A/N: Finally got the time to shift all my fics over to the Persona section. This is an attempt to explore Mitsuru's darker side. There is explicit sexuality, so be warned.
Title is from Miracle Drug by U2. It's the perfect song. :)
As usual, let me know if there are any errors/typos.
"So, Mitsuru wasn't born with the ability to summon a Persona; she was forced to learn how." – Shuji Ikutsuki –
o-o-o-o-o
The sunlight glinting off the windows is blinding. She blinks, refocuses her sight and places her assignment into the box on the table. Ms. Fujioka is beaming at her as she cleans the black board. "You did brilliantly in your exam, Kirijo-san," she points out, her tone impressed and pleased. "Well done."
"Thank you, sensei." Mitsuru's small smile is automatic and she leaves the classroom. It is lunchtime and the air is heavy as she steps outside. Sunlight is burning the back of her head and her surroundings are bright, like they are on fire.
o-o-o-o-o
The light reflecting off the blade is blinding. She blinks, takes it into her hand and rolls her sleeve up. The sharp metal presses against pale skin, tracking the side of a vein, leaving a thin, crimson trail. She lets out a shuddering breath and feels a heavy weight lift off her shoulders. The metallic smell is faint but reassuring. Her vision is bright, like the bathroom is on fire. It hurts.
She lifts the blade and makes another cut, a perpendicular line to an old scar. Even with this, she does not like disorder. She clenches her fist, her muscles tensing up, the wound stretching. It hurts, but this feels liberating.
For a while, anyway.
o-o-o-o-o
The sandy-headed boy is very shy and his Japanese is broken but still understandable. When he discovers that she speaks fluent English, he does not hide his relief. She finds herself enamoured by his bright blue eyes as he laughs. They are beguiling; she has never seen such a colour before.
It is very unlike her to approach another person of her own volition in one of these dinner parties. Usually it is by someone's request or sometimes even by her father's orders. It is unusual to see a foreigner in a place like this, especially one who appears to be her age, and he had looked extremely out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb with his fair hair. Unable to contain her curiosity, she had walked over to talk to him and something about his manner suggests that he is happy for the company.
His name is William, he says, and he is here only because of his father's instructions. His accent is exotic. He is shy but does not seem afraid to speak his mind and she finds herself drawn to that. But there is something else about him that is more intriguing—he is not from here, and although she is not one for small talk, she cannot help but be full of questions. What is his country like? Does he enjoy living there? What is school like? How about the city, the people, the food?
Scarcely fifteen minutes later, her father appears and requests her presence. He casts the blond boy a short glance before whisking her away and she barely has enough time to say goodbye. When they are alone, in a secluded corner of the room, she is told to stop talking to him. "Why?" she asks. Why can I not do as I please for once, is what she means to ask.
"These Westerners…" Takeharu's tone is curt and dry. "They are good business associates, but their ways are too different from ours. I do not want you straying—stay away from that boy." And she abides, because she is the sweet, well-mannered and courteous daughter of the Kirijo chairman that everyone else knows. There is no room for insolence, even if a part of her is itching to disobey him.
But her conversation with William, although short, has sparked something else within her—a hungry desire to someday leave Japan, leave her home and everything behind, and see the world for herself.
o-o-o-o-o
When she is walking by the street, there are times she imagines herself leaping into the path of an oncoming vehicle. When she is waiting at the station, she imagines herself falling right in front of the speeding train. She wonders if death would be instantaneous. Would she be left to lie in a pool of blood and feel her life seeping away or would the impact crush her to pieces? Would she finally be free of everything that has chained her down since her birth?
… She has not had those thoughts for a while now, but sometimes, as she is riding through town, feeling the rush of the wind against her face, she cannot help but picture herself smashing head first into that concrete wall.
o-o-o-o-o
"Hey, Kirijo-san, I saw your test scores; you beat Takeshi-kun from Class B! That's great!"
"Hey, you were awesome in that fencing competition the other day. Minami High didn't even stand a chance!"
"Kirijo-san, I heard from Araki-sensei that you're gonna be doing some second year classes. Wow, you're really clever!"
The compliments are not unusual, so she forces herself to smile and thanks them politely. When she is alone, she wonders what they say behind her back. Are they truly happy for her achievements or do they think her conceited, a show-off, for surpassing them in everything? Are they jealous or envious?
She has classmates but not friends. She does not think herself a loner but it is her distrust towards the people around her that truly stands in the way. She is open-minded but not friendly, quiet and respectful but not sociable. It is difficult to let someone other than her parents in. Trust is hard to forge but so easily broken. She will chop the wood and get the kindling, but she will not make the fire. She is afraid of getting burned.
o-o-o-o-o
The headaches are not uncommon as side-effects but tonight's migraine is exceptionally excruciating. She can barely stand as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, wet hair clinging onto naked skin in the steamy bathroom. This should not be happening. She has taken the pills—the same two capsules everyday for the past three years. Why is Penthesilea doing this to her?
