kokoro(no)naka
the inside of our hearts
"This is sickening," she told him one day. Dark circles under her eyes, disheveled blond bangs falling to her face, she was a complete mess. That was what he could see with his eyes, but it wasn't merely on the outside; her heart was too, a vessel of turmoil. Still standing in front of him, she ran a hand through her already messy hair and laughed a hollow laugh. "This fate, this world, this life, this relation, this feeling, it's all sickening."
He kept his face stoic—or maybe he just didn't know what to feel and so the word stoic wouldn't exactly describe him, but he had no idea—as he casted his eyes down to her hunched figure. The only thing holding her up was her willingness to life, and even that was beginning to fail her. It was an almost pitiable state.
"I-I don't know anymore what to blame, who to blame, Len. I just… I just can't blame anything or anyone but me myself." Every single word escaping her mouth stabbed his heart slowly, painfully. She wasn't crying even when she should, her voice was not wavering even when it should, and that pained him so much. "I hate myself—why is it me? Why is it me who desperately loves you? Why can't it be anyone else? Why can't I love anyone else? Even when the fate decides us to be siblings, even when the fate decides me to love you, I can't go against that cruel fate. I should be able to, I must be able to, but I—"
She placed her hand on his cheek. She caressed it gently. He put his hand on hers. He clasped it inside of his. He certainly couldn't blame his sister, but he didn't know who or what to blame, either. He wanted to end her suffering, he knew it was something he couldn't do by himself. He was as helpless as her, if not more helpless.
"I've decided that I've had enough of this."
Her words rang in his ears.
"I know that I shouldn't bring anyone along into this matter, but for me, for one last time, would you do me a favor, brother?"
What came next was a bullet train, passing through the bridge in a blink of an eye.
"I don't want to be a bother even for one last time, so I'll make it quick, I'll make it seem to be an accident. That way I won't become a burden to anyone, be it father or mother. I'll leave in peace."
With his feet rooted to the ground, it hit him.
"It's gonna be a secret between the two of us."
She lifted a pinky, raising it to his eye level.
"This will be the last secret we'll share together."
She laughed. It was a genuine laugh coming out from her chapped lips.
"Promise?"
But he found himself unable to say a word.
And people came, with black suites and black dresses. They came and went away from his sight slowly, until he lost count of them. What didn't slip his attention was the solemn look in everyone's face, deeply regretting the fatal accident that took the girl's life away.
It was such an unfortunate day, unfortunate weather, unfortunate event that happened on the railroad. The girl had lost her footing on the slippery road and fell to the railroad right before a train rammed through, according to the witnesses. Blood splattering all over the place, it was a horrible accident no one had ever thought would happen to their dearest one.
His mother was crying. The thought of losing her daughter so soon never crossed her mind. While his father was keeping his emotions deep in, hints of sadness was all over his aging face. It was such a huge loss for both parents.
Some female students clad in their uniforms were also there. Their faces were familiar to him, perhaps he had seen them before—no, he surely had seen them before. Crying in a hushed voice, they were trying to comfort each other by holding each other's hands. It seemed to be hard for them as well to get over the fact that their dear friend had left them so sudden in an accident.
Accident.
It was what it was officially recognized as; an accident. It was one time when even the witnesses didn't witness the actual thing happening in front of their very own eyes because it was not an accident that took Kagamine Rin's life away. But then, what happened was a secret between the two of them, nobody but the two of them should know.
As she was no more, now it was a secret only he knew.
He knew she was trying to lessen their—their parent's—burden by doing that. A suicide case was harder to deal with, especially by closer people, as they would try to find out what had driven her into doing that. Then they would lament on how they wish they had been able to prevent it from happening. Such matters wouldn't matter if it was an accident because it was an accident, no one would have known it before and therefore, they would not have to carry that burden.
But he knew.
He knew and he didn't do anything to stop it from happening.
"Do you love me, dear brother?" with a soft whispery voice, almost seducing, she breathed into his ear. He could feel her warm breath tickling, the proximity of her lips sent a tingling sensation all over him.
