OK, so this is my first attempt at fanfiction, driven by The Plot Bunny That Would Not Let Go. Totally AU, I know, but I had to go with it. Plus it's Rishid/Shizuka. What's not to like? (Rhetorical question, although you're free to flame me in the reviews. Which you'll do, right? Review, I mean…) On with the fic, then!
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Rishid sat gazing out of the train window at the countryside passing in a green blur. So much water in this country. So much life.
His own life had changed for good when he'd met her, the girl currently asleep in the seat next to him. He smiled gently and brushed a strand of auburn hair out of her eyes. Shizuka murmured quietly in response, snuggling closer to his warmth.
His eyes softened. Had it really only been a year since he first laid eyes on her? Sadness crossed his face for an instant, remembering that day, her troubled past. In some ways a past not unlike my own. Rishid gently stroked Shizuka's hair, red and soft and fine, as he remembered.
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"Here is the contract."
Atemu leaned forward eagerly as Murakami unrolled the long sheet of paper.
Rishid studied the document quietly. If he had his wish he would not even be here, accompanying the former Pharaoh as he stopped by the Murakami mansion to "pick something up". It will only take a second, Atemu had said in that vaguely patronizing way of his. A second, indeed.
It was only after they had been ushered into the lavish home and greeted by Murakami himself that the "something" Atemu was going to get was revealed to be, in fact, a slave. Rishid hid his disgust well as they were seated at a low table with Murakami, who at the moment was giving them an unctuous smile as he presented the deed of sale.
"She's rather young," he continued, "but I think she'll suit your purposes." Murakami shared a brief conspiring smile with the Pharaoh, who looked rather pleased.
Rishid was inwardly seething on seeing the Pharaoh's smug look, but was suddenly aware of another presence at the table.
It was a girl. She had unusual coloring, her skin very pale in contrast to the rich red of her long tresses. She kept her eyes lowered demurely as she set about pouring tea for the three men at the table.
A maid, Rishid thought, or quite possibly a slave; Murakami did have a tendency to keep several young slaves at his disposal throughout the mansion, or so it was said. Rishid acknowledged the girl with a small smile as she filled his cup.
She flushed prettily and continued on to pour the steaming amber tea into Atemu's cup as well. As the teapot hovered over Murakami's empty cup, however, Rishid saw her wince slightly – her hand trembled and lost control. The white porcelain pot fell to the table, smashing into delicate, razor-sharp shards. The tabletop was quickly drenched, tea spilling onto the contract and over the edges of the table. Atemu swore; a good deal of tea had splashed onto his shirt. On the table, the contract was ruined, the terms of sale bleeding into an illegible mess.
Murakami shoved back his chair and stood, furious. "Stupid girl," he hissed, clamping a hand onto the girl's arm. Rishid's brow knit with concern – the girl looked even paler than before.
"I…I…my apologies," she stammered. She turned toward Atemu, who was dabbing unsuccessfully at his shirt with a napkin. "Let me help you, sir," she said simply, moving to aid the irritated Pharaoh.
"No," Murakami ordered, tightening his grip. "You stay here," he hissed, voice dangerously low. "You," he said, nodding towards another serving girl in the corner, "take my guests to get cleaned up." He turned to Atemu and Rishid as said girl ushered them out of their seats. "Terribly sorry," he said, smiling. "She's hopelessly clumsy. Aren't you?" he said, turning to the redhead, who was wincing a bit at the man's tight grip on her arm.
Before he could protest, Rishid and the Pharaoh were hurried down the hallway, finally coming to a luxurious washroom. The serving girl took to fussing with Atemu's shirt, while Rishid stood there awkwardly. His clothes were perfectly dry, having escaped the tea-dousing, so he waited a few minutes before slipping out again into the hall.
Once in the hallway, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Don't want to be here, don't want to be here, really really don't want to be here. He rubbed a hand over his eyes for a moment, taking a second to calm himself. The silence of the hallway was a welcome change from the oily whine of Murakami's voice, and Rishid took another deep breath.
Silence. Or at least, he thought it was fairly quiet. But a very small sound was registering in his ears, so faint he thought he might be imagining it. It sounded almost like a small animal of some kind, a whimpering puppy or the crying of a lost kitten.
