Broken Doll
By Eva_kokaze_black (RhblackY@netscape.net )
Disclaimer: YnM belongs to Yoko Matsushita, not to me.
All comments, etc., are welcome. A sort of continuance/companion of Idols I have Loved so Long. Notify before archiving. Muraki angst, H/T ,T/T, and several other pairings. Excuse any Japanese errors; I read YnM in Chinese. ~_~
Broken Doll
- A Yami no Matsuei FanfictionONE
*
No. I yearn upward, touch you close,
Then stand away. I kiss your cheek,
Catch you soul's warmth--I pluck the rose
And love it more than tongue can speak--
Then the good minute goes.
-Robert Browning, "Two in the Campagna"
***
It had begun so long ago that it seemed slightly ridiculous. In his mind it was always only a few weeks ago that he had been born, had grown, had learned like other children the workings of the world. Only yesterday had he met the dark-haired boy who had a penchant for traditional prints. And an hour ago he had died.
He rose from sleep cold and put on his immaculate clothing with great care. Perhaps today he would have better luck. It was gray outside and already drizzles of rain spattered heavily to the pavement and onto countless bright umbrellas. He slipped into his shoes and opened the door, not bothering to lock it as he left.
It was amusing to walk among them, the creatures so like flies, like gnats or ants. So fragile and so very mortal. So weak. They were staring covertly at him behind their colorful umbrellas; he wanted to laugh but controlled it, with some difficulty. If he frightened his prey away he would not be the cool precise hunter that he professed to be. That he was hired to be. When the gnats weren't looking he leapt onto the roof of an anonymous house and smirked. The prey approached, foolishly unaware of him. Weak and stupid. So stupid that they walk to their deaths without knowing it. He waited a little longer, and then pounced.
***
"Shidou-kun--"
"Call me Saki, Kazutaka." The boy had such a languid, sweet smile. The smile of a fallen angel. Absolutely gorgeous.
"Saki." He almost flushed, saying that name. "What is your favorite food?"
"Ah..." the smile never faded. "I eat anything. I like things that are just a bit bitter, though. A little more depth to the flavor, you know."
"Yes."
"What about you, Kazutaka?" They were seated comfortably on silk-covered cushions on the inpeccable tatami, with mugs of tea and a bowl of rice crackers powdered with sweet frosting. "I...I like sweet things...things other people don't like."
Saki's brilliant smile grew. "Really?"
Kazutaka was having great trouble keeping his face calm; he saw flirtatious tension in the room he was sure that Saki was more than aware of. "Yes." He prayed that someone would enter, would interrupt this sweetly uncomfortable conversation before something happened. He had no idea what something was except it was shameful. Shameful. He hated being ashamed. His conscience throbbed. Saki was so insinuatingly friendly that he was sure there was something behind his angelic face, some dark ulterior motive like his father. Father who lusted after everyone. Father who had made this boy before him and his own self on the same day with two different women--merely toys to his insane father. He hated his father. Perhaps this Saki was like his father, oversexed and crazed by his lust. He must be on guard. "I...must go...to the bathroom," he stood and walked as quickly as possible to the near door.
"Kazutaka," said Saki behind him, questioning, "that's the wrong door." Kazutaka turned scarlet and, keeping his face from his half-brother, ran at the door on the far side of the room, slid it open, and slammed it to in under two seconds. Then he walked, panting, to the bathroom, where he wet a towel and rubbed furiously at his hot face until there was only the slight pinkness of raw skin. He reached over and flushed the toilet as justification of his necessary absence. He must be calm. He must not shame himself again before that demon (he was sure of it now; that insiduous smile covered nothing but a sheer evil desire to see himself shamed). He must be calm. He took a heavy breath and went out.
They were in the garden, at night with the lumious summer insects flitting about them like so many fallen stars. Saki had changed into a yutaka and looked quite damp and wonderfully fresh from his bath; Kazutaka was pointedly looking the other way. You wolf in sheep's clothing. You monster. He gripped the banister of the ornamental footbridge they stood on more tightly, wanting to break something. All you want is my place, you bastard child. You never should have been born. And at the same time his mind spoke he heard distantly another voice, a woman calling his name between screams of rage. You monster!
You bastard child!
Created for the devil!
You will bring only evil to the world!
I'll kill you!
***
His mother lay indolent on her couch, caressing his hair with one hand and the silk-thread hair of her currently favorite doll with the other. "Ah, my pretty. My lovely little boy." Her hand which looked clawed with scarlet nails, dagger-length and sharp. "Lovely little Kazutaka." She shoved the doll very ungently at his face so that he stared, half-afraid and half-fascinated, into identical eyes of gray glass. "Meet my other Kazutaka. Say hello, little boy. Say hello." He continued to stare, and her voice immediately became as sharp as her fingernails. "SAY HELLO!" She caught hold of his hair, painfully, and bashed the doll to pieces on his forehead. He cried, as quietly as he could, as she kicked him and slapped him and banged his head against the wall. "You broke my doll! How dare you break my precious! You monster! Created for the devil, you little demon!" Oh, oh no, he thought feverishly as she pummeled him, this is worse than before, she's going to kill me before she stops... Already his vision had gone dark at the edges, and with every cuff he grew more and more tired.
"What are you doing?" It was that man against the doorframe, "Kuroko. What are you doing?"
"Ah, why are you home?" His mother left him bleeding andwent to his father, throwing arms around the man's neck and chattering happily, like a little girl, of how she had had to rebuke bad little Kazutaka for breaking her most favorite gray-eyed doll. The tall shadow of the man bent and embraced her. Kazutaka, lying with his face turned to the silhouettes of his parents, blinked away the blood trickling from the cuts on his forehead.
His father came back later and picked him up and put him on the sofa. He watched as his head was bandaged and the bruises on his arms and legs were carefully examined. "You know better than to annoy your mother," said his father, his mouth smelling strongly of beer, "she'd have killed you." He slapped Kazutaka's face, half-rough and half-gentle. Then he had gone, and Kazutaka was in bed and all around him was the darkness.
***
The man's blood lay stilly, in a perfect oblong pool. A few drops had speckled his left shoe, and he leaned down to rub at them with a fingertip. He pretended that the man was Saki, grown, and with a gnash of teeth kicked the body with as much vehemence as he could. The head rolled loosely and smeared the clean edge of the puddle of blood, and he spat at it "I hate you! I hate you!" before leaping off the roof and, with an expressionless face, landed among the wet umbrella-flowers.
He knew them to be nearby, the purple-eyed man and the boy. After all, they'd once been his prey, and even dead they were connected eternally to him. He climbed onto a slickened lamppost and watched them approach.
END ONE
Notes:Nyargh. What a half-baked effort. "Kuroko"? I mean, come on. The next part prolly won't be coming for a good while, due to school and exams and whatnot. But of course everyone loves these "delve-into-pasts-of-characters" type stuff, eh? As always, review, review. I'll love you forever. 0_0;