It surfaces as an urge at first, but she soon finds herself succumbing to the need. It is not difficult to find what she requires among her stationery and when the gleaming craft blade grazes along her skin, she feels as if she has been set free. The pain from her head almost seems to fade away as she focuses on the sensation on her arm. She breathes deeply and heavily, glazed eyes staring at the red streak marring her smooth, perfect skin; throbbing and burning, like the flames that are her one weakness.
It still hurts but it is a good sort of pain now. Penthesilea is quiet.
o-o-o-o-o
They admire her wealth, her beauty, her intelligence. They admire her ability to excel in anything she does. She should be thankful, she knows. There are far less fortunate people in the world. She thinks about the skinny, malnourished children she has seen once on television. She thinks about the bloody, limbless and groaning victims of war and bomb attacks that are so common nowadays. She has brains, charisma and a single smile from her—fake or not—is enough to turn someone over to her side in a blink of an eye. She does not even need to lift a finger for food to be on her plate. She should be thankful.
The chauffeurs, the maids, the bodyguards, the mansions, the vacation homes, the money—she has everything anyone could ever want. What, after all, could someone as powerful as the Kirijos not have for themselves?
They may think she has everything, but it is not enough. Thankful? Perhaps. Contented? No. Money cannot buy what she desires most.
o-o-o-o-o
She wakes up each morning and cannot think of anything that is worth waking up for. Everything she is doing, she does for her family. She is tired of these charades—tired of being the good girl, scoring the highest marks, being the best at what she does. Tired of obeying the Group, her teachers, her father. Tired of her filial duties.
And yet, she finds the energy to drag herself out of bed, swallow her medication and go about her daily life that everyone else deems perfect. And when midnight comes, she feels the burden tenfold, but strangely enough, Penthesilea's presence is comforting.
o-o-o-o-o
She sits on the bench just by the entrance to the indoor basketball court, a book in hand and her bag at her side. There are other students mingling about but she pays them no attention. Her objective should be arriving soon. The boxing match is only two days away and she knows it is unlikely he would miss out on a training session.
Two minutes later, she sees him for the first time. He is walking with his teammates, his strides steady and confident, the school's track jacket slung over his shoulders. The look on his face is one of annoyance and displeasure and she soon understands why. Trailing behind is a small harem of girls, all giggling and gabbling excitedly among themselves. He is quite popular, she has heard. She is more interested in whether he has the potential, though.
She hides herself well behind the book, her eyes surreptitiously flickering back and forth between the words before her and the silver-haired boy approaching the steps to the gym. He takes no notice of her but as he walks past, she hears Penthesilea whisper in her head, He is the one.
Akihiko Sanada disappears into the building with his friends and she sees that someone is actually stopping the girls from going in. After a moment, she shuts her book and stands up, reaching for her bag. Her Persona's words have already answered that vital question.
o-o-o-o-o
She loves him. Despite what she may feel at times, she truly loves her father. He was the one who freed her from her grandfather, after all; protected her and steered her away from the other path she could have taken. But even Takeharu Kirijo has changed. He used to be warm, loving, approachable. Now everything is buried under a wall of ice and though she tries her best to chip away at the surface, her pickaxe is growing blunt.
Why is he so distant? Does he not know that she is fighting solely because of him?
o-o-o-o-o
They always try their best to hide it but she sees through them like a clear piece of glass. The tensing up, awkwardness, fear, awe, envy and discomfort on their faces—even for just a brief moment—do not escape her whenever she introduces herself. Mitsuru is fine, she notices. Kirijo is not. Their smiles tend to fade immediately when she says the name. Mitsuru can be anyone—the son of a noodle house owner, the daughter of that cobbler down the street. But Kirijo... Kirijo is power, control, wealth, and that is something they are not comfortable with.
She hates the name. Kirijo—the single thing shackling her to the life everyone sees and her other life spent under a green and yellow sky. Her other life atoning for sins that are not even her own.
And so she is surprised—very surprised—when, after telling him who she is, the boy before her merely cocks his head to the side and mumbles slowly, "Kirijo… I've heard that name before…" He is not afraid, nor is he uneasy. He simply looks deep in thought, as if he is answering a math question in his head.
It is the first for her and she is uncharacteristically taken aback. In her mind, Penthesilea is murmuring once again, He is the one.
o-o-o-o-o
Her grandfather speaks of this 'Persona' but she still doesn't understand what it really is. She lets him and the scientists touch her, examine her, attach all these weird wires to her head and body, fingers and toes, but she doesn't know what they are looking for, what they want her to find. She has asked them once but they only respond with more questions—Has she been hearing any voices? Does she feel anyone else's presence in her mind? In the room? She does not understand.
It is a fortnight since the start of the experiments when the dreams begin to appear. She is in a limousine and before her sits a glowing, hazy figure in a peculiar outfit, which looks more like metal than cloth. They are close but the figure's head is hidden in the shadows. She only knows it is a woman because its posture is exactly like her mother's during afternoon tea. "Hello," she greets cautiously but politely.
