Curtain Call
By Katia-chan
A/N: It's a bit rantier than I intended, so I hope you can all work with me. This got written at 4 a.m last night; so I put a disclaimer on its rambly fashion.
I've got several fics about Rin and Haru waiting in the wings, and this one was not the one I intended to write, but this is what came out.
You must all forgive the excessive use of "she." It just. . . happened.
Disclaimer: no. Not gonna say it. You can't make me.
Dedication: To Windswift, who would have sensibly told me to have the good sense to be sleeping at this time of the morning.
Enjoy!
XXX
She had always considered herself a good actress. When you lived in the Souma family, it was almost a requirement. You had to be beautiful, and you had to play a damn good game of pretend.
Rin had taken this to heart. The one time she didn't act, the one time she asked a question in complete honesty, her world fell apart and shattered into pieces around her feet.
So she got better.
She pretended that the sight of her parents didn't bother her; she pretended that she didn't loathe herself for some of the things that came out of her mouth. It was easy, this silly little game, and it saved her. She could walk to center stage and play alongside her fellow family members, and it was a convincing performance.
Until he came along.
She couldn't pretend she didn't love him. Even though doing it was the biggest mistake they'd both ever made, she couldn't stop. She was addicted to the hugs and caresses. His quiet laughter echoed sweetly in her ears even when he wasn't there. She couldn't get enough.
But it had to be secret; they had to pretend it wasn't happening.
And that she could not do. Since she couldn't act her way through it, since he might get hurt because of it, she had to make it stop.
It had taken weeks. Long grueling hours of rehearsal in front of the mirror in her small hospital room.
"I don't need you," she would say to her reflection, the judgmental audience. They didn't believe her.
It's hard to be convincing when you're crying.
She worked diligently; running through her lines over and over again. After some time she could sometimes say it without falling apart. Sometimes she could keep the tears away for just long enough to think she'd succeeded. Then there were other times, when she thought she'd die because it hurt so badly, and she wished she would.
"I don't. . ."
It was a sick ritual of "practice makes perfect." She struggled on, until one day when she could say it. She had stabbed herself through the heart so many times that she could no longer feel it. She couldn't feel the wanting and the hurt and the selfishness; she could almost ignore the loathing too.
"I don't need you anymore. I'm tired of you."
And when it was time to perform, she played her part to perfection.
XXX
TTFN
Katia-chan