A/N: Two things to say here. One: no owning, that much is obvious. Two: this is a death fic. Read at your own risk and don't say you weren't warned. Spoilers for novels.
When she heard the news, she wasn't exactly sure what to think. As the rest were celebrating, congratulating, talking, she sat in silence, kimono sleeve placed delicately over her mouth. She knew it would come sooner or later. They had been dating for two years now. Two, long, jealous years that hadn't been kind.
She had tried to move on and get over the fact he would never love her. She had blackmailed him. She had used him. Had she really ever expected him to return the feelings?
Part of her said of course. Why wouldn't he love a pretty, perfect, rich medium? They were meant for each other. She could just feel it in her soul. She could have changed for him. She would have done anything. As she looked back, the anything she had taken action on seemed so wrong.
The other part of her had been destroyed. How could he love such a foolish girl like the brunette? She was more mature, she related to him better. How could he have chosen his assistant and not her? The mystery was left unwanted and unsolved.
These two opposing feelings ate away at her from the inside out, and ultimately, she couldn't find her way anymore. The bottled fury held within was only days away from being set free. She just didn't realize how big the explosion would be. And she would have to live with it the rest of her life.
She couldn't stand their happiness. And so, the fury had broken free and taken control. She could stand this no longer. She took action.
She left them one day of happiness. She felt that was mercy enough.
She didn't really remember how she made it into his apartment. She just remembered the horror on their perfect faces, lined with joy only moments before. That just made the moment even better. And from then on, her wild emotions had led her on.
Before, the decision had been made that he would see her die. It would kill him inside before she could attempt it herself. It would distract him from trying to get in her way.
She yelled at the former assistant, abused her, demanding to know why she had been the one to ruin her life. When everything had been going so perfectly, why the hell had been just pranced in so obliviously to ruin it. Listening to the bride's shrieked and terrified answers were useless. It would not change her fate.
Her penetrating screams still stung her ears when she had dug the knife into her stomach, crimson becoming the main color of her shirt. Oh, it had felt so good. The warm rush along her hands, her heart pounding. She deserved this. The swearing, cursing, and berating in the background meant nothing to her.
Only that she was doing her job right.
The chocolate eyes grew unseeing and she slumped to the floor in a dead faint. The pain was too much. Physical and emotional. The young newlywed was hanging onto the last ties to life. He cradled her in his arms, crying out to her, pleading for her survival. The blood she lost had already been too much. She would be dead within minutes. He desperately tried to heal her, only weakening himself. It would make her next job so much easier.
A single gash along his back made him jerk sideways, facing her with eyes that knew no more. She could feel it, hearing it in his heavy breathing, sensing it all too easily. He only wanted revenge now. But he had been too desperate before. His power was nearly drained and he could not use anything against her.
She gasped for air as she begged and pleaded for love. She confessed vainly, some sort of twisted, deranged hope still lasting on in her heart, as his late wife as done for him years before. He cast her a sick glare, not saying a single word. Her already broken heart shattering into a million pieces, that was the look on his face as he too fell victim to her messed up justice.
He died next to her, holding her cold hand. The sight made her sick.
The brat had taken him from her – and now she was doing the same.
Upsetting the course of their world in her blind rage, she had broken down when she realized what she had done. But she wouldn't have changed a thing.
Coldhearted, insane, selfish… the insults that had been screamed at her were innumerable and some, unmentionable. She had been shunned, both publicly and socially. The televisions were broadcasting her story day in and out, and she could not escape the media trapping her at every corner.
Shibuya Psychic Research had cast her out, horrified at her actions. The miko's eyes were permanently bloodshot. The monk would joke no more. The priest could not sleep. The sorcerer, no matter how little emotion he had shown before, now showed even less. The college student could only smile at the memories.
Her friends, lost. Her life, ruined.
Masako Hara. No longer when people hear that name do they think of the lovely little medium on television. In fact, they think the complete opposite.
They think of a murderer. They think of the twenty-year-old who brutally murdered Mai and Oliver Davis the night after their wedding. They thought of the tears shed at their funeral. They thought of the blood they saw on her hands when she had turned herself in.
And when she awoke from the nightmares at night, drenched in sweat, only one horrifying fact came to mind. They were most certainly not nightmares.
This was her reality.
How ironic, she thought bitterly to herself as they shoved her in the cell, now I'll be able to see them together for eternity.
Life's a bitch, isn't it, Hara-san?
She didn't need to turn around to know who was speaking to her.
A/N: My mind is sick and messed up, yes. I know that after rereading this again. But I wanted to do something different (inspired by reflectables' "The Replayed Files" fic, which is effin' awesome, BTW) that was still a NaruMai.
Well… please review!