Inspired by the Fugees - Killing Me Softly. One shot.
There were always two ways to skin a cat. Quite what they were and how to actually do, it was another thing that no one seemed to know either. Phrases like that, what ever their posh word were for them, seemed rife in the language.
The proverbial cat right now was a blank sheet of paper. No, he didn't want to skin it. He needed to write on it. He didn't want to write about cats either. Why there was a need to keep screwing up blank pieces of paper also seemed another mystery that would go unsolved, along side the missing sock that was devoured somewhere between being taken off his foot and getting back into the drawer nice and clean.
The universe held so many questions like those, which seemed to nestle comfortably next to the old worry of why am I here? What is my purpose in life? Complex or simple; questions were just questions. They never solved anything, they just gave more questions. A little question breeding factory that multiplied any dilemma ten fold by just adding more questions layer upon layer over the original until the original was forgotten – much like this story right!
"Damn, stupid… Aggggghhhhhh THINK!" Tuffs of ginger hair were left in between the clenched fingers even when they reached back down to the desk. The hand that thumped the poor mistreated woodwork was as useless in answering the question as the clumps of hair were.
Ichigo stared at the essay title again. Recalling his sensei's laugher as she scribed it on the black board - Well, it wasn't a black board anymore it was a white board and computer screen that projected on the wall. Anyhow that's beside the point isn't it.
"Detail In 500 Words A Person You Admire And Give Reasons For Your Feelings. Describe The Person And How They Affect Your Every Day Life. There you go everyone, a simple essay just for fun. Ohh I am so going to enjoy reading about all you little love birds!"
Even her smile had been pukingly annoying. How the hell could he describe the person he admired? How the hell could he describe the person and not let anyone know who it was. Because just for a 'laugh', that damn stupid teacher wanted them to read them out to the whole damn class and that was the problem. Where did the 'Err Hello! No one knows I'm fucking gay come into the picture?' The two ways to skin a cat were the two ways to come out of the closet and the one NOT recommended, was by telling the whole class that he had the damn hots for a GUY!
This was going to be bad. It had that sinking feeling already - That, I am damn well doomed and going to rot in hell for every singe remainder of my school life, sort of feeling was descending rapidly.
"NO. NO. NO. NO." There now banging his head on the desk repeatedly did not have the desired affect. That part of skinning the cat at getting inspiration or getting rid of desperation did not work either. "SHIT."
Maybe pacing the room like a caged lion would help.
"Okay, come on. I can do this. I can do this… No I can't." The whining voice threw itself down on the bed face down.
"I could lie." He suddenly thought putting his head in his hands and look up out of the window. "I could just make it up. I could just pretend it's a girl and make something up… No they'll ask me more questions. They'll want to know who it is."
He sighed and rolled over on his back. The ceiling was as blank as the paper and it didn't have the answer either. It wasn't that he didn't know what to write, or how to write it. Alone, with only him to look at it, pretending it was hidden in a secret diary, well then he could write reams and reams on him.
He could pin point tiny details of his mannerisms, hobbies, likes and dislikes. How much time he spent sharpening his pencils and how long it took him to thread a needle. How long it had been since he last had a hair cut, the days he wore that different aftershave and how many spaces from his desk to mine to ask if I've heard anything from Soul Society.
Well there was really nothing else for it. He just had to bite the bullet and write what he thought and sod it for now. He sat himself back at the desk and let the pen walk its way across the page, line after line after line.
Nervously he held the piece of paper in his hand at school. It sat on his desk upside down, and then back to his hand. Then back to the desk. His fingers flapped a pencil nervously and put it down frustrated when he was glared at by Rukia. He tapped his fingers on the table and then his foot. God this was taking for ever.
He'd wanted to revise it, adapt it a little and hopefully make it more obscure but those Hollows just kept coming last night and all he had were the words he had written in his original draft. His body froze when a shadow fell across his desk and a slim hand reached down snatching the paper away.
Ichigo looked up his face open mouthed, his eyes wide and his stomach in mid churn.
"So Kurosaki, what have you written. Hey listen everyone!" Damn Ishida. Why did he have to do that? To twist the knife in and watch him flounder like a fish without water. The face appeared with a sneer and began to read aloud the words written right from his heart. Every word that was uttered stung him deeply as the sniggers and laughter echoed around the room.
Sentences caused his pained heart tingle, the words strangled in the venomous tones throbbed and nipped at his pride. The hurt began to seep deeply inside him and although he could only look ahead blindly he could see everyone starting and pointing at him. They were all in a state of humoured shocked at what they were hearing. His life as he knew it was over. The secret was out.
Ichigo loved a boy.
Ishida didn't seem to care. The words still fell from his lips; his face changing to surprise. No it seemed that his secret had been well hidden.
The fact that Ichigo's body had broken out into a nervous sweat, his hands shook as he clenched them beneath the desk and his heard pounded heavily in his chest had been missed by most people. The mortified look on his face was a mask he couldn't pull away.
It went on and on, endless minutes of pure pain filled torture with the murmurs thrashing around his ears dulling out any other stimulus.
Finally the injury just wounded him too deeply. His distress couldn't be contained any longer.
Fight or flight reared it head and his feet preferred flight. The chair rammed against the desk behind him, then toppled as long lithe legs shifted him top gear from the room. They continued the marathon from the building and the school grounds.
Ichigo sat on the swing in the park. He heard the footsteps behind him. He pulled his jacket up around his ears and sank his head lower into his shoulders. The footsteps stopped right next to him and from the corner of his eye, saw the visitor sit right next to him.
There was a sigh and the pause before speech that was then abandoned.
A piece of paper was held in front of him.
"What's that?" Ichigo grunted.
"My essay." Came the simple reply.
Ichigo reached out and took the piece of paper and skimmed the details.
Holy fucking shit. "Ishida?" Wide eyes met the steely glaze that viewed him apologetic.
"I guess I wrote about you too."