Rishid held his breath for a minute, listening. It wasn't an animal. It sounded almost…human. Curious, he walked cautiously down the hall, taking a turn here and there as he followed the sound.
He came to a stop outside a large wooden door, which was slightly ajar. I shouldn't touch it. I should leave, go back. What am I even doing here? Ignoring the part of his brain that was reasoning thusly with him, he gently pushed the door open and froze.
It took him a moment to process the sight in front of him. White. White and red. The room was stark and bare – white walls, a single window, nothing more. Nothing more save the small pale figure huddled next to the wall, her shoulders shaking. Rishid instantly recognized the long auburn hair and caught his breath.
It was the girl. She was curled up on the floor, crying brokenly. From the doorway, Rishid could see that the girl's back was red with bloody stripes, still fresh from a recent beating. He felt his stomach twist, and the scars on his own back ached briefly in recognition.
All this for spilling tea? he wondered. True, he knew that some masters were quick to temper; Ishtar-sama had been no exception. But he still wondered at the severity of the punishment. Without meaning to, a small noise of concern and pity escaped him.
The girl looked up. Rishid froze. He was certain he was not supposed to be in this part of the house, and he had the brief and childish thought to turn heel and run back to the main parlor. His feet, however, refused to move, and he found himself completely frozen as the girl turned to face in his direction. It was then that Rishid realized she was blindfolded.
The girl trembled and bowed in his general direction. "Master, I…"
"No," he said quietly. "I am not your master."
The girl froze. "Who…who are you?"
Rishid took a step into the room, a sad expression crossing his features as the girl shrank back against the wall. Poor thing…
"I am not your master," he repeated gently. "I am…a guest. My name is Rishid."
"Oh," she said quietly. "Did my master send you?"
"No!" he said, surprised, then softened his voice on seeing her start. "No," he said softly. "Do not fear, little one. Can you…can you look at me? Are you alright?"
"I…" The girl's voice was shaky; it sounded as though she were fighting back tears. Swallowing hard, she lifted one hand to the blindfold over her eyes, hesitating a moment before slowly pulling it down. She would not meet Rishid's eyes.
"Please…can you look at me?" he repeated gently. "It's alright," he soothed, as the girl slowly lifted her chin. He held her gaze steadily. "I won't hurt you. It's just…your back. It needs to be cleaned and bound up properly," he said, his practical side taking over in the midst of his concern. The girl's gaze had dropped again to the floor. "I have…some experience in these matters. May I help you?" he asked gently, fully expecting her to refuse in fear.
To his surprise, she lifted a tear-stained face to look at him. "Please," she whispered.
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Shizuka lay perfectly still, her fingers curled tightly into the rumpled fabric of her skirt. Her throat ached from trying not to cry, but she blinked back her tears resolutely and took a shuddery breath, trying to relax.
"Are you alright?" the man's concerned voice reached her ears.
She gave a tiny nod. I'll be alright. I've had worse… Shizuka grew quiet again while gentle hands deftly tended to her back and shoulders.
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The last time had been worse. Murakami had been involved in weeks of negotiations, trying to purchase a raven-haired beauty that had caught his fancy. The girl's master was understandably reluctant to let her go, but he began to weaken as Murakami started to make increasingly exorbitant offers. Shizuka had been present at the last day of negotiations, watching the two men argue over the contract between them, the young girl in question looking at her hands in her lap.
Refuse the offer, Shizuka mentally urged the man. Take her away from this place. She knew next to nothing about the girl's current master, but was almost certain that any master would be preferable to Murakami. Eyeing the girl seated at her master's left hand, Shizuka quietly noted her frightened clear eyes, her pale hands clasped together in her lap to prevent them from trembling.
A desperation welled in Shizuka's chest. I can do nothing to help her, she realized. Murakami will buy her, and then he'll have a field day. I…I simply can't save her, she thought, outwardly masking the frustration she felt.
But as she went to refill the teacups at the table, an idea seized her. She filled the guest's cup as he grasped a pen and hesitantly moved to sign the contract. Out if the corner of her eye she saw the greedy, triumphant smile on Murakami's lips. No.
