Disclaimer: I hold no connections to the ownership of anything in this fic. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. Okay?
Note: Song is 'I'm Not That Girl', from the Wicked musical soundtrack (the one about the Witches of OZ), and I don't own it. Italics are emphasised words or song lyrics. Bit of Ichigo and related persons bashing – the characters themselves are fine, but this is in Tatsuki's point of view, so she's a little bitter towards the Shinigami group, etc., etc. But most of all – IF YOU CAN RECOGNISE ANYTHING, I DON'T OWN IT.
Edit on the 23/08/13: I've been notified that entire songs in this kind of format are not allowed, so I've done some fixing. The fics still the same though.
I'm Not That Girl
Tatsuki sighed as she walked down the dark, lonely street, away from the happy celebration of the now graduated students of her year.
Ichigo and the others had graduated, surprisingly enough, what with all their 'unexplained absences', bathroom breaks, etc. The only reason she had stayed so long was because Keigo, in an unexpected display of seriousness, got down on his knees and begged her to stay long enough for him and Mizuiro to receive their certificates so they could all leave at the same time. She'd agreed, and had only just separated from them, where a junction indicated their separate ways to travel.
With Ichigo and Orihime almost always hanging around Ishida, Chad and Rukia, Tatsuki had never felt comfortable hanging around them, especially after she'd discovered the lies they'd told her. She might have eventually forgiven them – they had a reasonable excuse to do so, when she and the boys had found out about the world of Shinigami and Hollows. But they'd tried to wipe her memories! Ichigo knew she prided herself on her ability to dissect every little detail of her past matches to help improve her martial arts skills, to make her very own style that was almost unbeatable in pure hand-to-hand combat. He knew that! So why would he agree to wiping her memories? Oh, right. So he could keep her safe, and by extension, weak.
Tatsuki didn't mind if guys decided to use their manners around her. She didn't mind watching chick flicks, or the occasional mall shopping trip for shoes and dresses. She was a girl too, just as much as Orihime was – Tatsuki just buried her girl-self under the many layers of her own complex identity. But she absolutely hated being made to feel like she was weak and helpless. Like a damsel in distress, or an ant about to lose an argument with a boot. And Gods' damn it all, Ichigo knew that!
It was as if he expected her to slot into place with all the other women he spent time with. Blonde they were not, but they all were the damsels in distress type, with their occasional moments of reality. Option one: he was just putting her in this category because he had no clue where else to put her. Option two: he really thought she was weak and helpless and pathetic, like a china doll. She hated both of the options her brain gave her. Especially the analogy to the china doll – her mother's only one (which apparently was somewhat of an heirloom) had always freaked Tatsuki out.
Thank the Gods' school was over. Now, she could study full time at that dojo she'd been offered a place at recently. The fact that it was a good four hours by train away from Karakura had made it even better. She would write to everyone, of course, and call them as much as she could, but she refused to give anyone her address or location – she'd admitted to have a stalker to Keigo and Mizuiro, so they understood and completely supported her choice. However, she was sleeping much better lately, and why had Keigo and Mizuiro looked so satisfied when she'd tentatively mentioned that her follower seemed to have gone? Then again, Mizuiro had the odd ability of making bombs out of practically anything, and Chemistry was Keigo's best subject...
Tatsuki shook her head as she unlocked the door to her apartment. 'One more week', she thought to herself. 'Just one more week.' She nearly cried at the tantalising scent of freedom.
One more week...
And she'd be able to leave behind the painful memories of a man who'd tried to create her into something that she wasn't.
I'm not that girl