Author's Note: This little snippet came to me one night at work on lunch break while listening to "Stand In The Rain" by SuperChick. Great song, great group, give it a listen as you read if you want to get the full effect. Otherwise, as always, I don't own Bleach, that'd be Tite Kubo, and I'm just happy to be able to play with them a bit. Hope you enjoy!
The nights were the hardest.
During the day, it wasn't so hard to surround herself with people, to smile and even laugh. No one looked closely enough to see that the smiles never reached her eyes, and that the laughter sounded hollow. Everyone was so willing and happy to believe that she was over it all, that the place where the blade had slid through her body, propelled by the man she loved and admired most, was healed. Physically yes, perhaps it was. But there was a part of her, a secret voice that she didn't like to think about, that knew that it never would be, not fully.
She supposed that she should have been grateful to be alive, and every time someone wished her well and inquired after her health, she smiled and said that. "I'm grateful to be alive." She'd say with that same sweet, closed eyed smile that hid how much she wished that she wasn't. Aizen had been right. Killing her would have been the kindest thing he could have done. Who lived with betrayal like that? What being was meant to? A betrayal that shook a person to the very core of their being, causing them to question everything they had ever held to be true or dear or even believable… who was supposed to walk away from that? Hisagi-kun and Kira-kun understood, to a small degree. They had the same slightly haunted, hollow look sometimes when they thought no one was looking. But their wounds were healing, helped along by their new squads and duties; of the three abandoned ones, she was the only one not promoted to take her captain's place, and perhaps that was as it should be. After all, how could her squad trust someone who had been so fooled? Kyōka Suigetsu wasn't the only thing casting illusions that day, and though she wasn't the only one that believed them, she was, damn her, the only one who kept believing them.
Shiro-chan would have been proud of her. She hadn't cried since the end of the war. He used to call her crybaby… never again. It wasn't that she was braver or stronger, it wasn't that she wanted to grow and become strong or anything like that. It was just that she knew, knew in the very depths of her soul, that if she started crying, she'd never stop. The tears would drown her and she'd never find dry land again. And so she walked the razor's edge, smiling and happy during the day, but the nights… the nights never seemed to really end.
It was night now, and she lay on her bed quietly, staring up at the ceiling. Rangiku-chan had tried to convince her to come out with them; that was one thing the busty lieutenant was good for, finding something to celebrate. But Momo really hadn't found anything to celebrate lately. The parties after the end of the war were spectacular, and even Kuchiki-taicho had opened his home for a very demure party. Momo hadn't gone to that one either. Even after all was said and done… even after seeing the panicked, disbelieving look on Shiro-chan's face as his blade ran her through, even after seeing the smug expression of superiority on Aizen's face as she took the blade meant for him, she couldn't celebrate. It was, to her at least, a Pyrrhic victory. Had the victory and the lives saved justified the pain that it took? She'd leave that question to wiser people. At least she did during the day.
At night, that question was her constant companion. She held that pain closer than a lover, and it frightened her even as it gave her the cold comfort of a snake held to her breast – surely it would bite her one day, kill her with no remorse as was its nature. But for that time, for that small brief time, it was something to hold to, dangerous as it was. She needed something to hold to, and no one had offered her a hand yet. She had friends, she had people that cared about her, she had superiors that were concerned for her but no one had stretched out that hand and pulled her back from that edge. And more than anything, that was what she needed. She had loved Aizen, snake that he was, with more than she had possessed; she had pushed herself farther, had dared more, had become greater because of him and evil, cruel, callous bastard he was, she supposed that he gave her what she needed most when she needed it – he had given her purpose. However, purpose was lost to her now, and there was nothing left for her to cling to. She stood on the dark edge of a cliff, staring down into the abyss, wanting to jump. The only thing holding her back was the worry that the darkness at the bottom of that cliff was worse than the darkness that whipped at her now. That, and the hope that one day a hand would reach out to her, take hers and guide her back from the edge.
Until that happened, she would do as she always did; stand unflinching, smiling in the sunlight and laughing that hollow laugh. The nights would come and she would stand firm, looking down into the precipice she stood on, waiting for the hand that would pull her back, the chest that she could lean against, the shoulder she could cry on. She had given Aizen more than he ever deserved, had endured pain that would break those that were stronger than she, and she still stood; bent and twisted, weak and wavering, but she stood.
For now, that was enough.
Wow, it's been a while! Hope that you all enjoyed, please review if you're so inclined, I do enjoy having encouragement, suggestions, and even criticism. Thank you all for reading!