As she moved to fill Murakami's teacup, she let the heavy pot slip from her hand and crash onto the contract; amber and ink ran together, gushing over the porcelain shards. The contract was completely ruined, and Murakami was scowling.
Shizuka apologized profusely, of course, but was more interested in noting the reaction of the guest. The sudden noise and confusion seemed to have snapped him out of some sort of reverie, and he suddenly realized he was not willing to part with the dark-haired girl now dabbing at his tea-soaked jacket with her sleeve. Shizuka held her breath as the man stood.
"I'm sorry, Murakami-san," he said, smiling sheepishly, "but I'm afraid I just can't part with her." He extended a friendly hand to Murakami, whose face had morphed from scowl to jaw-clenched smile.
"Of course," he said, politely but firmly walking his guest to the door.
Shizuka watched with relief as the girl left, not free, but almost certainly better off than in Murakami's clutches. A light smile played about her lips as the door closed, but she quickly schooled her features into a blank expression as Murakami came back into the room. Unfortunately she was not quick enough. She froze when her master's cold eyes caught her own.
"What are you smiling about?" he snarled. His tone indicated exactly the sort of dangerous mood he was in. Murakami was a sore loser, and the failed bargaining for the dark-haired maid had sparked his temper.
"Nothing, sir," she said quietly, looking at the table in front of her. She quickly moved to gather the soaking mess of porcelain and paper.
He caught her wrist. "Do you find this amusing?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.
Shizuka shook her head, not daring to meet his eyes.
"Answer me!" he spat, tightening his grip. "Do you think this is funny?"
She swallowed convulsively. "No, sir," she whispered. Please God, she thought, have him let go.
But Murakami looked like he was thinking. "Why did you drop the teapot?" he asked suddenly, sharply.
A stab of fear ran through Shizuka, but she answered calmly. "I'm sorry, Murakami-sama, it was an accident. Please forgive my clumsiness."
"You are never so clumsy," he stated flatly, his grip tightening again.
"Sir —" she began in a strangled whisper.
"— Enough. This was all your idea, wasn't it?" It was a statement, not a question.
Shizuka shook her head, afraid her voice would betray her.
Murakami glared at the ruined contract. "It was. It was you. This…this…sabotage!" he shouted suddenly, his fist striking the table. Shizuka jumped involuntarily.
"Please, sir —" she began, but cried out when Murakami gripped her other arm, taking her words for a confession.
"Such insolence," he hissed, his grip threatening to bruise Shizuka's arms. Shizuka choked back a whimper rising in the back of her throat, waiting.
Suddenly, without warning, Murakami slapped the girl hard across her face. She cried out, biting her lip as she cradled the spot with her one free hand. "This is all your fault," Murakami muttered, grabbing the collar of her shirt. "I had her, and you ruined it…your doing…worthless bitch…" He began half-dragging her down the hall, snarling.
Shizuka couldn't help the cry that escaped her as she was pushed roughly back into her quarters. Her heart was already pounding, and she felt fear settle in the pit of her stomach as Murakami entered the room and locked the door behind him. He advanced toward her, his features now showing a calm that belied his rage.
Frightened, Shizuka instinctively backed away, but the movement only seemed to trigger Murakami's reaction. He lunged toward her suddenly, furious, and Shizuka screamed.
The other servants in the hall heard the scream, and for the next hour would continue to hear the girl's cries, punctuated by the sounds of blows and Murakami's bellowing. When the door opened again, only Murakami came out, blood staining his shirt and hands. The maid on hand could not help but stare, her eyes riveted on the stains. She snapped to attention, though, when Murakami barked at her. "Clean up the room," he said, then as an afterthought added, "And the girl."
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"Almost done," came the soothing voice, as the man dabbed at a particularly bloody spot between her shoulder blades.
"Thank you," she whispered, almost inaudibly.
A hand brushed a strand of hair aside to see to a cut reaching up to her neck. "You're welcome," came the quiet reply.
They sat in silence for a moment longer before it became apparent that someone was calling from down the hall.
"Rishid? Rishid!"