"Hello," the figure responds. Her voice is calm and soothing.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Penthesilea," comes the answer. Mitsuru tilts her head sideways and remarks, "That's a strange name. I'm Mitsuru."
"I know."
"… How? Have we met before?"
"No. I know because I am your Persona. I am a part of you."
Mitsuru begins to get excited. "You're a Persona? Where have you been all this time? Grandfather has been looking for you," she says eagerly.
The figure is quiet, rigid and motionless. She bites her lip, feeling her initial thrill fading away, and asks, "Why won't you come out? He wants to meet you. He needs your help."
There is a moment of silence and she wonders if her question will be left unanswered again, but she is surprised when Penthesilea reaches out to her and replies, very softly, "I am a part of you. I will come if you summon me, but you are not ready yet, are you, Mitsuru dear?"
o-o-o-o-o
Her ability to call forth her Persona had not been achieved naturally. It was stimulated by the experiments her grandfather ran and was, finally, prematurely triggered that night her father's life had been in danger. The drugs are intended to take care of this, to ensure she remains in total control over Penthesilea when she uses her power. As expected, they are not without side-effects. She has been told that they are non-fatal (how would she even know if they were lying?) and that headaches would probably be the most common discomfort she would feel. They were right.
She wonders, sometimes, what would happen if she stops taking the pills, but she is afraid. Afraid of what Penthesilea will do to her, for she knows first hand what her Persona is capable of. Regardless, it still does not prevent her from having fleeting thoughts as she stares at the two capsules in her palm every morning.
When Akihiko Sanada joins the team, she finds herself envious of his skills and abilities with his other self. No drugs and yet he is able to control with such power and precision.
When Shinjiro Aragaki joins the team, only to leave three months later, she wakes up each day and swallows the pills without second thoughts.
o-o-o-o-o
"This is unacceptable!" She hears Takeharu's loud voice even through the thick, wooden door. "We have already lost nii-san, and for you to drag Mitsuru into this—"
"She possesses the missing link. She is a valuable aid to our cause; why can't you realise that, Haru? If we can find a way to tap into the abilities of the Personas, just imagine what we would be capable of!" Her grandfather. He sounds angry too.
"Can you not see that you're obsessed with these 'Shadows' and 'Personas' and this so-called time control idea? And all that nonsense about Death and the Fall? You are being driven to madness by your research, father, and I want you to stop."
There is a brief pause and she holds her breath, straining to hear what is happening in the other room, perhaps more out of curiosity than need. She hears the shuffling of papers, the creak of a chair. "… I will not stop," her grandfather says. "The project will continue until we accomplish what we desire."
There is another pause, then, her father declares, "I am taking Mitsuru with me. Continue this insanity if you so wish, but I will not have my daughter be a lab rat to you and your lunatic scientists." She does not understand much of what he is saying but her heart leaps. No more people in white coats? No more bright lights? No more prickly wires?
"Mitsuru stays. She is a vital part of this research and we cannot afford to lose her now."
Her high spirits come crashing down, and again, there is silence, so long that she wonders if they are still on the other side of the door. When Takeharu finally speaks, there is something unfamiliar in his low, harsh voice, "As your son, I know your obstinacy all too well, father, and I know that nothing I say will change your mind now. I must admit, there have been times I sincerely admired your persistence. Our family would not be as prosperous as we are now if it weren't for your determination and stubbornness, but I have lost too much already—nii-san, Hanae, you." A chair creaks once more. "I cannot go through with this. I will not lose Mitsuru."
The deafening bang that follows rattles her ear drums and every bone in her body.
o-o-o-o-o
"Tell me about yourself, Kirijo-san," Sanada says casually as they are having lunch one afternoon. She is well aware of the surprised stares and glances they are getting from the other students but he does not seem to care about any of them, especially the small group of girls that find it necessary to station themselves on a nearby bench and study their every move.
"Please…" I hate that name. "Call me Mitsuru."
"Okay… then you can call me Akihiko, or Aki. Since we're gonna be teammates and all, might as well get to know each other, huh?"
Is that how it is? Is that why he wants to have lunch with her? She only agreed because she meant to make a good impression and mostly because she cannot afford to have him change his mind after his decision last night, not to mention that there is something she needs to speak to him about as well. She is not so sure about getting to know him, though, or him getting to know her. Trust has always been an issue with her.
"I suppose…" She could think of no other way to answer him. Then she notices what he is having for lunch and stares at it. "What is that?"
"This?" he asks quizzically, holding up the strange polystyrene bowl. "It's ramen…" His tone sounds as if he is talking to someone extremely foolish but she takes no offence, more curious about this object of interest instead. "Hara-sensei lets me use the hot water from the staff kitchenette sometimes. Uh… you haven't had this before?"
She feels a flush rising to her cheeks, for some reason, and shakes her head. When he offers her some, she shakes her head again and an image of her family dietician throwing a fit pops into her head. Nearby, the girls are getting more excited and she has no idea why.
