Author's Note: Too many chapters means update very little. Oneshot it is, then. I think I'll give up the other ones. LAZY ME. Do not own Soul Eater, except for the plot line. Don't forget to watch me on deviantART under the same name. If you search up da-narwhal, it'll lead you to me. Hopefully. WATCH MEEEE!
Pairing: SoMa
Perspective: Second Person
Angst/Fluff level: You tell me. There will be no heavy kissing, because I think that sometimes ruins the whole darn story.
Goal: for reader to feel sad. Very sad.
Rating: K+, or maybe T.
Setting: Nighttime. Yes, this is one of those Maka-had-a-dream stories, but really, those are the best ones.
Warning: May contain spoilers, if you haven't watched up to a certain episode yet. Also, over-use of lines. Haters gotta hate. So NO HATERS PLEEAASEEE.
Summary: Everything is always her fault, and it always will be, despite what anyone tells her, despite what Soul tells her. She knows that emotions can kill a person from the inside out, yet she locks them in her heart, away from anyone it can harm.
One more note: The poem doesn't play a large part in the story. I just put it there because it was so gorgeous (sarcasm, sarcasm). The italics are either Maka's thoughts, one of her dreams, or her memories. I'm sure you can tell. I tried to make it pretty obvious, and I added lines. THEY'RE SO HIDEOUSSSS. The bold is Soul's voice as a weapon. Excuse the spelling/ grammar mistakes. I typed most of this up on my phone, and the keyboard is hard to control, what with all the autocorrect and such.
Blood splattered across the ground
Ten thousand words without sound.
Red against green; opposites
One scared out of their wits.
Follow the road that leads astray
Give me your soul to take away.
~Memories~
"Shut up! Shut up!" Once again, she awakes from the nightmare with a bloodcurdling scream, her skin gleaming with a soft sheen of sweat and mingled tears. Her limbs are entangled within the sheets, and Maka struggled to untangle them, hurriedly wiping the corner of her eyes. Her throat feels dryer than sandpaper.
I hope I don't wake up Soul, she muses. He's a deep enough sleeper anyways. It's the weekend, and he deserves to sleep in. Gingerly, she touches the sore side of her neck.
"You're ugly and useless and you hurt everyone around you," the voice hisses in her head, weaving around her mind like a winding snake. Maka can almost hear a tiny little smile growing on its evil nonexistant face as it whispers depressing messages into her head. "Especially Soul, your own partner, your weapon, the one you-"
Crona was rushing at them- twenty feet, ten feet, five feet- what could she do, the doors were locked-
-and every time she swung her weapon at that genderless, crazed being, Soul was hurt-
-she couldn't hurt him, she'd hurt him enough-
-Maka, hurry up and block!-
-no, Soul, I can't-
-and then the whirring sound of Ragnarock slicing the air-
-suddenly Soul stood in front of her, arms outstretched to protect his beloved meister- and he fell into her arms, his blood splaying the air with droplets of red liquid- Maka!-
-I can't do anything, Soul, I'm so sorry…
I'm a horrible meister.
"Shut up," she snarls back. To a clueless watcher, she appears to be conversing with herself in her room, quite rudely, in fact; seeing visions and all that crazy stuff.
But only Maka can hear the voice that is her own conscience, constantly replaying her worst moments, reminding her of how horrible a person she truly is.
It's been haunting her ever since the "Incident", where Soul got his scar and Maka discovered the essence of Black Blood. Maybe some of the madness got into her system, too, and maybe she's being affected by it.
Sometimes, it feels as if she is taunting herself, using the tactic of harsh blows by words to weaken her self-confidence. She blames herself more than anything, for all the pain that she's caused.
Am I a failure?
Throwing a robe over her skinny shoulders, she stands up and contemplates what she's about to do.
I'm going to get rid of myself, my feelings, and my guilt.
Sometimes, the pain boils up inside of her, so intense that Maka can barely stand still. She feels like a volcano, ready to erupt in anger at any second, or any word that annoys her without meaning to. Her stomach seems to roll inside her; her throat tight and constricted.
And when her feelings burst out of her, instead of crying, she grabs the nearest book and slams it into the head of the nearest possible person without being rude. In that case, most of the time, Soul is by her side, and is often the victim of her infamous Maka-chops.
He complains about her, so she sinks even lower into the pits of depression.
What am I worth?
His crimson eyes mix with her deep green ones, their agony lost in the whirl of pain and confusion. Maka shifts slightly, blinking, and holds her scythe-blade out in front of her. She doesn't need any weapon; she is her own.
Her used-to-be-partner staggers, grasping his side in which a deep cut can clearly be seen, and lets out a groan, falling to the ground, again.
Mercilessly, Maka steps forward and slices his head off.
He's too good for her. All she can do is hurt her friends; that's her purpose, isn't it?
