Say When
I come across you lost and broken
You're coming to, but you're slow in waking
You start to shake
You still haven't spoken, what happened
They're coming back and you just don't know when
You wanna cry but there's nothin' coming
They're gonna push until you give in, say when
-Say When by The Fray
She flinches as I reach to touch her shoulder, and I naturally withdraw my hand. She's curled up into a ball in this dark room. She won't look at me. She hasn't looked at anyone since I found her. She hasn't spoken a word, either. I still don't know her name.
"I brought you some tea," I tell her.
She doesn't say anything. Instead, I can see that look in her eye, that look that tells me that she wants to cry but no tears offer themselves to be shed. I come around in front of her. She's staring at the floor rather than at me. I place the tea at her feet, right in her line of sight. If she sees it, she doesn't show any sign of it. I step away, giving her space. I don't want to leave her, but I see the tension in her shoulders. She wants me to leave. So I do. I go into another room and lie with my back on the bed.
I found her outside the door to my apartment a few weeks ago. She was just sitting there, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the floor. She was shattered. I could see it instantly. It was something about her, her silence, the way she held herself, the air around her. I just knew. Her clothes were a disgrace, covered dirty rainwater, torn in many places.
That wasn't the first time I saw her, but it was the first time she saw me. She didn't make eye contact with me, but she stepped aside and waited for me to unlock the door. She followed me inside. I'd only seen her once before, earlier that night. I hadn't been introduced. I didn't know who she was. But she followed me inside, and I didn't chase her away.
That became routine, her appearances. She'd come to me, waiting outside my door, following me inside, never looking at me, never saying a word. She would come, and then she'd leave. I was never certain when each happened.
At first, she wouldn't even let me come within three metres of her. Slowly, I've come this close, close enough to set food in front of her, food she'll eat once I'm gone. I come outside of the room now, and she's gone. Her cup is empty.
The first time I saw her, she was at a bar. I remember first wondering if she was old enough to be there; then, after that thought vanished, I wanted nothing but her. I can't be sure what the attraction was that I felt, but I still know that I feel something strong for her, something undeniable.
As she strode into the bar, she was so strong, so confident. My question of her years seemed useless. Someone like that had to be older than what I'd thought. So many eyes fell on her as she took a seat. She didn't order anything, but drinks came to her all the same. Many men came to talk to her, but she didn't speak to a single one. She didn't even look at them. I stared openly at her, unable to stop myself. She remained completely oblivious. It was either that or she didn't care. I've stared to believe in the latter.
Finally, I became brave under the influences of all I'd drunk, and I made my way over to her. I asked her for her name, but she ignored me. In fact, she did more than ignore me. Although she'd tolerated any other voices directed at her, at mine, she stood. I stood there, speechless, and watched her walk away, leaving the bar without a word. And then, later that night, she was at my door. She beat me there. I still don't know how she ended up there.
I go out to the bar, but she's not there. I return home, and she's waiting there for me, her clothes even worse than they were before, her shoulders hunched forward, her eyes heavy, her gaze absolutely dead. Without a single word, I open the door and step inside. She follows and then steps past me. I jump back as her arm brushes mine. I've never made any physical contact with her before. However, she doesn't react. Instead, she continues onward until she makes it to my rug and curls into a ball as she always does.
This contact does the same as the alcohol does. It makes me brave, and I wonder aloud, "What's your name?" When she doesn't respond, I press, "I need to know it. Please. You've been here for weeks now."
She doesn't respond still. I clench my hands into fists, letting my emotions rage in my eyes since she isn't looking. With brisk, sharp movements, I head into the kitchen. I slice, spear, strike, shred the food, making up a plate for her. I place it before her, stopping there and staring at her, still letting my face show her how I feel. But she doesn't look at me, and she doesn't eat, either. No matter how long I stay there, she doesn't eat. When I walk away, I return to an empty room with nothing but a plate smeared with vegetables that had been destroyed with a fork. I feel like I'm going to explode until I notice four distinct lines in the dish. Rin. Her name is Rin.
A thought strikes me. Have I even told her my name? She's gone now, though, so I can't tell her until she comes back.