"It's not the best thing for lunch," he admits. "But it's cheap and fills me up pretty good. I'd like sandwiches but they're kinda pricey…"
Her eyes shift over to the slices of bread filled with tuna in her hand. Is he expecting her to offer him some of her lunch as well, as he had done with his? But he seems contented eating the noodles. They are cheap, he had said. Just how much can he actually afford for lunch if something as simple as sandwiches is too expensive for him? There is a strange, hollow feeling within her as she ponders over the matter.
"… Akihiko-san." She decides to move on to discuss the other subject of great importance she was intending to bring up. "How would you like a full scholarship to Gekkoukan High for the next three years?"
He is slurping his ramen but promptly chokes.
o-o-o-o-o
The smell of the hospital is clean and bitter, but she finds that she likes it. She walks down the long hallway, passing people in white and pink uniforms, curiously peering into rooms along the way. It is not often that she manages to escape the eyes of the men in black that are always following her. Best take the opportunity to explore this new place. The nurses smile at her as she walks by them, no doubt thinking she is following one of the grown-ups here. She skips along until she reaches what looks like her play room with toys strewn about the floor and colourful paintings on the walls. The thing that interests her most, however, is the fact that there are other children here. She feels her excitement grow. Perhaps she can join in and play with them?
There is a girl with hair the colour of her own sitting at a tiny table, drawing on a white sheet with crayons and colour pencils. She approaches her and grins happily. "Hello! What are you drawing?" she asks, bending to see the picture. She thinks it is a tree, but aren't trees green? This one is orange and red. The girl does not respond.
Mitsuru is confused and she is about to ask again when someone else tugs at her sleeve. "Chi-chan doesn't like it when people talk to her." When she turns to see the boy who speaks, the first thought that comes to mind is how his eyes look so much like those of a cat's—bright and golden. He appears much older than her and she wonders why he is playing with children of her age. "Oh…" she mumbles.
"Haven't seen you around here before. Who're you?" the boy inquires, a hand scratching his head.
"I'm Mitsuru," she answers and sticks out her hand the way she has seen the grown-ups do. "Mitsuru Kirijo. It's nice to meet you."
The boy stiffens, his eyes growing wide. "Kirijo?" he repeats. "Like… this hospital?"
"Yes. My family owns it," she announces proudly. "What's your name?" But the boy merely gives her a glare and roughly pushes her aside, walking away to a group of children at the corner of the room. She is surprised and wonders what she has said to make him angry.
o-o-o-o-o
She tries to keep him at arm's length. Such is her nature and her inability to socialise well, but once they have moved to live together in the dorm, it becomes more difficult to avoid him. Akihiko seems to be everything she is not. He does not seem fazed or concerned by the absence of money or a family, though he speaks lovingly and animatedly about the sister he had lost years ago. He appears to enjoy fighting Shadows and revels in the excitement of battle. He trains constantly and still manages to keep his grades well above average. His abilities impressed her, but she does not understand him.
Despite his attempts to get to know her better, she adamantly keeps her private life away from him. He, on the other hand, is always ready to tell her stories about his childhood with Shinjiro. It puzzles her, how he can simply say such things to someone he has known for less than a year. She honestly does not understand him at all.
His first act of kindness comes in the form of a bottle of cough syrup and a packet of lozenges. She looks at the items and foolishly asks, "What are these for?"
"Whaddya mean by that? They're for your cold, of course," he answers with a raised eyebrow. "Hope you feel better soon. It's no fun going out at night by myself." She stares after him as he walks up the stairs to his room, too surprised to even thank him. Her gaze returns to the medication in her hands.
… What a strange boy he is.
o-o-o-o-o
The pain is unbearable, yet she bears it without so much of a cry or a moan. The paracetamol she has taken is useless. She writhes in her bed, clutching her head and raking her fingers through her hair, feeling as if her cranium is about to explode and leave her brains splattered on the white sheets. She is not alone—Penthesilea's presence is faint but insistent in a corner of her mind, watching her suffering silently.
"Why are you tormenting me?" Mitsuru asks weakly. "Does it give you great pleasure to do this to me?"
"Why do you presume this is of my doing? You are the one who called for me, who requested my aid when you wanted to protect the one you love. I am here only because of you."
She takes in a deep breath, filling her lungs with much needed oxygen just in case she passes out. On second thought, perhaps passing out would be best; she would not have to endure this, then. In the past, a knife on her arm is enough to alleviate the pain, but now, she does not have the energy to even sit up to reach her desk. "… What do you want from me?" she finally whimpers.
Penthesilea continues to watch her, and then quietly responds, "I am a part of you. I am your consciousness, the other face of your soul. What you think I do to you stems from your own emotions, your own need to hurt yourself. If you are contented, then so am I. If you are in pain, then so am I. We are two sides of the same coin. What do I want, you ask? What I want is what you want as well… so tell me, Mitsuru dear, what is it that you desire? What is it that you seek, that you yearn for the most, yet cannot have?"