She slips her cold feet into tiny slippers that had been given to her as a gift at Christmas by the one and only Soul, currently sleeping only a few walls away. She quickly shifts like a shadow out of her room without a sound, stealthy as a cat. A floor-board shudders underneath her, only resting when she moved her foot away. Tip-toeing gently down the hall, she presses her ear by the wooden door leading to his room.
Be quiet, Maka. You don't want to wake him up.
A few quiet snores and the sound of his heavy breathing assure her that he is deep asleep. Wiping the last few tears out of her eyes, she sighs with relief. At least he's actually alive. Just a dream, Maka. Just a dream. You didn't actually kill him.
You didn't slice his head off and hang it on the chalkboard of Stein's classroom, either.
Just a nightmare.
It was only a nightmare.
A purposeful push shoved her halfway across the hall and into a locker. "Sorry, Ma-ka," snickered a blonde, flipping her silky hair over her shoulder. "Didn't see you there." She tosses a grim look at the posse of girls around her, every inch of their porcelain faces covered with obvious make-up. "Well, girls, it's not like anyone ever sees her, right? It's a miracle she doesn't get run in to so often."
"Soul can see me..." Maka answered back blankly, trailing off at the looks on their faces.
The blonde turned to her with a snarl. "Soul? What are you doing with Soul? He doesn't belong to you, and he'll never recognize you. He deserves a meister who can be so much more, like me. You can barely spin a broom, let alone a scythe. Without his help, you are nothing."
"But-" she began, half-confident that she can reply to these girls in a more likable fashion. Before she could utter a single word more, a tan-skinned brunette stepped up, breaking in. The girl raised a finger, smiling.
"Look at you," the brunette cooed. "Aren't you adorable. Thinking you can stand up to us. But Maka, honestly. Why do you even keep on trying? Everyone one knows you're absolutely hideous, and a disgrace to the DWMA. What Elaine says is right. Without Soul, you can do nothing." She leans in close enough that Maka can smell the lip-stick. "You," she says, poking Maka in the collarbone, "are ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Pigtails? Ugh. So childish. Flat-chested, too. No wonder Soul almost gave you up for that cat-woman you still have living with you. You study too much, too. Who the heck spends half their life with their nose in a thick dictionary? Normal people don't, and you certainly don't fit in with anyone.
Oh, and remember that time? You lost a whole year's worth of kishin eggs, just because you messed up, Maka. Ninety-nine souls. It was so close, wasn't it? But then the lady turned out to be a cat. Now you have to start over. That scar he has? Your fault. The reason his head hurts so often? You and your stupid Maka-chops. Everything, everything, is your fault." With that, she gave a sneaky smile of triumph, then turned her heel and marched away, radiating calm. The gang of girl dolls followed her obediently, leaving Maka standing there in the hallway.
When Soul passed by on his way to Stein's classroom, he stopped at her expression. "Maka, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. We're going to be late for class, now let's get going." She turned away and smiled at him.
She is such an adept liar, she amazes herself, even. Feelings are practically a foreign meaning to her. But even she is considered human.
Slowly, Maka pushes open to door, wincing awkwardly at the creeeeak it gives off. She can almost feel his breathing quicken, being perceptive and all, but perhaps that's just her superstition.
He seems so far off, so peaceful, lying there in the bed, clothed only in his shorts, as usual. Sometimes, he does wear a long-sleeved shirt with the grim reaper emblem shown, but tonight is a relatively warm night, so it's un-needed. Even worse: the scars are evident and ever so obvious.
She quietly strides over to him, carefully taking a seat next to him on his bed. What is she doing there, anyways, invading his privacy? Maybe his room just felt so safe…
... and painful...
Why am I here?
Maka curls her fingers over her weapon's, missing the strong, rough grip that held her hand when he was going to transform into a scythe. Her own hand has multiple calluses from swinging around a scythe all day.
"I'm an idiot," she mutters. "I can't do anything right."
Beside her, Soul breathes in, evenly. She looks at him, with his messy white hair sprayed across his forehead. Her heart pounds deep inside of her, and a ragged gasp escapes from her throat.
Really, Maka? Why are you here? Tell me the truth. Tell the truth to yourself, or you can lie like usual, like you do every day, to everyone, even yourself.
Are you hurt? No, I'm fine.
Would you rather read a book, or hang out with your friends and pretend nothing's wrong? For Soul and Tsubaki's sakes, I will. Don't want to worry them.
The lies are everywhere, aren't they, Maka.
She sighs a little, propping her thin arm on his blue-striped pillow.
I wish I could sleep like he does. All calm. Perfect. No nightmares. Except about the madness.
No memories.
At least, stupid memories like mine.
"Oi, Tiny-tits, don't hit me so hard…"
"Who the heck spends half their life with their nose buried in a thick dictionary?"