"There," the man said, standing. "I'm sorry; it's the best I could do," he said, sounding apologetic. "I must go."
"Thank you…Rishid-sama," she said again, her voice stronger this time. She sat up slowly, experimentally. When she turned to look for the owner of the kind voice, however, he was already gone.
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Rishid appeared in the guest room seconds before Murakami was about to send servants to look for him.
"There you are! We were going to send a search party," Murakami joked.
"No need," Rishid replied dryly. The false smile on Murakami's face stirred a righteous anger in Rishid's chest as he thought of the girl he had just seen.
"Atemu-san has decided to pass on his purchase today," Murakami said with a hint of irritation behind his false smile.
"I simply need time to think over the terms," Atemu explained mildly.
"Of course."
Rishid cleared his throat, preparing himself to utter a sentence that he never thought he would say to the slave owner in front of him. "Actually, I might be interested in something."
Both Atemu and Murakami looked at him in surprise. Murakami was the first to respond. "Really? How delightful! This isn't the pretty young thing Atemu has his eye on, is it?"
Rishid wished he could punch the smug, knowing smile off of Murakami's face, but quickly composed himself. "No. Actually, the girl who was in here before, with the red hair," he said.
"Oh. That." Murakami's tone was sour. "Hah. She's so much trouble I'd almost give her away," he muttered darkly before brightening. "But then what sort of businessman would I be?" he laughed.
Atemu laughed as well; Rishid held his tongue.
"Fine. Get her ready. Bring her here," Murakami said, nodding to two servants nearby.
Fifteen minutes later, Murakami was in a good mood about the profit he had just made on a slave that was virtually worthless to him. Rishid and Atemu stood at the door, ready to leave when the girl arrived. When she did, Rishid was not expecting her to be blindfolded, carrying a small bundle of clothing under one arm and being led by the other. The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
"Why…why is she blindfolded?" he asked quietly.
Murakami laughed. "You really are naïve, aren't you?" he said, clapping the taller man on the shoulder. Rishid quelled a shudder of revulsion. Don't touch me… "Since you asked so nicely, I'll explain it to you."
"Please do," Rishid said tightly.
"When you buy a slave, you usually have to move them from one house to another. Naturally you don't want them running back to where they came from —"
I don't think that will be happening…
"— or knowing where to run if they get out of the house. The easiest thing to do is just blindfold them when you move 'em from point A to point B."
"Ah." I see. Bastard.
Murakami took the girl by the arm and carelessly pushed her toward Rishid, who caught her without thinking about it.
"Enjoy," Murakami said lightly, as a servant opened the door for them. "Pleasure doing business with you."
The feeling is definitely not mutual, Rishid thought, but managed a curt nod as he left, guiding the shivering girl out the door in front of him.
Once they were out on the street Atemu hailed a cab and climbed in front. "Hurry up," he said, waving at Rishid.
Rishid risked a half-glare in the Pharaoh's direction, helping the girl into the cab and closing the door after himself.
The cab started off, and Rishid turned to the girl, who would have been looking straight ahead had she not been blindfolded.
"You can take the blindfold off," he said, then after a moment reached to do it himself when she refused to move.
As the cloth fell from her eyes, she blinked at the light. She must have caught a glimpse of him, though, as her eyes widened in recognition.
"Rishid-sama."
"No. I am not your master; no one is. You are free," he said quietly, the last words said softly but clearly.
"I…" her voice faltered. "Really?"
"Truly. I am not lying to you," he said, holding her gaze.
"Free…" she whispered to herself.
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The meaning of the words hit Shizuka suddenly. She swallowed hard, willing her hands to stop trembling. She looked back at Rishid-sama, no, Rishid, who was looking at her with concern in his warm golden eyes. She suddenly buried her face in her hands and quietly wept tears of relief.
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They arrived at the apartment in the late afternoon. Rishid paid the driver, Shizuka hovering behind him, while Atemu sauntered up to the door.
"I don't know where you intend to keep her," Atemu grumbled, fumbling with the lock on the door. "I've really only room enough for one guardian, let alone any pets he insists on dragging home." The door swung open, and he walked in, tossing his jacket aside onto a nearby chair.
