She loves the ocean; it's chaos represented by beauty, enhanced at a certain part of the day.
And she sits, resting on the red bonnet of her car, legs sprawled, skinny arms leaning on the clear windscreen, resting behind her head, folded in a casual manner. For a moment, she closes her eyes, two dark blue mirrors framed by thick lashes, listening to the beat of her heart, the sound of her breath, exhaling slowly, calmly, before her awareness spreads to the sound of the stereo, playing quietly in the background, the melody unheard unless she strains her ears, concentrating on something to pass the time.
A smile is nearly drawn from her lips, quirked at the corners, but not enough to reach her cheeks, her wistful eyes. If she lingers in her mind, a black box conjured to protect her from her imagination, the memories that haunt her, from a look by those irises to contact on the lips, but if she listens, really listens, drowning out the sound of her thoughts, the beating of her heart, she can hear the music of the ocean.
Opening her eyes, she moves to switch off the stereo, before resuming her original position. It's time.
Dusk begins, slowly dissipating the celestial blue shades with streaks of emerald and ruby, silver mingling through folds of white clouds, tinted with snow blue, shining forth a beacon of light, golden like the sun's burn, catching fire in fields of wheat, where the crop sways back and forth, moved by the wind, strong against her face, pulling her hair, letting it billow into the wind like a ship's mast. Like a baby reaching for contact, red bleeds into the world, a football scoring the winning goal, erasing the azure sky of its bright colour, the crowd's applause, the hugs and kisses, strokes of crimson replacing the broken wisps of light blue.
She tilts her head, pale compared to her black tresses of hair, sliding down her shoulder like a drop of water into the ocean. And with admiration, she watches the view, trying to memorize the sparkling liquid with its sonorous tranquillity, her heart clenched in her chest, like a child still living in illusions, naïve about the world that surrounds her.
But that's why she returns to this place – her secret, a hidden box locked with trinkets that danced to an irregular beat – to remember that even if she feels down, her anger too much for her to control, or her emotions bubbling like a whirlpool, swirling into a sea of regret… resplendent beauty exists, and will exist without her, without knowing of her existence. Somehow, whether it is the vision of untouched nature, or the silence that lies in her wake, the thought gives her hope, the dream that still remains in her fractured heart; daring her to trust, forgive, once more.
She isn't the centre of the world, and she smiles bitterly at the irony, losing herself once more to the watery depths, lulling a sweet melody.
Back and forth, the salty water swishes, briny wind tangling her hair, silently mocking her, hues of shimmering saffron and sapphire, dashed with speckles of cotton candy clouds, clashing with the brilliant sky, still lingering in its metamorphosis.
A thought came to her once, where wet tears once splashed hotly on her cheeks that it almost looked like the sun was being devoured by the sea. And the sun, how it shone, blazing with white pride, yellow honour and red passion, smouldering as it sank into the mouth of the sea, forgotten in its watery grave.
She blinks her dark pools of dilated blue, growing and shrinking, intense as memories filter into her mind, seeping past the barrier. Cold, she shakes her head, rubbing her arms, her chest heaving, hoping for friction to warm her up. She closes her eyes, compressing her mouth into a thin line, pressed too tight, teeth nearly breaking her skin.
.x
Inhale. Exhale. Rinse and repeat, like the waves that wash each other out, an endless tug of war.
Think of calm thoughts, memories of laughter and smiles.
Real ones, when you were happy.
But… you're not happy anymore, are you?
.x
Her phone rings, singing a bittersweet melody.
Sighing, dark blue eyes snap open, bony arms automatically reaching for the noisy object, flipping it open in one move, a reflex action. Her eyes skim, darting back and forth, checking the name once, twice, thrice, before breathing out heavily in relief.
Incoming call.
Kurosaki Ichigo…
Her thumb presses the green button before she even registers it, accepting the call. Hesitating, she holds the phone at arms length, before shifting into a more comfortable position, leaning back against the car's front screen, casual and poised, half-heartedly watching the sunset, eventually succumbing to her curiosity, braving her fear and placing the phone towards her face, her mouth, her ear.
"Nii-san." She says, satisfied with how her voice seemed so clear and articulate, with no trouble or stumble.
"Stop calling me that. What ever happened to good old 'Ichi-nii'?" The gruff voice of her elder brother made her smile, eventually causing a laugh to bubble out of her. At least he hadn't changed.
"I grew up." Her smile fades, dark eyes growing cold and detached. Feeling slightly awkward, she coughs, smoothly going into safer grounds. "Anyway, what's up?"
"A lot. Get back home already."
"Miss me?" She giggles, teasing him, touched. "You know, I…"
"Karin." Her breath hitches, and she can sense his impatience, the important subject looming ahead, wondering how he's going to break it to her. "Please."
She stifles a gulp, her throat suddenly think, the words not easily forming like before.
"Okay." She finally says, her tongue heavy. "Tell me."
"… I can't." He eventually says, frustrated. "Not like this."
"Alright. Face to face, then." She sighs, compressing her lips, and looking up, trying not to let her eyes water. "I'm coming home, then."
"Karin," Ichigo hesitates, before pursuing his sentence, "come straight home. It's better if we tell you… than anybody else."
