Memory by Charlene

Standard disclaimers apply

When I first saw him, my heart and throat constricted painfully for, as plain as black is on white, for all the world to see, the scar Kyosato had given him was displayed on his left cheek screaming out to be looked at. It was a stark red line on his fair complexion, making its presence even louder.

I had plenty of chances to observe him after that, from afar that is. The Hitokiri Battousai was not one you could get near to without being noticed. Each time I saw him, my gaze was always drawn toward the scar. Always the scar.

I always used to imagine what he would be like. And now that I had seen him, I found myself wondering about his scar. And I would picture Kyosato, my Kyosato, in a mad frenzy to hang on to his life, carving that final mark on his enemy's face. And I wanted badly, so badly, just to know how he had died.

Because, for me, Kyosato's death seemed so far away, so…unreal. I loved him so deeply, I can still remember his handsome laughing face…I can still remember how he lived. But not he died. No, never how he died.

That is why I didn't cry when they told me he was dead, that they couldn't find a trace of him anywhere, that he most probably died a swift death under the Battousai's katana. I never quite believed them. Perhaps it was for the best, that I never quite believed it. Because had I done so, I don't know how I could have lived after that.

Now that I think of it, I really cannot imagine what I had in me to keep me going. A love as deep as mine was for him, something like that does not die easily. It does not fade off with time, it does not bury itself in the back of your head under layers of memories never to be unearthed again. Time does not make you forget.

I wasn't angry and I wasn't sad. I wasn't anything but calm. Maybe I felt a flicker of regret, sorrow and bitterness that I hadn't had the sense to keep him from going to Kyoto to prove himself worthy of me. And deep under that, there was a sense of conviction, raw and harsh. I had to punish the Battousai for what he had done.

"Forgive and forget." It was hard to say what I really felt during that time I joined the group. I knew deep inside that nothing could bring Kyosato back, but I could not contend with helplessness and sorrow. I would not drown myself in these spineless emotions. I would not be weak, but I alone wasn't strong enough no matter how I tried. But I would be strong for Kyosato. If he was with me, I could do anything.

Perhaps my heart was really burning up inside with resentment and hatred for Battousai, perhaps I was really feeling murderous, venomous, anything but calm. But who really knows? One does not need emotions to sustain life. For me, my smile, the essence of my being had died along with Kyosato and all I was living for was the one thing I allowed myself to feel: vengeful. And all that was left was my outer shell, my outer being. That was all that was left to make meaning of Kyosato's death.

When they finally decided I should make my appearance to Battousai, I think I almost…yes, I did. I relished the thought of meeting him. I wasn't afraid because, as I said, I felt nothing else but vengeful, and I would gladly lay down my life as long as I had given Kyosato's death meaning.

And when the blood had splattered all over my white kimono, Kyosato's favourite kimono, I stared once again at his scar. It was such a harsh red, much harsher than when I first saw it, but then, I realized, it was bleeding. The scar was bleeding. And it was raining and the wet droplets of water ran down the sides of his face, streaming, streaming, as one with the scar.

Yes, I was right. It had been raining blood.

I lied. I hadn't fainted from drinking too much. I knew he would kill me if I hadn't fainted. Because, as I've said, I've observed him many times before. I could tell he was really just a child. I recall, once, I hid behind a tree, watching him stare into a puddle. He was so entranced by the glittering surface, that I could not help but wonder what he found so interesting about the simple puddle.

He bent down, and reached hesitant fingers out, and I watched on. But he didn't touch the puddle. His fingers hovered above the surface for the briefest of moments, then he withdrew, and stumbled back, with a sharp intake of breath. He turned swiftly and stalked off, not turning back once to look at the puddle again.

I was supposed to report all that I had observed to them, but I didn't report this incident. No. Somehow, it was special, different. I knew they would laugh at his strangeness, and think him a fool, and I didn't want that. Somehow, it represented all the child that he was, a realm where he could be himself—not the Battousai, but Himura Kenshin. And I didn't want to invade his privacy. No, this memory was too precious to be shared.

I grew fond of him even as I watched from afar. Slowly, he and Kyosato's killer became two different people, their identities as different as silk is from straw. To me, he was Himura Kenshin. And Himura Kenshin he would remain.

I never hated him once all the time I was with him. And thoughts of Kyosato dwindled down to nothingness. The blackness of me was now stained with guilt, and more than once I found myself crying tears of frustration, trying so hard, so hard just to understand why I was feeling this way. But I never did understand.

Until that last night I was with him, when I knew I would leave him the next morning, when I could almost feel his unbearable disappointment and confusion when he found the bed empty next to him. He was but a child, I didn't want to hurt him. No, I wanted to do anything but that because he was but a child…

He was a child and I loved him. The love I felt for Kyosato and for him can never be compared. I never tried to comprehend why this was, because it was and no matter how I tried to twist things, I knew the confrontation would be too much for me in the end. Two different loves, two different lives.

I have seen too much blood in my life. Maybe for hitokiri blood was a common sight, nothing to be taken seriously. But crimson down his face, and then the two lines forever engraved on his face, I knew it would be forever. Because my hand was burning so much even as I used the last of my energy to cross out what Kyosato had given him. It was burning so much with…life.

And then he was crying and I remember when the water had been mixed with his blood also once upon a time on a stormy night. I thought I was what I was, but he had refuted all that. And I wanted so much to tell him I forgave him. I forgave him in return for the life he had brought back into my veins.

"Forgive and forget." I had done that, and in the end it had brought me peace. I had told him it was all for the best, that this was all for the best and so please don't cry…but he misunderstood me. He wanted to know how this could be true, and I couldn't tell him even though I wanted so much to, because I could already feel all warmth leaving my body. I wanted to give him peace much like that which he had so generously given me, because I knew he was hurting for me.

But I knew he would understand in the end. So I said please don't cry and I really wished he would stop, for I was undeserving of his tears, child that he was. I had seen so much, I had felt so much, and I would inevitably stain all that he was, and all that he lived for. I didn't want to ruin all that, for it was his soul, and that was a part of him I wanted to protect forever. Even though he wouldn't remain a child much longer, I wanted him to know that I loved him as he was, and that if he ever found out about…anything, I forgave him, I forgave him a thousand times over.

And now I can almost see Kyosato beckoning to me, a big welcoming grin on his face, and for the first time in a long while, I smile in return. My broken body left behind, and I could smile openly once more. Because maybe, just maybe, there might be hope for me yet.

Adia I do believe I failed you

Adia I know I let you down

don't you know I tried so hard

to love you in my way

I pull you from your tower

I take away your pain

and show you all the beauty you possess

if you'd only let yourself believe that

we are born innocent

believe me Adia, we are still innocent

it's easy, we all falter, does it matter?

—Sarah McLachlan's "Adia"

OWARI