"She can share my quarters. It will be no inconvenience, I assure you," Rishid replied evenly, inwardly bristling at the way the Pharaoh referred to the girl.
"Hmph." Atemu waved a hand dismissively, signaling the end of the conversation. Bored, he wandered into the next room.
Arrogant bastard. I'm getting out of here as soon as possible. Pity he had to be so insistent that a Guardian be present these last few weeks.
Sighing, Rishid pushed his irritation aside as he turned to the red-haired girl. "You can stay in my quarters," he said kindly. "Come – I'll fix you a place to sleep."
With a nod, the girl followed him down the hall.
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Shizuka didn't quite know what to make of the events of the last few hours. Rishid seemed to be sincerely concerned with her well-being, but she was still a bit anxious. I'm sleeping in his room…he said it wouldn't be "inconvenient" for him if I were there… Did he mean that innocently? She frowned slightly, worried, thinking of Murakami briefly before shaking her head. Rishid-sama seemed nice enough. Shizuka had, however, taken an instant disliking to the other man, and she also sensed that Rishid had to work at being polite toward him.
In front of her, Rishid was arranging bedclothes on a cot, her cot. While she waited, Shizuka scanned the rest of the room quietly from under her thick lashes.
The room was neat and sparsely furnished. A small rug on the floor brought a bit of warmth to the otherwise simple quarters. From a small window, Shizuka could see the leaves of a tree outside. She was watching the boughs bend in the breeze when she realized Rishid was looking at her. She quickly turned to face him, lowering her eyes.
"You can sleep here. I'm sorry it's not the most comfortable room in the world…"
Shizuka shook her head. "It's fine," she whispered. "Thank you." After hesitating a second, she bent to lay her small bundle of clothing on the bed, biting her lip as her back exploded again in veins of liquid fire. She heard Rishid's sharp intake of breath.
"Shizuka," he said, "I think you may want to have a doctor look at your back. Some parts may need stitches," he continued, even as Shizuka was shaking her head no.
"No. I'm fine."
"Your shirt is bloody again," he said quietly.
She could feel a trickle of blood beginning to make its way across her ribs. She said nothing, the silence hanging heavily in the air.
"I'll call a doctor," he said, turning and leaving the room.
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Rishid restrained himself from pacing nervously outside his closed door. The doctor's been in there for a while, now, he thought worriedly. I hope nothing is seriously wrong.
Just as he was thinking this, the door opened. Rishid glanced up at the doctor as he emerged from the room, brushing a strand of white hair away from his youthful face.
"Well?" Rishid asked, a hint of worry on his features.
The young man sighed. "I'm glad you called," he began. "The injuries to her back and shoulders will take some time to heal. In the meantime, this should help prevent infection and reduce the chance of scarring." He handed a small jar of ointment to Rishid.
"Thank you."
"What concerns me, though," he continued, "is the fact that she has almost certainly endured psychological abuse as well as the physical."
Rishid nodded. It was obvious in every fiber of her being – the way she wouldn't meet his eyes, the way she flinched at everything.
"From what I gather her last guardian was rather…harsh," the younger man said, dark eyes looking to Rishid for confirmation.
"Yes. Her master, in fact. She was a slave."
"Ah. I, ah…well, what sort of slave?"
Rishid raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. Do you think perhaps she —"
The doctor shook his head, snowy locks falling into his eyes again. He pushed them aside. "I can't be sure if she was raped or not, if that's what you mean; I didn't examine her for that sort of thing. I would merely suggest that she be treated with care and patience. It took me nearly ten minutes before she let me touch her," he said ruefully.
Rishid nodded again. "Thank you for your help."
The young man smiled, gathering his coat and bag. "Any time."
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Rishid had trouble falling asleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes unbidden images of Shizuka's bloody back and hurt eyes would flash through his mind. After what seemed like hours, he finally fell asleep, only to be thrust into the middle of a vivid dream.
Malik was screaming.
"Please, Malik-sama. This will be much easier if you hold still." Rishid worked quickly, trying to change the bandages on the boy's back. He peeled back a piece of gauze over the bloody inscriptions, his brows knit with concern. Thin lines of blood welled from the insignia, and Rishid grabbed a clean strip of cloth to staunch the wounds.
