Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just the plot of this story.

Dedication: To whomever…

TITLE UNKNOWN

Rating: R

Part I: The Flow of Life

I would sit there, and I'd feel him. He could be anywhere, anywhere in the country or anyplace else, and I'd still be able to find him or just know where he was. It was after my frightening experience where I had danced along the edge of death when they began to come to me. Not clearly at first, though, but steady and occasionally enough for me to understand them fully. They became my life, my mind, my world.

They became apart of me.

Life had been nothing to me before the incident, but then it doesn't mean much to me now, either. His face flew into my mind at odd times of the day. His body would scroll down in front of my eyes, starting from the neck, revealing all to me. He wanted to show himself to me, and I could feel his pain. It was intense, the feeling of loneliness, anger, and frustration all built up into one large cloud of bitter judgment.

I felt sorry for the young man. He looked to be about my age, perhaps a year or two older, but that had been my judgment by staring at him so intently…

Running her fingers along the smooth plain of her flat, creamy-colored stomach, she fought back a grimace, tears coming to her eyes at the first bite of pain. The doctor had said that there was no scar whatsoever, but why was she in so much pain? What if she wanted to see this 'scar' for herself? Her tummy rumbled in hunger, creating a more painful sensation, as waves of nausea made her groan aloud. Trying to ignore the pain, Hitomi Kanzaki stared up at the white ceiling of her third-floor hospital room.

What's wrong with me, she questioned her body. Why do I hurt so much like this?

With the blankets and sheets bunched down to cover her hips and lower, she continued to lead her fingers along her abdomen, searching for the scar, or a bandage of some sort. She remembered what her best friend, Yukari had whispered, the recollection disturbing enough for her, gruesome beyond uttered words. Unless it hadn't been whispered, it was like a sing to say out loud.

What's wrong with me, Hitomi repeated the question in her mind again, weakened anger beginning to build. Her back was completely back to normal, the skin as smooth and silky as if nothing had disturbed it earlier. She had been fully awake when the nice Japanese doctor had gone to remove her stitches, only to have them slide out of her flesh as if nothing had happened when she had snipped at the first stitch.

She remembered the cooling sensation of being tickled. The gash along her back had hit her spine, digging in deeper along the layers of skin. A lot of blood had been lost, bone had been chipped clear away. The cut had gone from her right shoulder blade, all the way down to her left side, nearly colliding with the three gashes along the front of her stomach. Hitomi remembered the unbearable pain as her intestines had pushed and strained against the three thick strings of flesh holding the tender tissue together. She had struggled to breathe at the same time, as well. They had been bulging through the gaps, wanting to escape desperately.

Hitomi could feel nothing. She let out a huge sigh of relief, only for the fact that her body wouldn't be scarred for life. Letting her hand rest flat on her stomach for a moment, she turned her head and stared out the window. A small blue bird was perched on a branch outside in front of the window. A sweet, soft melody filled her room. Turning away from the window for a moment, she examined her room.

Her bed lay in the middle of the East wing of the room, the headboard pushed up against the wall. A small night stand with an old Victorian style lamp sat beside a rose, crackled vase, the read, white and pink roses giving off a healthy, strong fragrance.

Across the large square white room, a low six-drawer dresser of dark mahogany was pushed up against the wall, and the doorframe leading to the built-in bathroom. A large mirror, with small shelves along the inner edges, was perched on the top of the flat, rich, smooth surface, an elegant trimming hanging down from the top, almost acting like a protective roof for the mirror. A small, two-door closet was a few feet away from the other part of the bathroom doorframe, the brass handles creating a stunning contrast against the dark wood of the doors.

[I can't finish the rest of this because I'm at school and my damn computer is broken at home. So, I'll only be able to finish later on during the week. Sorry that it's incomplete! L There will be more tomorrow, though. If you like this story, drop me a line at suaiko@hotmail.com I'll be sure to check my email soon!! *MUAH*]