The words are difficult to focus on through the throbbing and pounding of her head, but Mitsuru buries her face into her pillow and squeezes her eyes shut. "Freedom," she whispers in defeat.
o-o-o-o-o
The first time he touches her, she shrugs his hand off and steps away, averting her gaze so she will not see the confusion and anger on his face. She does not like people touching her—it reminds her too much of her time with her grandfather and the experiments.
"You haven't answered my question," Akihiko growls and moves to her, like a lion cornering its prey. It is a side of him she has never seen before. "I'm tired of having to follow orders and deal with something I don't even understand. I know you're hiding things from me. What else does the Kirijo Group know about the Dark Hour?" She should have seen this coming. How could she have thought that he'd simply tag along and fight without reservation for as long as she needed him? But this is too sudden. She cannot possibly tell him everything right now. She has had a long day—she is tired and her head is throbbing.
"… If you want to leave, feel free. I will not stop you," is all she can say.
"Dammit, Mitsuru." He clenches his fists. "We're supposed to be a team here! You think me leaving is gonna fix everything? Or was that your intention from the start—just to use my powers for you and your fucking Group? Like Shinji?"
His words hit too close to home. Her head is beginning to hurt and she shuts her eyes. Not now, Penthesilea, but the Persona ignores her, as usual. She wants to return to her room, lie in her bed, swallow more aspirin, feel the cold metal of a blade, anything to get away from him.
When she turns to leave, she is caught off guard by his actions—he grabs hold of her blouse by the lapels and draws her to him so they are eye-to-eye. "You think running away is gonna change anything?" he hisses, his tone positively livid. "I'm sick of being left in the dark, Mitsuru. I want answers now."
She is a girl and he is a boy, and boys do not—should not—go around seizing girls by their collars like a common thug, but this is Akihiko. He is different; she does not understand him and she is too shocked to tear herself from him.
She stares into his eyes and he stares into hers, breathing hard, and then something erupts within her, like a cork flying off a bottle of champagne with no warning. Before her brain even registers what is happening, she is reaching out for his own collar and pulling him in, their mouths meeting in a rough, unrelenting kiss.
o-o-o-o-o
It is an opportunity of a lifetime and she'd be foolish to give something like this up, so she goes to her father's study that night and makes her request. As predicted, he is against the idea, but she presses on, adamant that it would work for the best. The dorms are so much closer to school—to Tartarus—and she wouldn't exactly be alone. "Akihiko Sanada will be around, too," she points out and the moment she says it, she realises that perhaps she shouldn't have. Living with a boy without any adult supervision would raise people's eyebrows, give them another reason to continue whispering behind her back.
"You do realise that everything will be different there," he replies. "You will have to care for yourself. There will be no maids, no cooks and, of course, I do not expect to house the bodyguards in the dorms…"
"I will manage." I will be free.
Takeharu is silent, a hand stroking his chin slowly, his forehead furrowed. She knows he is considering her words carefully. He looks at her, his gaze calm and calculating, as if trying to sense any weakness in her, and so she stares back staunchly, holding her breath. When he sighs softly, her heart jumps and somehow, she knows his answer will be what she wants. "There comes a time when a parent must let go of their child in order for them grow. I suppose I cannot keep you here forever…" he says quietly. "Very well. You may stay at the dorms, but only under certain conditions. You must report to me every week and return home in the weekends and in the holidays. Is that clear?"
It is not exactly as she had hoped, but still, five days a week away from this place, away from his radar and the suffocating life here is good enough. She agrees at once.
o-o-o-o-o
If he is stunned, he does not show it. If he is disgusted, he does not show it either, because he is kissing her back as ardently as she is and somehow her back meets the wall and his hands are at her hips and in her hair and touching her neck. It is like he is channelling his anger into something else. This is so very new to her. It is strange feeling something so warm and moist against her mouth; strange but addictive. He is like a drug and she craves more and more and Penthesilea sounds like she is purring in happiness in the back of her mind.
She does not remember them stumbling up the stairs to reach the second floor. His room is dim and smells of sweat and the ramen he enjoys. As they pull off each other's clothes, she becomes more aware of what they are about to do and warning bells are ringing in her head. She is a daughter of the Kirijo family. There is no question on what stand she should take when it comes to her chastity, yet a part of her is ready to throw everything out the window and not care, because their emotions, their hormones are running so high and this is too exciting to stop. She is embarrassed and afraid, naturally, but she wants this because it feels so liberating, and, somehow, because it is Akihiko she is with—the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and the boy who puzzles her to no end.
It is all going so fast but she doesn't want it to stop. He is kissing her neck, feeling her in places no one else has touched before, tracing her curves and she wonders how he knows just where to touch to make everything feel so good. His body is firm and warm under her fingertips and her head is whirling around in circles, unable to comprehend exactly how and why he is making her feel the way she is. There is a peculiar emotion within her, burning the very depths of her soul and making her blood race hotter in flaming veins. Desire is something she is familiar with, but lust, no.