He closed his eyes. Even without having to see, he could feel her all over him as their body touched. Fingers interlocking, he could feel the rough surface of her palm as she told him the things she had went through. It was a subtle hint not even uttered through words, but he knew just from that touch; her palms used to be much smoother before.
They savor each others' taste, going deeper and deeper until that distance was no more between the two of them. Fingers touching, breaths racing, moans resounding, body trembling, it was a heated night which could go on and on until the moon was gone.
"I love you."
Her warmth was no more. With eyes wide, she pulled her hands away from him and she choked. Small whimpers escaped her mouth as she cried, droplets of tears rolling down her flushed cheeks, her trembling voice broke through the silent night.
"Why?" she questioned between chokes.
Her words didn't get further than that, like what it always be. What went on was the sound of her heartbreaking sobs. Her figure seemed frail, seemed to have shrunk with her despair. She was almost a someone different with the one who sang a harmonious melody to him, although she was as real as she was; he knew that better. Even when her words never get further than that, he knew much more. Just how much she detested the situation, just how much she actually wanted to escape, just how much she couldn't escape, just how much she loathed her helplessness—he knew it all. Being trapped in an endless cycle of love and hate and lust and disgust, he knew just how much she was broken.
"I'm pathetic," she breathed out, "I'm pathetic; you know that."
She wrapped her clammy fingers on herself as an attempt to comfort herself. Alas, there was no such comfort. An icky feeling was in its place, sending an unpleasant feeling all across her body, making her shiver. Head hung low, dull blond locks curtaining her face, she was exactly what she said. With her cries unsubdued, time dragged far slower, engulfing them in its forceful grasp. If only the time could go faster, they could escape from its torture—but of course they couldn't. Slowly and painfully being killed inside, he couldn't guess how long it would last.
How long would they last?
It had never been her suffering, her misery, her pain. It had never been hers alone—it was his, it had always been his suffering, his misery, his pain, even from the time it started. She was never alone in that hardship; he was just as pathetic as her. He knew exactly what that feeling was, and he knew it terribly well that he should not be feeling that way, but he—
"I'm here."
—loved her.
"I'm here for you, Rin."
As he whispered those words into her ear, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her fragile figure so that he wouldn't lose her. She was wailing; he could feel her trembling, he could feel her shaking, he could feel her pain as they hold close, but nothing could really stop it. Even after her cries died down, the pain still lasted.
He knew he wouldn't be able to do anything.
He felt numb.
She was gone. She was gone. And yet he didn't shed even a single tear. He knew he should be feeling something about her demise, let it be sadness, let it be grief, let it be loneliness, anything. For once, he actually wanted to be hurt just for the sake of being able to feel, but he didn't. He couldn't. Why couldn't he? With his body intact, with his heart beating, with his mind alive, he was a full-fledged human being no different with some other ones who loved and hated each other, some other ones who feel.
Unlike her, he was still breathing.
If there was anything he was feeling, it was an emptiness; as if he had died together with her, as if he wasn't alive. Maybe he wasn't even alive from the beginning, maybe it was her presence that gave him a life. They had been together as long as he could remember, after all, it made a perfect sense that he simply didn't live without her.
He loved her.
So why did he let her go?
He didn't understand a thing. Who should he love? Who should he protect? Who should he save? What should he save her from? He couldn't save her. How could he save her? He knew that there was no way he could save her; the world had made them its enemy, there was no way he could stand against the world.
They had to go against the world just because they loved each other.
Maybe she would laugh it off. "This world isn't made for us."
He closed his eyes as he felt the chilly breeze flew through, blowing his coat, prickling his skin. His breath was shaky, even though he didn't know why. Under his hand was the railing's cold surface—he wondered if her hand was this cold by now, if he could just hold it.
The world sparkled under his feet, so beautiful yet so awful. Maybe that was right, this world wasn't made for them.
He loved her. He loved her from the center of his heart. He loved her, so much. He was, after all, nothing without her. Nothing. Nothing mattered anymore; he wanted her, he yearned her, he longed for her, he loved her.
So he plunged to her side.
"Have you ever wondered why the phrase 'the inside of our hearts' is read as 'lovers' suicide'?"