitchen, my toes curling on the icy tile. The kitchen is more modern, puts off a homier, more lived in air. There's a big note pinned to the fridge.
"Hey, Youji!
I don't know if you'll see this note. If you're reading this, Youji, then you should get your butt back to bed. ^_^ I put your food in the fridge when it became apparent you weren't going to wake up. Hope you're doing all right. We went out to get some food and more medical supplies for you. Eat plenty and get lots of rest. ^_-
-Omi"
I smile. How Omi like. Cheerful. I take one more suspicious look around before pulling the fridge open, leaving the note where it is. Sure enough. There's a big bag of greasy hamburger and fries with those familiar golden arches all over. I swear, I could be trapped in the center of the earth and I'd still see one of those restaurants.
I make my ungainly way over to the microwave, just popping the whole paper bag in for a few minutes, smiling at the steam coming off it when I take it back out. Leaving the lights on, knowing that someone will pop out at me the second it's dark again, I tread back up the smooth stairs.
I peer in my room, looking at the blazingly white walls, the shadowy poorly lit corners. I look down towards the darker end of the hallway. Taking a deep breath, bag still in hand, I go to briefly explore the rest of this rented house.
The first door I open off of the upstairs hallway leads to the horrid bathroom. I quickly shut the door, thinking that if I look away for only a moment the enormous whirlpool tub will be full of bloody water and Stone-face will be behind me.
The next door across the hall is obviously Omi's room. Computer technology litters the floor, but the bed is neatly made and the clothes are resting in neat folded piles against the wall. Next door down is Ken's. I doubt I could even walk across the floor. I don't know how he managed to completely obliterate such a large room in such a short time, but I never would have put him past it.
This leaves one more room; I'm assuming it is Aya's. What else could it be? Again repressing the feeling that I'm invading his privacy yet again, I flick the switch and look around. It's almost as bare as the living room. A made up mattress on the floor, just like all the others, a stuffed chair with a coat slung over it, and a neat pile of clothing. That's all.
I rub at my eyes and look back down the hall at the bright light still emitting from my open doorway. I look back at the dim, soothing luminescence from Aya's room. No contest. I shuffle into his room, perching on the end of the mattress to wolf down as much of the food as I can, glad to have found a place to settle before my wobbly legs gave out on me.
It feels beyond sacrilegious to push back the blankets and sheets and slide under the cool covers. I burrow my face into the pillow, feeling calmer and safer already. Everything around me smells like Aya, from the leather of his coat to the shampoo scent on his pillow. I close my eyes and snuggle down deeper, trying to escape from the rest of the world and just sleep.
"Youji? Oh hell! He's gone! Aya!" Ken shouts loudly, startling me from a sound slumber. I rub at my bleary eyes and prop myself up painfully on one elbow, listening to the chaos down the hall.
"What do you mean?" Omi's voice is worried and exhausted.
Their footsteps go pounding down the stairs. I consider dragging myself down after them, letting them know I wasn't off on my own. I let the idea drop, much like my head does. I'm warm and comfortable for the first time in I don't know how long. I'm not ruining this for anything.
"All right. I hear you. We're going to have to look for him." I catch Aya growling angrily, stomping up the stairs. "Can I get my fucking coat first?" He whirls into the room, face terse, muttering all sorts of angry things under his breath.
"Fucking three in the morning. Won't ever get to sleep now. Fucking inconsiderate-" He's almost out the door before the delayed reaction sets in and he whirls around.
"Youji?" He drops down next to me. "What are you doing in here?"
I uneasily grin and let my eyes sink closed again. "Just getting some rest. I couldn't stay in the other room."
He snorts and throws the coat back on the chair, hurrying off to assuage Omi and Ken's concerns. Well, that went well. Maybe he'll let me stay, or switch bedrooms with me.
I expect Aya to return with the other two, but only he comes stomping back up the stairs and into the room.
"Do you need help back into your room then?" He asks brusquely.
I shake my head. "I can't stay in that room. I mean literally, I cannot stay in that room."
"Then where am I supposed to sleep?" He looks irked to say the least. How am I supposed to explain this?
"I don't know. I'm sorry! Do you want my room?" I grab fistfuls of the covers, hoping it won't come to some sort of struggle. I'm not going back. It's that simple.
"There is blood all over the mattress in your room. A lot of blood. Your blood. I don't want to sleep in your blood. That's your job." He hauls off the covers, prepared to do what I'd most hoped he wouldn't.
I shiver and try to hunch down. Not this, not someone dragging me off to a new hell. I close my eyes, drawing back when I feel rather than see the arm coming at me, unable to stop the flinch.
No contact is made. When I finally venture to crack one eye open, Aya has hunkered down next to me, not looking my way. I let out my breath and snatch up the blankets, hugging them to my chest as partial armor.
"Why not?" He asks, turning in my direction, but not looking at me.
"You wouldn't understand even if I could explain it. I can't stay in there. I'm sorry. Do you want me to stay downstairs? I could do that." I eagerly look for a way to make this all blow over and stop.
"No." He shakes his head, tugging on his newly replaced earring pensively. "You're in no shape to stay on that piece of shit sofa we bought." The phrase seems out of place in his mouth, Aya rarely stoops to slangish profanity, but I understand the sentiment behind it.
I start to fidget with my newly cleaned hair, twisting the strands between my fingertips. "What then?"
He heaves a sigh. "I suppose I can sleep on your bed; I'll just get a new set of sheets and try to cope with it, if worse comes to worst, I could sleep downstairs." He looks more than a little unhappy with this idea.
I twist my hair some more. "There's room for two." I finally squeak out, immediately hating how pathetic I sound. It's not like I NEED someone to be around in case I wake up with another nightmare. It's not like I need someone to be around to protect me from my own thoughts.
