Struggle
She wishes she could turn around one day and escape from the whole lot of senseless, senseless stupidity that seemed to have taken over and governed her life.
She wants to run away and maybe come back a different person, someone she believes to be imperfect yet closer to a vague standard of beauty than where she currently stands. She wants many things, and she wans to be better, more sane, more beautiful, less crass, more refined, more sophisticated, less loud, more charming, and everything she knows is good for him and what she assumes he wants.
She detests herself.
She looks in the mirror and all she sees staring back at her is not her own reflection but a fragment of her sister's soul surviving on the earth, using her worthless body as a vessel. She knows that sometimes, in the midst of his despair, at his lowest point of hopelessness, he thinks and wishes he isn't her, that she was who it was he loved most and married first.
She knows this because sometimes, in the middle of the night, when he thinks she is asleep and her eyes remain closed with no reason to dissuade him from that notion, he cries out her name with such intensity and longing her heart aches and twists in her breast and she knows, she knows, that she will never, ever, ever be able to fill in the too-large shoes of her dead sister.
And that's enough to make her want to
Scream.
Her heart and mind is filled with a twisted longing, bestial in nature, and that is what keeps their love alive. That she know it is so wrong for them to act this way, yet they continue do this in defiance of all the laws that govern their stilted lives.
But rebellions have their own prices, and her continuously pays her toll with the cutting knowledge that she means nothing to him. She believes herself to have no place in his life - her opinions count for nothing, her face does not belong to her, she is not good for him in any sense of the word - and she knows he doesn't love her, he loves what she represents to him.
He is beauty incarnate, the very essence of all that was desirable condensed into a living form.
She hears the rumors and whispers behind slightly ajar doors, all excited in low, hardly muffled voices, centering around his apparent perfection and she smiles a secret, bitter smile to herself - he is hers, yet he does not belong to her. He belongs to no one. He belongs to everyone.
His existence is not for himself, it is for Soul Society. He lives to protect it, to uphold his family honor, and to nod and frown at meetings when the captains gathered to challenge each other over time consuming issues.
In the dark expanse of the night, she plays a game. As her raven locks splay themselves across her face, she shifts herself and wonders what it is that he says to Senbonzakura every time they lay together amid the tall grass in the garden. She hopes one day he will put in her just a slight fraction of the trust he instills in his sword.
And as stupid as it sounds, she is jealous of Senbonzakura. She wants to be the one he goes to for comfort, for knowledge. The one he cannot live without, the one he fights his battles with. The one strong enough to help him defeat his enemies and accomplish his dreams, the one gentle enough to help him sort through the hassles and frustrations of Soul Society.
She hates herself. She hates the person she sees reflected in the mirrors of the hallway and the person she sees reflected in his eyes whenever they turn towards her with a restricted longing. She hates her loud voice, her rash decisions, her lack of judgment, the fact that she never seems to be able to protect herself, that everyone looks at her like a burden that needs to be protected.
Her insecurity extends far beyond him, growing like an unstoppable vine, coiling itself around every aspect of her life. She thinks she isn't good enough, and a single word from him on another woman is enough to make her spin wildly out of control, as envy and panic takes over her countenance. And from there, her thoughts build themselves tracks as she inspects her appearance, her friends, her character - and she just wants to scream and scream until everything disappears and she is left pristine and perfect - good enough for him.
Kuchiki Rukia looks at nothing, drifting at the very edges of sanity.
They share a relationship so close they no longer need the useless hurdle of words. Words are easy to fumble with, picking out the right ones to share what the speaker has in mind. They have no use of it. But even then, he knows what she means. He knows it to be true, for Senbonzakura never lies, not to him. However -
He refuses to believe it. He refuses to believe as it is beyond his comprehension that Rukia - beautiful, perfect Rukia! - could possibly fail to understand that all he desires in the world were found in her. And that he knew nothing in the world he could do would possibly make his tainted self worthy of her love. He often wonders why she bothers loving him - does she not find it bothersome?
She could have her choice of so many others: Ichigo and Renji have surely not disguised in the least their longing for her. Yet she chose him, over all possible objections and backlashes should their relationship ever be found out. He knows and understands the sacrifice she makes, and even if he does not understand it, even if he is not sure when she will choose to let him go, he wants to treasure every single moment of their twisted, fragile love.
Kuchiki Byakuya is willing to fight her battles for her, forever and for all eternity, in return for her warm embrace when he returns home.
And so they dance together to a tune only the two of them can hear, confusing each other and everyone watching as they struggle to retain a love so obviously theirs.
A/N: I have a morbid fascination for this couple. I really don't know why.
Oh well. Read and review if you enjoyed it. Or constructive comments if you didn't.