His bed is soft and the sheets smell of him as he gently pushes her down and kisses her, fingers tangling in her hair. His lips move south to her breasts, grazing along her nipples, and when she feels the rough and moist texture of his tongue against her skin, she cannot help the sigh from her throat. He is growing bolder and a hand is trailing down to her thighs, caressing and fondling her and her mind is blank with bliss but fully conscious of the fact that it is someone else touching her there. He is at her entrance and suddenly, a finger is slipping into her and she is gasping for air, clutching at his back and his silver hair.
She has been examined and prodded down there before but never penetrated so deeply and she doesn't know if it is discomfort or pleasure she should be feeling from having something so foreign inside her. She wonders how she would be able to accommodate him later, because of course he would be bigger, thicker, more invasive, but her thoughts give way to bright speckles and the gleam of his hair as his thumb brushes against a spot that sends an electrifying jolt throughout her entire body. She gasps again and then her hips are moving with his hand, and his fingers are touching her where she herself has never touched before, and she is so very certain that she may just pass out from what he is doing to her. How is he so proficient at this? She wonders if he has done this before, perhaps with one of those girls who were always following him around in junior high. Even at Gekkoukan, he is popular and has a stream of never-ending female fans. He is polite and respectful, despite his upbringing, but still uncouth and unrefined in so many ways. How many girls has he bedded before tonight?
Why is she thinking of Akihiko with another girl when she is lying here in his bed and he is kissing her and doing wonders with his fingers?
He is breathing into her ear and there are goose bumps along her damp skin. He touches that bundle of nerves again and she writhes under him. It is too much for her—a heat wave washes over her body and all she can see in her mind are black and white dots and all she can feel is a numbing euphoria overtaking her senses. She cries out but his lips press against hers, cutting her short, muffling the noises she is making.
She doesn't even realise her eyes have been shut this whole time until he draws his hand back and the familiar emptiness returns. When she opens her eyes, panting heavily and slowly dropping back to reality, he is looking at her with an expression akin to contentment. "We don't have to continue," he whispers and the fact that he seems to be asking for her consent, despite clearly wanting this as much as she does, is important to her, somehow.
She swallows hard, ignoring the persistent nagging of her conscience, and just asks, "Do you have a condom?"
He holds her gaze for a brief moment and then scrambles out of bed to open one of the drawers of his desk. He comes back with the tiny packet as she is sitting up and she doesn't know why she feels the need to take it from him. He reaches out for her cheek and kisses her, and she feels the bed depress under his weight as he moves to sit by her. She tentatively touches him then, for the first time, and he inhales deeply. He is hard yet soft, like a metal rod encased in velvet. His eyes are glassy yet piercing as he stares into her and she feels his hand touching her own, guiding her up and down, telling her, silently, not to be afraid and what it is he yearns for her to do. He feels smooth, even with the bulging veins under her fingertips. A quiet grunt escapes his mouth as he nuzzles her neck, kissing and licking her tender areas, and she wonders if he is feeling the way she had been feeling just minutes before.
When he is ready, she tears open the packet and he lets her dress him, her fingers trembling and her mind rushing back to health class. She wants to hit herself—why is she thinking about school at a time like this? After she is done, he takes her hands and lays her back down and when his knees nudge open her own, she cannot help the intense fear and smothering feeling inside her.
Is this normal? To have second thoughts mere moments before they are about to…?
Her breathing is fast, panicked and he brushes away the stray hair from her face. "It's okay," he murmurs gently, planting soft kisses down her neck, collarbone, shoulders. She can feel him pressing up against her nether regions, his hand moving to hold on to the back of her thigh. Just as his lips find hers, he is entering her and her gasp is lost between their mouths and—oh God!—he is sliding his entire length in and she can feel every little inch of him. She thinks she hears him sighing in bliss but dazzling spots are filling her vision no matter how much she blinks and her mind is a jumble of words, and she finds that she cannot breathe because he is so hard, so hot, too big and too deep inside her, nothing like his fingers before. She is used to pain but this hurts. She whimpers.
He stills and continues kissing her but she pulls away slightly, needing to breathe. Her fingernails are digging into his hair, his shoulders, his back, and when he bends down to her breasts, taking their hardened tips into his mouth and on his tantalising tongue, the discomfort fades out to pleasure and the noise that comes from the back of her throat sounds remarkably like a hungry moan. He takes it as a sign to continue, drawing out from her and as he pushes back in, she sucks in a deep breath and feels tingles up and down her spine because he is rubbing against that sensitive spot again. The pain is gradually subsiding.
It is odd feeling someone else's naked body atop hers, pressing down and against her so sensually between her legs, and the sensation of being filled so full is nothing like she has ever experienced before. She breathes into his mouth at every of his motions and feels him running a hand along her backside to guide her up and meet his thrusts, responding to her soft moans with his own. She thinks one of her legs is already wrapped around him but between the cloudiness in her head, his devouring kisses and the mind-blowing pleasure he is giving her, she is not sure. She is getting hotter, more delirious; a familiar feeling now but still, she is unprepared for the overwhelmingly intense ecstasy that comes crashing down on her, throwing her mind into disarray and an explosion of bright lights. She thinks she utters something then—his name? A cry of pleasure? Some incoherent babble?—but she cannot remember what.