"Rishid…"
"Almost done, Malik-sama."
He finished dressing the mutilated skin, gathering an armful of the bloodied bandages. Some of the cloth strips spilled out of his arms and onto the stone floor. He reached to retrieve them, but the pile of white and red only seemed to grow more tangled. He knelt on the ground, hands sifting through the cloth. Suddenly his hand closed on something thick and soft. Something that was most definitely alive. He recoiled just as he heard the hissing sound – a viper. A very large viper.
Hand going to the dagger at his waist, Rishid was focused on only one thing: Get it away from Malik. Must get it away… Pausing only a second, he stabbed at the snake, aiming behind the poisonous creature's head. But at the last possible second the viper spat, whirled, and sank its fangs into Rishid's wrist.
The pain was sharp and sudden. Rishid cried out, tearing at the creature. In response, the snake only seemed to sink its fangs deeper, wrapping its long body around Rishid's other wrist. The snake was impossibly strong, squeezing and tightening itself over his arms. At least it bit me, and not Malik… Gods…
The pain was sharper now – Rishid looked down to see that his wrists were nearly rubbed raw; now his wrists were held not by the viper, but by rope. A sickening fear came over him.
No…not this. Gods, not this…
He tried sitting up but found that he could just lift his head to look in front of him. A figure stood there, silent and furious. Rishid instinctively knew – he knew what was about to happen, knew how things were only going to get worse. He couldn't seem to stop his limbs from trembling as the other figure loomed over him.
"Ishtar-sama…"
A powerful kick to his ribs was the only response. Rishid bit back a yelp, gasping for breath, nearly choking. When he did manage to breath again his senses were assaulted by the smell of hot metal.
Please, Gods, no… He was suddenly too weak to fight back. His entire body ached, and cuts and bruises he hadn't realized he had were beginning to make themselves known. He twisted his wrists limply, the rope stinging his already bloodied arms. I'm going to die…
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ishtar-sama raising the white-hot blade, a cruel gleam of triumph in his eyes. Without hesitating, he slammed the blade down onto Rishid's shoulder blades.
Rishid screamed. The pain shot through him, as real as the day it had happened. With a cry, he woke up, sitting upright – he was totally awake but still breathing hard from the terror he had felt a second ago.
A dream. It was only a dream… Dear Gods, I thought those dreams were over… He ran a hand over his head, trying to calm his breathing. In the corner of the room he noticed Shizuka, who was sitting straight up in bed, staring at him. She was frozen, a frightened look on her face, clutching a blanket to her chest.
Rishid had probably never felt more awkward in his life. "I'm sorry," he said. "Did I, ah…did I wake you?" Obviously you did, idiot.
She swallowed. "You were yelling," she whispered.
"I'm sorry," he said again, looking down at the quilt.
"Bad dreams?" The question came out softly.
Rishid hesitated a second, then nodded. "You could say that."
She shifted, rearranging the covers around her. "I…I have nightmares, too, sometimes…"
Rishid nodded, understanding. I don't doubt it. It occurred to him that that was probably the longest sentence he had ever heard her say. "They are terrible," he agreed, "but with time the worst of them usually go away."
She looked rather small, curled up on her bed, hugging her knees. "I hope so," she whispered quietly, so quietly that Rishid almost couldn't hear it. "I hope yours go away," she said softly, then averted her eyes, focusing on the moonlight on the wall.
There was a moment of silence, followed by Rishid clearing his throat. "Well…goodnight again, then. Sorry to wake you." He lay down again, exhaustion quickly taking over and sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
From her bed, Shizuka watched him fall asleep again. She had never seen anyone wake from a nightmare like that, much less someone who seemed as strong as Rishid. What was he dreaming about, I wonder? Whatever it was, his breathing seemed more even now; Shizuka quietly arranged the covers over herself again. "Sleep well," she whispered, before she, too, let sleep claim her.
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Shizuka suddenly yawned, opening her eyes. She blinked at the country outside, flashing by to the clicking of the train. "Are we almost there?"
"Nearly there love," Rishid said, kissing her hair. "I promise."
