Author's Notes - This doesn't follow the series, so it kinda
Au. It's a one-shot unless I decide otherwise. It's a one-
sided Mimato from Matt's Point of view. The lyrics aren't mine
they belong to ApricotKisses, which is who this fic is
dedicated to. Shay, Katie, it's 15
.
Blood of Innocence
Mimi only saw the good in people, I looked at her, feeding honeyed words to everyone and hoped that she never found cruelty in this world. She believed in innocence. People are tortured, raped and murdered. There is no innocence in this world, I thought, only violence.
Until I met her.
I first met here when I was eleven, at a summer camp my parents sent me and TK so we could spend time with each other, I remember her sitting up against an oak tree, her honey- colored hair out of it's ponytail, resting on her shoulders, her hazel eyes closed, thinking, daydreaming. She was wearing a red dress, the color of blood and in her hand was a flower she had picked. For a moment I thought maybe she was sleeping, I thought of walking away and then she opened her eyes.
She patted the ground beside her. "Come, sit with me." She said. So I did.
"What are you thinking about?" She asked me, the question surprised me, no one ever wanted to know what I was thinking. My parents, or anyone for that matter never asked me things like "What do you think, Matt." No, my opinion didn't matter. I was the child, I didn't have a voice. No one listened. No one cared.
No one but Mimi
"Nothing." I replied. I couldn't say 'about you'. I couldn't tell her that I like the soft scent of violets in her hair. How I like the kindness in her personality. How I like her smile, her laugh. Her innocence.
She smiled. "Nothing at all?"
I shook my head. "What about you." I asked
"Home." She said simply, looking at the sky, at the stars.
"You're sick of camp?"
"No I don't want to leave. I could spend the rest of my life her. It would be better." Her voice trailed off. "Are you?"
I thought of my home, my pitiful apartment I share with my father, my mother half way across town with my younger brother. "No."
"Play a song for me." She said. I grabbed my harmonica out of my pocket and played a song. One time when we were talking the conversation was mainly about music; she told me she sang and I told her that I had a guitar at home that I was learning to play. I found out she had a strong, beautiful singing voice when I convinced her to sing one time.
Mimi rested her head on my shoulder, the scent of violets surrounding my thoughts. It wasn't long before I was also asleep.
~
When the summer was over and we went home, we exchanged phone numbers, addresses and e-mails and promised to keep in touch, a promise I intended to keep.
We became best friends despite the fact we went to different schools. We told each other everything or so I had thought. One day, a few months ago, she came to my house, telling me she needed to tell me something, something she had been meaning to say for a while. She told me that her father abused her, I never would have guessed. She was wearing a red dress, similar to the one she used to wear at camp, she lifted it about six inches above her knee to show me the newest addition to the one her scars bruises. A jagged cut where he had hit her with a broken beer bottle.
She stayed over that night, she didn't want to go home. My dad worked late, if not all night, so he didn't care. I gave her one of my shirts to sleep in and let her use my bed. I watched her sleep. She looked small, beautiful, fragile, innocent, hurt.
I've wrote songs about her, songs she'll never hear because I didn't have the guts to show them to her. I wrote one while she was sleeping. I kept telling myself to show this one to her. But I never did.
lying beneath this blanket at least it hides the scars looking up at the sky wishing on the stars What have you done to me?
I look in the mirror This is what I see I'm beaten, I'm broken I'm shattered, I'm stolen I'm losing . what's left of me I'm taken and I've been told. I'm bruised and you're sorry.
~
I kept telling her to tell somebody, anybody. No one had a right to lay a hand on her. No one deserves what her and her mother go through. "I'll be okay Matt." She had said. "A lot of people have it worse than me. Look, I tole you because I trust you. I'll tell somebody when I'm ready. Right now, you're the only one I trust.
I left the subject alone for a while, hoping she was telling the truth, that she would tell somebody. I shouldn't have thought, I should tell somebody, I thought. But I couldn't.
A few weeks later we were in the park, her avoiding going home because her father was getting worse, I to be with her.
"Tomorrow." She said softly, watching a newlywed couple walk by us, I could tell that the woman was pregnant.
"Tomorrow?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah, I'm going to speak with the principal after school. You wanted me to tell someone."
"You want me to come?" I offered.
She nodded. "Will you?"
"Sure." I said. Anything for a friend.
~
The next day, I waited beside the phone. She was supposed to call so I could go meet her at the school.
I decided to go see if she was at home, the doorman let me in, I came up here so often he knew me by name an looks. He let me in and I went up the stairs instead of using the elevator.
When I got up there I found the door ajar. I thought nothing of it, the doorman told me that Mr. Tachikawa had left a short while ago. He probably forgot. The apartment was quiet, I didn't see Mimi or her mom anywhere.
I found Mimi in her room. She was dead. Her throat slit deep, the knife laying on the floor beside her cold lifeless body. Did he do this to her? I ignored the voice in my mind that was suggesting that maybe she did this to herself. I picked up the knife, and for some reason put it in my jacket pocket.
She was gone.
I stand here now, looking at her. It's open casket. The sea of black surrounding me as people talked about her, remembered her. Not one of them stopping to look at her,
She was wearing a red dress. The color of blood. I wrapped my hand around the cold knife in my pocket, I could feel the dried blood. Her blood. The blood of innocence.