He is panting and with his hand still at her hips, he buries himself as deep as he can and gasps when her muscles clamp down, as if not wanting to release him. His mouth hot against her ear, he lets out a heavy breath and she feels him shudder and he is murmuring something as well, though it is inaudible to her. Then he collapses onto her and everything is quiet, save for their breathing and the thundering of her pulse in her head. She is oddly at ease, like she is still floating in seventh heaven, and she does not want to come down. Akihiko is heavy but serenely peaceful against her.
When he carefully gets out of bed to dispose of the condom, the realisation and gravity of what she has done finally hits her. No doubt her father will be furious if he finds out because he expects better of her. She expects better of herself, and for her to give her innocence to someone like Akihiko is…
But what is wrong with Akihiko? He had been gentle and understanding with her and she cannot think of anything that she would have liked different for her first time. How did they get themselves into this? Trust has always been an issue with her and yet, somehow, she had let him touch her and make love to her even though she thinks she barely knows him at all. Was it because of their emotions from that argument, or simply because everything had felt like the freedom she so desires? Because her father need not know about this… and when he knows nothing of something she has done, she finds a strange sort of satisfaction there.
The mattress bounces a little as Akihiko crawls back into the bed and pulls the sheets over them. He rests his chin on his hands and watches her silently, and she, too, silently stares back at him. She is not embarrassed now, surprisingly, despite the fact that they have just shared the most intimate experience a man and a woman can ever have. She wonders if he is just as lost as she is. Then his eyes move to her upper arm and they are filled with an emotion she cannot read as his fingers reach out to touch the scars on her skin—some fresh, some old, perfectly ordered at right angles. Will he ask her about them?
"I'm sorry about before," he apologises instead and she assumes he is talking about their quarrel in the dining room. She says nothing and just burrows deeper into his pillow.
His fingertips are still tracing her scars. "… You're hurting, aren't you?" She stiffens. "You hide it well but I can tell. You're lonely, but you won't open up because you're afraid. You smile and laugh at school, but there's something hidden inside you somewhere and it's eating you away, and then you hurt yourself because the pain makes everything better, somehow." His words trigger something inside her and her breath catches at her throat. Has he always been this perceptive? How is it possible that he can see through her so clearly like this? How is it that he can sum up everything she has been feeling for the past ten years in mere seconds?
"Sometimes…" he continues softly. "It helps to talk to someone. Sometimes it feels like you're alone, but you're not because there're so many people around you and anyone of them can be your friend. I… I was like you once… when I lost Miki… but Shinji was there for me, and just having him around took the weight off my chest." His touch is moving up her neck, warm and light. "I wanna help you, Mitsuru," he says, his tone sincere and earnest. "But you gotta let me in."
It is strange, but only now does she feel the walls around her fall apart and something prickles behind her eyes. She never cries and she does not know how he can reduce her to tears with so little words. He is the one, a voice echoes in her mind, and then she realises what Penthesilea has been trying to tell her all this time—that Akihiko might just be her salvation. That he is the person who will rescue her from all this dread and misery, the person who will make her whole, complete and fill the emptiness within her. The person who will finally set her free.
He wraps an arm around her to pull her closer and as she sobs into his chest, suddenly broken and battered, she tells him everything.
o-o-o-o-o
They stand and watch her like hawks, like she is a piece of meat they are dying to fight over and claim. She hates these occasions. Everything is different now that she is almost sixteen and the men act as if they have the right to take her for themselves. Her father has made it clear that she is to be civil and gracious if any one of them is to approach her. They are an assortment of suitors—some incredibly handsome and charming, others downright repulsive and disgusting. None of them are particularly interesting to her. They are too arrogant—too old—for her taste.
She thinks about her parents and their own arranged marriage. Did they even have the opportunity to meet each other before their wedding? It is a topic both of them are uncomfortable speaking about and she has grown up understanding that it is a delicate subject.
She thinks about the stories and plays she has read for literature studies at school, about fateful meetings and characters falling in love with one another. Despite being immensely interested in tales like that, she is sceptical about love at first sight. Surely it is impossible to feel such emotions the moment you meet someone new? It is more realistic to feel suspicious and be cautious—how would you know, after all, if the person standing before you is telling the truth, or if he is truly as amiable as he seems when no one else is around?
She looks around the room, wondering which one of these bachelors she would end up spending the rest of her life with. Her father is not entirely inhumane; he will not betroth her to someone just like that without speaking to her about the matter first.
But in the end, is it a truly a choice if she is expected to choose between a cage or a cell for her prison, or to be tied down by either chains or ropes?
o-o-o-o-o
The sunlight is warm on her face as she sits down on the grass beside him. It is a Saturday and she is supposed to be at home but her father has given her permission to stay the weekend in the dorms. Her excuse was the need to work on a group project with some classmates. It wasn't a lie—she still has an hour before the meeting and Akihiko has brought her to the park to 'blow off some steam', in his words.