She settled back against him contentedly. She smiled, a smile that Rishid would never grow tired of seeing. "Alright, then," she said playfully. "I trust you."
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In truth, there had been a point when Shizuka was certain no one could be trusted. Whom could she trust? Her family? They had been anything but reliable, and even worse when the drink was added to the mix. Murakami-sama…she could never trust him. Ever. Even letting her guard down in the slightest could land her in certain trouble, or worse.
So it was a small wonder that she had been so wary the first few weeks in the house. The doctor, as kind and patient as he had been, had had to deal with Shizuka staring at him in fright, backing away and clutching her shirt around her shoulders.
Rishid, however, seemed…different. Shizuka wasn't quite sure what it was, but she found herself more relaxed in his company. He was always ready with a kind word or a helping hand, and most of all he seemed sincere. She found herself slowly adjusting to the ideas that he brought up. How she was free now. How he would do his best to protect her. How she could always come to him if she needed help.
These ideas were just beginning to sink into her mind and heart that rainy afternoon that Rishid went out to do some errands.
"I should be back in a few hours," he said, pulling on his cloak.
She offered him an umbrella, and she was secretly pleased when he accepted.
He opened the door, unfurling the umbrella against the heavy rain. "I'll be back soon," he said smiling, then stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
Shizuka watched his retreating back in the rain until he turned at the street corner. She stared into the rain thoughtfully for a moment longer before she realized she heard her name being called.
"Shizuka?" Atemu appeared in the doorway, smiling when he spotted her. "There you are."
"Atemu-san." She lowered her eyes discreetly. The man still made her uncomfortable, especially now in the way he was looking at her.
"Come with me," he said in a honeyed voice, confidently moving toward her and taking hold of her arm. "I need you to help me with something."
Something was wrong. What does he want? Following him reluctantly, she tried to shrug his hand off. "What do you need?" she asked, trying to stay calm. He's acting too much like…like Murakami-sama when he wanted something from me.
Atemu stopped, pulling the girl closer to him. Shizuka saw the look in his eyes and tried to step back. "Atemu-san…what are you doing?"
He rubbed the girl's arms, trying to calm her. "Don't be frightened," he laughed, although he had to admit he did feel a thrill of excitement looking down at her wide eyes.
She pushed at his chest. "Let me go," she said, sounding braver than she felt.
Atemu shook his head patronizingly. "Shizuka…don't be so coy. I know you've done this before." He leaned in closer, so close that she could feel his breath on her throat as he whispered in her ear. "It's nothing to get upset about."
Anger and fear surged in her chest, and she pushed him away more forcefully this time. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Let me go. Now."
"Now, now…didn't you know about this?" He took a step closer, regaining his lost ground.
Shizuka narrowed her eyes, at once confused and wary. "About what?"
Atemu spoke calmly and matter-of-factly. "Rishid-san has been so kind as to let me…borrow you on occasion."
"What?" Her voice came out in a strangled whisper. No…that can't be true…he would…he would never do something like that…
"Come now," Atemu said, smiling at her, "you didn't expect to stay here for free did you?" He laughed. "Come on." He stepped closer, slipping an arm around her waist.
Shizuka felt like crying, still shell-shocked from the words. Nothing's changed from before, then… She gazed blankly in front of her, her mind beginning to shut down as Atemu kissed her neck. She didn't resist when he laid her down on his bed…
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Rishid noticed that Shizuka was quieter than usual that evening. When he had returned that afternoon he had thought perhaps she had been crying, but she merely shook her head when he asked if anything was wrong. Now she was wrapped in a blanket on her cot, facing the wall, a still lump. Rishid didn't think too much of it – sometimes Shizuka would be more quiet than usual. Perhaps this was one of those times. Still…
He cleared his throat. "Shizuka?" The lump stirred. "Are you awake?"
"Yes, sir."
Rishid frowned. She never addressed him so formally, not since the very first few days when they had first met. "Are you ill?" he asked, concerned.
"No. I'm fine."
He hesitated a second before walking to her bedside and lightly touching her shoulder. She didn't turn to look at him. He was starting to grow worried; something was stirring in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite pin the thought down. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked again.
