Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the Bleach characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Reject
Prompt: My memory never fails me...
Not once had she taken pleasure in the madness. It was distracting, the way it seemed to linger in his eyes, ebbing away at her thoughts. What she cared about was the vessel that housed this insanity, that which she longed to pull from its perilous grasp. Even after allowing this affair to begin, she'd maintained control, carefully winding her way along the paper-thin trail that would lead her to the other side of that dark abyss.
There had never been any submission, simply enjoyment. Although, the signs associated with the two were sure to be misinterpreted in his mind, as most were. Which was why she had left no blind spots for him to slip into. No openings, and no reasons for him to think that he had all the control. When the flames seemed to light up in his head, she'd douse them immediately, determined not to let herself fall. It would be difficult, climbing this icy precipice, and there was no desire for her to lose her holding before reaching the top.
Domination, power, and a forced surrender, were all a part of the shockingly wicked games he played. In a sense, he was the god of that twisted realm, changing the labyrinth to fit his mood and the like, trapping those caught up inside. But she would have no part of it. She was every bit as stubborn as he, and warped tricks and twists would be useless against her fierce determination.
Upon having made up her mind, she'd remained quiet about the whole thing, choosing to let actions convey the message. And, when they had, there had been more than just shock in those mad eyes.
But despite her own strength, she couldn't stand the blatant disregard. If anything, he saw her as some kind of distraction. A way to get as far from the plague that was his own mind. Retsu didn't appreciate being used.
There was always some morning, every now and again, that he'd still be there. Quiet, brooding, waiting for her to wake. But there was never any guarantee that those mornings weren't a dream conjured up by the part of her that wanted him to change. Most of the time, she'd find herself alone. But she would endure it. Not for him, but for the sake of keeping herself strong. Complaints and submission were, in his eyes, a manifestation of weakness.
And weakness didn't suit her at all.