I thought of the last day of camp, when we were getting off the bus. "Don't forget me." She had laughed. How could I?
Blood of Innocence
Mimi only saw the good in people, I looked at her, feeding honeyed words to everyone and hoped that she never found cruelty in this world. She believed in innocence. People are tortured, raped and murdered. There is no innocence in this world, I thought, only violence.
Until I met her.
I first met here when I was eleven, at a summer camp my parents sent me and TK so we could spend time with each other, I remember her sitting up against an oak tree, her honey- colored hair out of it's ponytail, resting on her shoulders, her hazel eyes closed, thinking, daydreaming. She was wearing a red dress, the color of blood and in her hand was a flower she had picked. For a moment I thought maybe she was sleeping, I thought of walking away and then she opened her eyes.
She patted the ground beside her. "Come, sit with me." She said. So I did.
"What are you thinking about?" She asked me, the question surprised me, no one ever wanted to know what I was thinking. My parents, or anyone for that matter never asked me things like "What do you think, Matt." No, my opinion didn't matter. I was the child, I didn't have a voice. No one listened. No one cared.
No one but Mimi
"Nothing." I replied. I couldn't say 'about you'. I couldn't tell her that I like the soft scent of violets in her hair. How I like the kindness in her personality. How I like her smile, her laugh. Her innocence.
She smiled. "Nothing at all?"
I shook my head. "What about you." I asked
"Home." She said simply, looking at the sky, at the stars.
"You're sick of camp?"
"No I don't want to leave. I could spend the rest of my life her. It would be better." Her voice trailed off. "Are you?"
I thought of my home, my pitiful apartment I share with my father, my mother half way across town with my younger brother. "No."
"Play a song for me." She said. I grabbed my harmonica out of my pocket and played a song. One time when we were talking the conversation was mainly about music; she told me she sang and I told her that I had a guitar at home that I was learning to play. I found out she had a strong, beautiful singing voice when I convinced her to sing one time.
Mimi rested her head on my shoulder, the scent of violets surrounding my thoughts. It wasn't long before I was also asleep.
~
When the summer was over and we went home, we exchanged phone numbers, addresses and e-mails and promised to keep in touch, a promise I intended to keep.
We became best friends despite the fact we went to different schools. We told each other everything or so I had thought. One day, a few months ago, she came to my house, telling me she needed to tell me something, something she had been meaning to say for a while. She told me that her father abused her, I never would have guessed. She was wearing a red dress, similar to the one she used to wear at camp, she lifted it about six inches above her knee to show me the newest addition to the one her scars bruises. A jagged cut where he had hit her with a broken beer bottle.
She stayed over that night, she didn't want to go home. My dad worked late, if not all night, so he didn't care. I gave her one of my shirts to sleep in and let her use my bed. I watched her sleep. She looked small, beautiful, fragile, innocent, hurt.
I've wrote songs about her, songs she'll never hear because I didn't have the guts to show them to her. I wrote one while she was sleeping. I kept telling myself to show this one to her. But I never did.
lying beneath this blanket at least it hides the scars looking up at the sky wishing on the stars What have you done to me?
I look in the mirror This is what I see I'm beaten, I'm broken I'm shattered, I'm stolen I'm losing . what's left of me I'm taken and I've been told. I'm bruised and you're sorry.
~
I kept telling her to tell somebody, anybody. No one had a right to lay a hand on her. No one deserves what her and her mother go through. "I'll be okay Matt." She had said. "A lot of people have it worse than me. Look, I tole you because I trust you. I'll tell somebody when I'm ready. Right now, you're the only one I trust.
I left the subject alone for a while, hoping she was telling the truth, that she would tell somebody. I shouldn't have thought, I should tell somebody, I thought. But I couldn't.
A few weeks later we were in the park, her avoiding going home because her father was getting worse, I to be with her.
"Tomorrow." She said softly, watching a newlywed couple walk by us, I could tell that the woman was pregnant.
"Tomorrow?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah, I'm going to speak with the principal after school. You wanted me to tell someone."
"You want me to come?" I offered.
She nodded. "Will you?"
"Sure." I said. Anything for a friend.
~
The next day, I waited beside the phone. She was supposed to call so I could go meet her at the school.
I decided to go see if she was at home, the doorman let me in, I came up here so often he knew me by name an looks. He let me in and I went up the stairs instead of using the elevator.
When I got up there I found the door ajar. I thought nothing of it, the doorman told me that Mr. Tachikawa had left a short while ago. He probably forgot. The apartment was quiet, I didn't see Mimi or her mom anywhere.
I found Mimi in her room. She was dead. Her throat slit deep, the knife laying on the floor beside her cold lifeless body. Did he do this to her? I ignored the voice in my mind that was suggesting that maybe she did this to herself. I picked up the knife, and for some reason put it in my jacket pocket.
She was gone.
I stand here now, looking at her. It's open casket. The sea of black surrounding me as people talked about her, remembered her. Not one of them stopping to look at her,
She was wearing a red dress. The color of blood. I wrapped my hand around the cold knife in my pocket, I could feel the dried blood. Her blood. The blood of innocence.
I thought of the last day of camp, when we were getting off the bus. "Don't forget me." She had laughed. How could I?