Aya sighs deeply, obviously NOT considering the idea, before surprising me by replying, "I could give it a try." He almost smiles at my shocked look. "I bought this mattress for ME for a reason," by way of explanation.
I don't blame him actually. It is comfortable. And he's staying, so it's not a problem. I'm not putting anyone out of his room, and I don't have to go back in mine. Mission accomplished, I guess.
"Do want something to drink?" He looks around, trying to find something to do.
"Maybe." I shrug, still gripping the covers tightly, almost convinced he's playing some sort of trick on me. The trust is gone.
He clomps back downstairs, heavy footsteps echoing up and down the hallway, fully telegraphing his buried resentment. Moments later he returns with a glass of iced tap water, handing it over carefully.
Aya kicks off his boots, taking one more glance at the time on his alarm clock. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed, trying not to jostle me. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge his reaction. I don't know if it really would be better for me to just sleep outside his door on the hallway floor. At times I'd rather face my own thoughts than Aya's wrath.
I snort as Aya removes his long sleeved sweater, grasping it first under the arms and than pulling it up over his head revealing a smooth expanse of pale back.
He gives me one of those black looks when he catches me staring blankly and goes about setting the many layers of blankets and sheets nice and straight and symmetrical again. Obsess much? How like him. Scary but true.
Now that everything once again meets his requirements for neatness, apparently that means he's now allowed to get into bed. Looks like he needs the sleep too. The exhausted lines of his face are more apparent in the soft lighting than they should be.
When he flicks the light switch I have to physically bite back a cry. Eh, not liking this at all. He moves in the dark, socked feet whispering against the bare wooden flooring. His weight dips down the edge of the mattress again, pausing.
His feet, when they accidentally brush against mine, are bare. He automatically jerks back, arranging himself so that he has the prerequisite two feet between us, not impossible on this large of a bed. Well, mattress, not bed. You need box springs and at least a frame to make it a real bed.
"How did you get hold of this house so quickly? Why did you buy only mattresses? Why not a whole bed?" My words sound too loud in the dark. Judging by Aya's growl, he thinks so as well.
"With our kind of money, housing is not an issue." He states flatly. "We shouldn't be here longer than it takes for you to heal, why bother buying an entire bed. It's just that much more money and hassle."
I start to chew on a strand of my hair, catching myself as soon as I notice what I'm doing. A bad childhood habit. My eyes feel like sandpaper. They always do. Even shutting them brings on more pain, not to mention blackness, inescapable.
"Why do we bother?"
Aya sounds puzzled. "What?"
"Why do we bother with any of this? Whatever happens, whatever we do, it always comes out to the same end, it's always a hopeless pointless endeavor. Don't you get tired of it all?"
"This is my life now. This is what I am good at. Seeing it as nothing but bleakness just depends on your personal point of view." He tone implies that it's my turn to be quiet so he can sleep.
I can't let the idea go. I did just recently spend a hell of a lot more time thinking than I wanted to. Do I not even have a purpose in life any longer but to end the lives of others? How does that make me any better than Stone-face? Just because I don't personally sit around and ruin someone's life, I still kill people important to them, leaving a big hole in their lives.
"Aya?" I roll over, half hoping he's still awake, half hoping he's not so I won't pester him and risk being kicked out.
"What?" Anger apparent in his voice, slicing through the dark.
"Never mind." I try not to sound as defeated as I feel. I never know when to stop. He's tired; I already saw that. What right do I have to even bother him? I'm taking up space in his bed, inconveniencing him.
The springs creak as he shifts his weight my way, the uncurtained window casting enough light to outline the perfect lines of his shoulders as he sits up. Shit. I've done it now.
He leans over me. "No never mind. Either I need to stay awake longer and answer questions, or you're going to be quiet and go to sleep. Make up your mind so I know what I'm supposed to do."
I sigh, bone tired, wanting to just leave the face of this planet. "Nothing. Just go to sleep. I'm sorry. I talk too much; you know that. I'll be quiet."
He gives me a few seconds to change my mind before lying back down, a bit closer this time.
I scrub at my eyes, stuck on the same thoughts again and again. I will be quiet though. He wants me to, and if I want to stay then I'll go along with that. Where else would I go? He could always drag me back to the horrendously white room they put me in and lock the door; leave me there until I really did go all the way insane.
"All I want is some good news, something that made what I went through worthwhile." I whisper, knowing I shouldn't, unable to stop myself. Self-control, something I should work on. No one wants to listen to my whining, least of all Aya, who's been nice enough to let me share the bed with him. "Tell me something good. Tell me something important."
"The girl in the hospital, Aya. She is my sister." He speaks so softly I almost don't hear the words.
I hold my breath and hope he'll keep talking, or if that's the only tidbit he'll throw to me, an attempt to shut me up.
"She's in a coma. There's a slight chance she'll wake up though. I fight in her honor, borrowing her name for this short while. I know I'm just staining it with blood, but when she wakes up..." His tone changes, hope evident in his voice. "When she wakes up to take her name back, when I can stop with this bloody charade, then everything will be as it should."
When he stops I venture a question. "What is your name?"
Silence. Shit. Have I stepped over my boundaries again. He never came out and said it, maybe that's something private, for only him to know. I start tugging on my hair, wondering if it will actually wind up detaching from my scalp from the vicious force.
"Ran." A name on a small puff of breath. "My name is Ran." The mattress shifts as he turns his back to me and pulls the top blanket up higher.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I think that's as good a cutting off point as any for this chapter. More to come, of course! Yay! -claps hands- Okay, you know the drill! E-mail me! Or something! akainobaka@mchsi.com or darkhunter@ijustdontcare.com Woot woot! More to come, but only if you give me feedback.