"Can do. I won't fail you, chief strawberry. No talking to strangers. No talking to friends. Just come home and expect a welcome party. And a box of pocky." She adds, almost as an afterthought, hearing his laugh, oddly hollow. "See you soon, nii-san."
"Ja ne, Karin."
Beep… beep…
Call ended.
He sounds… broken, Karin muses, glancing once more at the diminishing sunset, the colours resuming darker colours of blue. There was barely any trace of the sunset, streaks of crimson red blurring into lines of pink, dusted over by black of the night hues.
For a second, she gazes at her phone, her bony hands cradling it, trembling.
.x
She unloads the football, placing it in front of the cliff.
Stepping back, and stepping back once more, she gains speed and kicks the football into the sea, a flurry of black and white becoming shades of grey. With a solemn face, she hears the football splash into the sea, hoping it surfaces and drifts, like a message in a bottle, for one day that secret will be uncovered, found at last.
Home.
What an odd word.
Now, she has to return to them, with a smile and sarcastic attitude, with open arms and a feast.
Hopefully, they won't notice that she's come back damaged beyond repair.
Kurosaki Karin drives away under a starless night sky, forgetting the memory of the beautiful sunset.
.x
living corpse
1 : broken heart
.x
It's been one day. No, that's incorrect. It's been more than one day, but still, it feels like the same day has been repeating over and over again, set on rewind and play, like a broken cassette player. The actions, the movements have turned predictable, like a robot slowly beginning to work.
It's been one long month.
Waking and slumbering, with dreamless sleep, the only comfort is a big black nothing, untouched as he drifts away in this vortex that pulls him into grief, isolation. He knows he can't let go. He knows he needs support. He knows he needs to break down so he can move on and cherish the memory, but his stubborn pride won't let him, clinging on to honour and duty, his love too strong, too fierce.
And it's tearing his insides out, slowing the blood flow in his head, his heart.
He's only fallen in love twice, and it hurts too much to do it again. The emotions that overflow… the heart that beats too fast and too quickly… and the touches that burn, far too short to be considered fair, far too long to not be considered intimate… all of it, the process, the act of falling… is painful.
He doesn't think he could make it if he fell in love a third time.
.x
Wake up.
Get up.
Stand up.
Move forwards.
That's the cycle that keeps you going, clinging from one day to the next; the sun rises, and you wake up with her kisses on your lips, barely grazing your cheeks; the sun sinks and you drift into her ghostly embrace, her warm arms wrapped around your body. You move with her memory at your side, seeing her in the mirror instead of yourself.
But… that's not moving on.
And when will you?
When will you be able to walk, head held high, with the ghost no longer sewn to your icy presence?
Will that time ever come, or will you lose yourself to the frost?
.x
Yuzu lets herself into his house, shivering at the chill that sweeps down her spine, tingling with the bittersweet taste of grief and love. Her fingers brush the wall, dust drawn to her gentle fingertips, her pearly white nails drumming in a slow waltz. Her bright eyes take a cautious glance, surveying the mess and clutter, left unclean for so long.
Brown eyes glance to the stairs, where a shadow looms. There is no mistaking it – it's him. Hitsugaya Toushirou. There is no one quite like him, and she has become accustomed to his mourning silence.
"Kurosaki-san." He acquiesces, his hands groping for the banister, the only item that will keep him steady, walls cause him to slump and he cannot trust doors anymore. His limbs are shaking, but his body is the same state as his mind: numb. He does not care about his body and his mind is tormented by his memories. Yuzu winces at his formal tone, using her surname instead her first name, but it is only to be expected.
"Toushirou-kun." Yuzu replies, polite and calm. "I'm sorry I haven't been visiting but I…" Her fingers twist on her skirt, a long and flowery purple one, clenching together as guilt sinks in. "… so much has happened."
He nods, dark red-rimmed eyes glazed. "What are you doing here?"
It's not rudeness, nor a sign of saying that she is unwanted; it's his manner of enquiring, rough, not overly polite, but certainly not rude. He cannot stand small talk, finding it pointless. Most of the time. And Yuzu smiles, her smile as delicate as a lily, trembling as the ripples of water slowly disorientate her. She is used to this, his cold behaviour, the icy exterior, the aching interior…
"To clean." She shrugs, offering a compromise, to sate her motherly needs to look after him. "To cook. You haven't been taking care of yourself."
"Did you expect me to?"
She nearly laughs, soft and apologetic, like a deer caught in headlights, but refrains; instead, she merely looks at the dusty place where the air is thick with stagnant sorrow, enveloped in tender silk garnished by love. "No," she admits, grey eyes forming into rain clouds. "I did not. I'm sorry."
She almost turns to go, but bites her lip, not expecting to hear his forgiveness, a careless mistake on her part, waiting for what he will say next. He will not disturb her, and he is quite content to leave the cleaning in her capable hands.
"Kurosaki-san." He stops her with his firm but quiet voice. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
And she looks at him, her big eyes penetrated by his piercing eyes, searching for the truth. There are two reasons why Yuzu cleans: the first to simply place things back in order, the second to clear away her guilt, focusing on something else instead.
"She's coming back." She softly utters, dazed by the news. "Karin-chan is coming back."
And for one second, while his pulsing heart clenches and his grip tightens, he wishes that it was Karin who died instead of his girlfriend.
.x
Disclaimer: Five words. Kubo Tite.