"Seriously, have you heard of that Albarn girl?" "Yeah, I have. They told me she's no more than nerd, but she's Soul's partner." "How do you think she even charmed her way to him?" "Maybe she's a witch, and she gave him a love potion."
"Ew, it's her again."
Her thoughts blur together, and she collapses with him too, her back thudding against the door behind them. What could she do, but wait for Crona to kill them both? She's useless. Utterly useless. Without her weapon, she can do nothing- nothing but wait for an impending death. But she can't cry, she can't; crying is for babies. Maka can do nothing to stop it, and a tear slides down her cheek as the child in the black dress stumbles closer, drunkenly waving the sword around in play.
"Give me your soul… Stop the sound! Stop screaming at me, Ragnarok, stop it stop it stop it!"
Above the child, floating on an old-fashioned broom-stick, the snake witch chuckles evilly, covering her mouth with a dainty hand.
"Blood splattered across the ground,
ten thousand words without sound…Red and green; opposites,
one scared out of their wits,
follow the road that leads astray…
give me your soul... Maka Albarn... to take away."
And then, suddenly, she's crying again, like a weakling who can't do anything. Her eyes water up without her consent, and she leans her forehead against Soul's, her messy ash-blonde hair falling onto his utterly perfect face, not caring if he woke up, not caring if he hated her…
Soul is utterly perfect in every way, and she's just another girl who happened to be his partner.
Crying is stupid. It shows how weak you are, how fragile, how easy to break. I'm all of the above.
Who likes girls that cry? No one. No wonder no one likes you, Maka.
What's there to care about anymore?
I'm supposed to be strong, but I can't, because… I'm such a horrible meister. I can't do anything right. Maybe I should stop. Stop being Maka.
I'll slink into the background, and no one will ever know me again.
The stress is killing me. I feel as if I'll be crushed any moment.
It's better if you didn't meet me, eh, Soul.
"I'm sorry," she whispers huskily, her breath warming his nose. "I'm sorry for hurting you.
I'm sorry about Crona,
I'm sorry about the stupid scar,
I'm sorry that I'm such a sucky meister,
I'm sorry that you met me,
I'm sorry that I'm so useless,
and that I can't do anything but cry!"
Maka sniffs and lifts her head off of his, blinking away tears. Go away. Leave me alone.
He still hasn't woken up, which is a miracle by itself. Her chest clenches in pain, and she bites her lip. She can see the beginnings of the scar on his left shoulder.
My heart... why does it hurt so much? It's like someone is squeezing it to bits; it's throbbing harder than when Crona almost killed him...
"Since I can't say this when you're awake, Soul, because I'm so weak, I'll say it to you now, while you're asleep. Soul, I'm really sorry. You should go find another partner, a better one. You deserve much better. Meeting me was a mistake on my part. I barged in while you were playing piano. You'll probably be mad when you wake up, and Soul," she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes to hold back more tears, "I love you, I really do. But I can't do anything. You'll be safer off without me, like those girls said. I…"
"Without his help, you are nothing."
"Thank you for helping me all this way. I'm a real crybaby, and it's hard to put up with me, but you still stayed with me. I really am a burden. And if you still aren't awake, I know you like to sleep really late," Maka manages to give a trembling smile to his unseeing pale eyelids, "I'll tell you tomorrow, that I'm not fit to be your partner. I'll be strong for once and speak up."
Good job, Maka, you've finally done something useful. She can hear the girls laughing at her, mocking her. Wow, I didn't know she could actually do something!
"I'm sorry to bother you with my life." Her voice wobbles unsteadily, shaking more than Maka's voice ever had. "I… just…I'll stop. I'm nobody, just a weak meister like any other out there, and you're Soul Evans.
You chose me as a partner but… did you ever see something in me? Or was it just because you were desperate?"
She gulps, swallowing down everything choking her: her fears, the lies, the sadness, the guilt. "Probably the latter, huh. Since you're Soul. There's nothing in me to see, but a stupid girl who can't even control her tears. I have so many questions to ask, but I can't. Not to you. I… I'll just leave. You need your sleep without me barging in and being a brat."
She stands up to leave, squeezing his hand one last time, unclasping her hand from his, and takes a step away.
If anyone could describe her heart right there and then, it would be as if her whole heart shattered into a million glassy pieces, and someone laid them all over the floor and stomped on them.
Her heart broke, and she was crushed.
At least she told him the truth.
"Hey, Maka."
Maka lets out a little gasp and whips around, her mouth open, as Soul blinks back her from his pillow, his signature smirk on his face.
"D-did.. you...?" she sputters.
His smile grows wider as he grabs her wrist and gently pulls her down to kneel next to his bedside. The moonlight casts dark shadows across his face, giving an image of a demon, especially with his white, sharp teeth.
