Disclaimer: Do I have to? Don't make me say it. Please don't make me say it. ...Fine. Saiyuki is not mine. It is the property of the talented Minekura-san. May her imagination never die. Oh, and I don't own the Beatles, either. It was just easier than coming up with my own title. So sue me.
...Please don't sue me. I'm a poor university student. It's not worth it.
Note: If this looks familiar...you're probably imagining things. If you're not imagining things, then there's a chance you saw this story in its previous, long-neglected incarnation. I have revived it, broken it into smaller chapters, and (gasp) actually updated it. I'll try to keep it alive and healthy this time, I promise.
Reviews are immensely appreciated. Hint hint ;)
Rated for general Saiyuki-ness (swearing, innuendo, etc.)
Try to realize it's all within yourself
no one else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small
and life flows on within you and without you.
–The Beatles
The sound of rain is drumming in my ears. The drumming is so loud. I think I might go crazy.
Cho Gonou stood in the middle of a great hall, splattered by the blood of countless demons. Blood coated everything: himself, the dead, the dying, the carpet, the walls, even the ceiling. The smell of it was almost overwhelming, as were the screams of his victims that still echoed in his ears. But he ignored it. As he stood there, alone, surrounded by this carnage, the only thing that held his attention was the rain.
It was relentless, this constant pounding that filled his ears on all sides and blocked out everything else; the noise seeming to press down so hard on him that he was sure he must collapse beneath it. If it continued for much longer, it seemed that it might become a part of him, and that he would hear it wherever he went, no matter what the weather. All he could hear would be rain, and all he could see would be this suffocating darkness, like the darkness that was consuming his very soul.
All of a sudden, he laughed. It sounded harsh and unnatural, even to him, as it rang through this place of death and misery. Here he was, callous killer of hundreds upon hundreds of demons and humans, and what was he disturbed by? The rain! His hysterical laughter rang through the building until at last, body trembling and breaths ragged; he rested his back against the wall and slid exhaustedly down to the ground.
Alone in the castle, silent save for the ever-present beating of the rain and the throbbing of blood through his veins, Gonou leaned his head back and gazed pensively up at the hand held deceptively still before him.
"I'm sorry. Look, Kanan. You always said you liked my hands. But now…I went and bathed them in red."
How had he come to this? How had he done it? Killing so many with so little regard. That wasn't like him…or was it? Was this his true self, laid bare at last? He closed his eyes and gave a bitter smile. What would she think of him now? What would she think of these hands, marred and soiled beyond forgiveness?
Everything had been a blur of agony, ever since he had come home that day to find his home destroyed and his lover gone. He went through with the killings – no, the murders, that's what they were – he did them automatically, not thinking about it. He couldn't think about it, because if he did…he shied away from that train of thought.
Even now, in the midst of all this carnage, he was still in shock. Nothing, not what had happened, what he did, had truly sunken in. It wouldn't until he finally found her, finally had her back, finally could go home in peace and try to forget it all…
And then she drew away from him, pulling his knife out of its sheath and smiling, smiling, as she moved once more beyond his reach. He watched those last moments as if they were in slow motion, helpless, each heartbeat unbearably painful as the knife rose… Somebody kill me… And then it plunged, and there was blood, more blood, and the world ever so slowly, piece by piece, fell apart.
"Kanan!"
Cho Gonou woke up with the name of his lover on his lips, just as he had every day since he had come out of a coma to find himself in the home of a man whose hair and eyes were the colour of sin. He tried to sit up, then fell back with a gasp, clutching his stomach and trying not to vomit from the pain. He closed his eyes, reliving those final moments over and over again, and finding that agony far harder to bear than the throbbing that filled his body. Tears trickled unnoticed down his cheeks, mirroring the raindrops that slid down the window. He was a murderer, but all for nothing. After all that, he still couldn't save her. All he could do was watch, helpless, as he lost her once again. In a way, he had died that day. That was probably the reason he woke up every morning expecting to find himself in hell.