"Yes. It was fine."
He raised an eyebrow. Did I hear that right? "I'm sorry…I didn't quite hear you. What was that?"
"I said I'm fine."
Rishid sat on the edge of the bed, the worried feeling growing more distinct. "No, you said it was fine. What are you referring to? What was fine?" She still refused to look at him.
"Everything. Never mind. I'm tired," she said suddenly, pulling the blankets around her tighter.
"Shizuka…" he gently tipped her chin so that she was facing him. "What's wrong?"
Golden eyes met her own, and she suddenly felt like crying again. "I…I thought…"
"Yes?"
"I didn't realize…about Atemu-san. I was…confused, that's all." She turned away again, embarrassed.
What? "I'm sorry, I'm not quite following you," he said, leaning closer. "What about Atemu-san?"
"About the arrangement…you lending me to him, that's all." She grew quiet again.
"Shizuka…" He hesitated. "Shizuka, I never made such an arrangement. What happened?" He desperately wished she would look him in the eye. "What did he tell you?"
Shizuka took a breath, shakier than she'd intended. "Atemu…Atemu-san said that you had been so gracious as to let him borrow me…I couldn't stay here for free, after all…" There was no trace of bitterness in her voice, only a heavy tiredness.
"Shizuka…" He touched her shoulder. "What happened this afternoon?"
She looked up at him. He really doesn't know. "You didn't tell him…?"
He shook his head. "I would never say such things," he said fiercely before his eyes softened. "Are you…did he hurt you?" he whispered. Guilt gnawed at him sharply. How did I not see it coming? I shouldn't have left her alone with him… "Shizuka," he said in a low voice, "I'm so sorry."
She sat up, meeting his eyes fully.
Oh, Gods. Rishid swallowed. "Shizuka…?" he whispered.
Wordlessly, she threw her arms around him, her body shaking with silent sobs.
"Oh, Gods, Shizuka." He cradled her to him, stroking her hair. He could feel her breathing, her crying muffled at his chest. How could I have let her be hurt like this?
She hugged him closer, breath coming in gasps between her crying. "It's not your fault," she managed to say. "It's my fault…it's my fault…I…I didn't understand. God…" she said, hiding her face in his shirt. "I'm so stupid…" The rest of her words were lost in her tears as she cried against him.
"Shizuka…" He rocked her gently in his arms, trying to soothe her as best he could. Damn that bastard. That decides things. Placing a hand on the girl's now healed back, Rishid smoothed small circles over the surface. The girl's trembling slowly became less violent. He kissed Shizuka's hair, whispering words of comfort in Arabic. After several minutes, Shizuka's breathing was calmer, but he continued to hold her in his arms. He broke the silence to say only one thing:
"We'll leave tomorrow."
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They had, indeed, left early the next day, arriving at the train station just as the early morning rush hour was beginning. Shizuka didn't say much, but stood clutching her ticket, looking both scared and determined. She had never been on a train before, and was a bit overwhelmed by the large crowds around them.
At last their train arrived; holding onto the sleeve of Rishid's cloak, Shizuka followed him through the pressing mass of people going to work. Rishid looked back at her and smiled slightly. "You won't get lost. Don't worry."
She nodded, smiling shyly in return. OK. I won't worry. With a bit of surprise she noted the next thought that came to her mind. I trust him.
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Shizuka was now staring out at the passing scenery. "Remember that first train we took together?" she asked, turning her head to look at Rishid.
"I was actually just thinking of that a moment ago."
She smiled. "That was the first time I'd ever been on a train."
"Really?" Rishid was quiet for a second. "I suppose I've traveled so much I don't really think about it anymore."
"Ah. Very worldly, then," she teased, kissing him on the cheek. "I guess I have some catching up to do, don't I?"
Rishid laughed. "I don't know about that," he said, leaning closer, "but I can take you with me wherever I go." He kissed her back, feeling her smile as she moved her hand to find his. When the kiss ended, she looked up at him, eyes sparkling with laughter.
"Sounds like a good start to me."
Rishid smiled. "It's a deal, then."
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Fin.
Review if you've got the notion…