She doesn't come back the next day, or the one after that. I search for her at the bar, but she's not there. I return home, but she's still not there. I check the bar again, but it's closed. The bartender is just closing up. I don't know why I go inside, but I do. He gazes at me and tells me that they're closed. I tell him I'm looking for someone. He doesn't say anything then and leaves me to search for her.
The uncaring man leaves me alone in the bar, still searching for her. And I find her.
She's there, behind the bar. She has that same look that she always does in her eyes, but it's worse than before. I pause upon seeing her, seeing those lacklustre eyes so filled with grief.
"Rin," I murmur. I see vague recognition in her gaze, something I've never seen before, so I try again. "Rin."
She's coming to, slowly. She blinks, her eyes gaining something beyond the death that's always been there. She looks better than I've ever seen her, but, still, she looks so much worse. Desperately, I fall to my knees before her, and I grab her by the shoulders. She's so delicate in my hands, a little doll that will break at the lightest touch.
"Rin, what happened?" I question.
She doesn't speak, and she's shaking. She has that teary gaze that holds no tears once more, but, this time, those eyes meet mine. It makes my heart stutter, the rate picking up and going at an incredible speed as terror runs through me.
"What happened, Rin?" I beg to know.
And then, she cries silently, no tears forthcoming, but it's crying all the same. And, as she crumples in my grip, I hear the storm around us, a hurricane of bullets and screams. I draw myself closer to her than I ever had, hugging my arms around her frail body. She cries, but, even so close, she's still so far away. I can't hear her voice, but I know she must be screaming or shouting or wailing in distress. As the storm thickens around us, I hug her tighter, doing what I can to protect her, to save her, to bring her some comfort.
"Rin, why won't you tell me what you want from me?" I shout over the storm, tears coming from the corners of my eyes. "Please, Rin, just say when!"
I push her down, covering her body with mine as a bullet rings through the window, a loud boom sending the class shattering on top of us. I don't let any of the shards touch her, but she's still crying. I want to get closer to her, but she places her hands on my chest and pushes me back. She gazes desperately in my eyes and shakes her head, mouthing something I can't read.
"What happened, Rin?" I beg. "Why won't you talk to me? Please, Rin, you have to give in eventually! Just say when! Let me help you!"
She's still speaking her silent language. We're in the eye of the storm, and I do my best to protect her as the worst of it rains down on me, tearing screams from my throat. I can't stay here much longer. I have to protect her.
She slams her fists against my chest, saying things I can't hear, and I lift her in my arms and begin running, trying to reach safety. Something hits me, hard, and I fall forward in a bout of agony, collapsing on top of her. She swiftly pushes me away, such force in those small hands than I'm sent rolling away, shards of glass burrowing into my skin. I sit up and gaze so sorrowfully toward the storm, keeping my back to her. Why can't I help her? Why can't I be with her? Why won't she let me break down the wall between us?
Then, I hear her speak for the first time. I turn around and see her walking unsteadily toward me. She reaches me, and she places her hands on my shoulders, and she pushes me back onto the ground. In her torn-up clothes, she's leaning over me, those cry-but-not-crying eyes staring at me as I finally hear the words on her lips.
"Why haven't you told me your name?"
Author's Note:
Okay, between this, In Your Veins, and I Swear I'll Never Be Happy Again, I'm writing a lot of abstract-like stories lately. I don't know where they're coming from, but this kind of stuff seems to be the stuff I'm in the mood for.
On another note, I wanted to write a LeonxMiki but I decided to use Rin because she just better fit the image I needed. Mipiko's fic T R I A N G L E L O V E made me fall in love with the LeonxMiki pairing. You should check her out. She's a great writer.
Well, let me know why you thought of this fic and your interpretation if you have the time. I was slightly aiming for a mind-screw (like the ending of Fire and Hemlock by Diana Wynne Jones [my favourite book ever]) which, if you don't know, is basically where you read it and you're like "What the hell just happened?" And if you want to know what I meant to happen, too bad. I'm not telling.
Long author's note, oops, but one last thing. I refer to Rin's name being written in four lines because her name in Japanese is spelled with only four lines.