It is two days, fourteen hours and twenty six minutes since that night.
"Those pills can't be good for you, right? If you keep taking 'em?" he breaks the silence. When she turns to him, he is lying on his back, hands behind his head, and staring up at the sky. "I think you should stop."
"I can't. I'm not like you. It's different when your ability was prematurely stimulated," she answers. "I might lose control without the medication and we cannot afford to let something like that happen…" Again.
He shakes his head. "I disagree," he says. "I think you can control your powers even without the drugs, or at least, I think you can learn how to control them." He pauses, running a hand in his hair, and sighs. "If Shinji had stayed, I think he'd be able to do it too, and… he's gonna kick my ass if he finds out I said this, but you're stronger than him—mentally, I mean—so I really think you can do it."
To know that he has that much faith in her is strangely disconcerting but his words seem warmer than even the rays of sunlight on her skin. She idly pulls at the bit of grass under her hand, rubbing them between her fingers until they are smeared green and the woody scent fills her lungs. "… I don't know if I can risk it," she admits.
"Y'know what? I think it's trust that you lack with your Persona, just like how you're always too careful and cautious about everyone else. If you don't trust your Persona, it's like you're not trusting yourself, and when you don't trust yourself, you'd probably lose control, right?"
She ponders over this for a moment, thinking about her Persona and her true feelings towards Penthesilea—awe and fear, naturally, as well as some sense of belonging, but not trust. Never trust, because deep down, she is afraid something might backfire.
"You should train with her," Akihiko says and she fights the urge to smile because everyone knows training is his middle name. "Or more like, you should train her. I always think that's the best way to bond with your Persona, since they're supposed to be our other selves and all..."
She leans back on her palms, shifting her gaze to the cloudless sky. "Train, huh…"
"Your Persona can sense Shadows, right? Why don't you try training with that for starters?"
"… There're no Shadows during the day and at night," she replies flatly. "And I can't possibly have the time to do that during the Dark Hour."
He takes a minute to think about her words and then says, "What about me? Can you sense me? Or maybe Polydeuces?"
She blinks at him and cocks her head to the side with a frown. It might be possible… If the Shadows and Personas are related, somehow, then maybe her ability can be extended to sense things other than those creatures. "I can't say for sure, but… I might be able to," she murmurs. He gives her a dazzling grin before stifling a yawn and closing his eyes, the back of his hand over his forehead. "Why don't you try tracking me down during the day? Seems like a good place to start," he says lazily.
She begins that very evening, in her room, where it is peacefully silent and tranquil. Penthesilea feels as if she is hesitant about this new plan but, fortunately, gives her no grief.
A week later, she stops taking the pills, bracing herself for anything her Persona might throw at her, but her mind is hushed and calm. Penthesilea sleeps quietly.
A year and a half later, with the other SEES members around, the comforting familiarity of her room is no longer the quiet paradise it once was. Thankfully, the fourth floor meeting room is far enough from the noise and chatter of the juniors.
… Except for Iori's screaming, that is.
o-o-o-o-o
She sees before her the path she could have taken—the path she would have taken had she been left with her grandfather that fateful night. Strega is no more but she still cannot tear her eyes away from the bloody body of the flaxen-haired man with bright eyes—familiar eyes?—on the ground. Despite everything they have done to SEES, to Shinji, she cannot bring herself to hate them, for she knows that it was not their fault that they were this way, that their beliefs were as such.
"Kirijo rounded up kids that were living on the streets and gave them special powers," that other boy had said. Then they must have been subjected to the same experiments she had undergone, most probably even more radical and ruthless, because even though her grandfather had seen her as a very promising subject, she was still his granddaughter and he had treated her well.
Her soul burns hotly and she feels Penthesilea sharing the burden. Kirijo.
How she hates that name.
o-o-o-o-o
This cannot be real. After all those years, the feelings of dread and despair should not be new to her, but she is wrong, because they are nothing compared to this pain, this anguish she is experiencing now. She stands by her bed, her eyes staring off into the distance, and all she can see is Takeharu Kirijo lying on the ground, motionless and still. All she can see is his lifeless face, cold and clammy. This cannot be real.
Her father is dead, yet where is the freedom she thought she would have? Her whole body is numb, but escape is closer than she thinks. She walks stiffly to her desk.
The light reflecting off the blade is blinding. She blinks, takes it into her hand and stares at it. Akihiko's face comes to mind, only to fade away to nothing. Penthesilea squirms, fidgeting restlessly, a silent cry of reluctance in the back of her mind. It has been too long and she is not willing.
Mitsuru ignores her and rolls her sleeve up.
o-o-o-o-o
Freedom has a scent
Like the top of a new born baby's head
- U2: Miracle Drug -
A/N: Feedback is much appreciated. How was the sex? :P That scene was extremely hard for me to write because I wanted it to be hot and erotic but not distasteful, and it was tough writing it in the point of view of a character who has never experienced it before. I could see everything in my head but putting the words down was just very, very difficult.