"I was awake the whole time, Maka. Your screams woke me up, anyways." Her answers her unspoken question.
She bows her head, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Soul..."
"Tsk, tsk. Stop saying that. It's getting annoying." His grin softens slightly, and she immediately relaxes back onto her knees, rocking back and forth."Really, Maka, I didn't know you were so harsh on yourself. Saying you can't do anything right. You're not a bad meister at all. I don't care what these 'other girls' said, but they're lying to your face. You're the coolest meister I'll every have."
Maka's bottom lip trembles dangerously; her eyes seeming to be on the verge of tears again. Holding fast, she grits her teeth.
"No, Soul. You stop lying to me. Tell me the truth. Tell me I'm ugly. Tell me how much I'm worse than everyone else. Tell me how you really feel about me, and stop feeding me these lies."
She shakes her head, burying her face into her hands; they tighten into fists, digging her nails so hard into her skin that it bleeds. Blood is all that really counts to her, isn't it? The blood of her partner, the blood of her best friends, the blood of her own flesh, the blood of the enemy. Both negative and positive.
"Soul. You're my partner, at least for now. I'm begging you to tell me the truth, so at least I know how low I am. I've caused you nothing but pain, from our start to the end, and I'll continue to give you nothing more, because I can't do anything but hurt everyone around me.
Don't even try to sugar it over and give me the positives. I.. will never be anything better. I'm a monster. An ugly one."
She hears his sharp intake of breath but does not glance at him. Such a commoner like her does not have the honor to glance at the royalty she had so easily thrown in danger's way, and spilled the blood of.
Soul slides out smoothly from under his covers, using his elbows to push himself up to sit straight on his bed.
"Maka."
"Yes?" she asks, ignoring the fact that the scar- that she had inflicted- was clear and entirely visible on his skin. Her vision is all blurry, but she can still tell its there. "Did I ever tell you that I hate lies? Papa's told me hundreds of them, too, about how much he loves me, and how much he loves my mom. You know, Soul, I have Soul Perception. Even without that, I could see it in his eyes; he was lying, lying, always lying. You sometimes do that, too."
"Shut up," he growls back, once again grabbing her wrist and wrenching her upwards, a bit violently, to seat her next to him. "Stop thinking like that. Come here."
Soul wraps his arms around her fragile body, and in surrender she buries her face into his shoulder, her arms encircled around his neck.
"You don't deserve to think that way," he says calmly. "Maka... honestly, you're too stubborn. You blame everything on yourself. You have to let go of yourself sometimes. Think about it; you're a smart girl. It's not always your fault. There are other variables stuck in there too, in the equation of life, right? You were the one who told me that, remember?"
He threads his fingers through her ash-blonde hair, leaning against her wiry frame. "I chose you as my partner because I knew you were the right one. I couldn't ask for a better meister than you, and I swear on my life that I will protect you. That's the job of a weapon."
"But...the scar..." Absentmindedly, her hand traces the imprint on his flawless skin. "I... caused that too. Because I was being careless, and we walked into that church without really inspecting it."
"Geez, Maka," scorns Soul, leaning back. "Mistakes happen, and they have outcomes. But you learn from those mistakes. Oh, the day that I'm giving Maka a lecture on mistakes has finally come." He grins sullenly, tapping her cheek. "Come on. Cheer up. You don't look very nice with that pouty face on."
She glances away. "I never look nice, you dimwit. Aliens like me who read books all day never look nice. No matter what you say, you can't change me to become some pretty princess."
He scoffs. "You've been asked out plenty of times."
"Yeah, but all they ever want to see is my father, the lying Death Scythe. I don't matter to any of them."
His tone softens a bit. "You matter to me."
"Yeah, but you're my partner, and I'm not good enough for you. So in a few days, I'll be gone, and you'll find someone else to matter abou-"
"Learn to be quiet," he interrupts abruptly. "I'm trying to make a point here."
She blinks at him. "What?"
He presses his lips against hers, pulling her in closer. "You're my meister, and it's my job to protect you. If those girls ever come bother you again, I'll personally tell them off. Because, Maka, you are the best meister a weapon ever could have. I love you, Maka, and I don't feel very cool right now, but that's what I really feel. And you're probably the cutest girl in the world. Swear on behalf of my scythe."
Soul grins, licking his lips.
"S..sou...soul?" she mutters, ducking her head again, her eyes burning up. "You really are good at lying."
Author's Note: I'm proud. I'm very proud of this piece. *shakes head* Nothing better than a good dose of SoulxMaka to get you all depressed and fangirl-y.
NOW OFF TO SLEEP
OR WRITE MY STUPID ESSAYS.
:D
D:
Please review! I WANT SOME OUTSIDE LOOK ON THIS.