Biting Back
Oneshot
By: Rai-Child
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters.
Summary: This time, it all happens so fast, it just doesn't register that the hand is travelling the wrong way...Until it makes impact... LarxeneNaminé.
Author's Notes: Okie, so this is the final version! X3 I really hope you enjoy. I've corrected any spelling/grammar errors, so it should be readable… 0.o;
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(P.O.V: Larxene)
"Don't- Larxene!" She cries, screams, raising her arms up and over her head in something that is evidently supposed to resemble self-defense. "Don't..."
It's hard to make out exactly what point she's trying to make, disjointed sentences flitting briefly past chapped lips, knowing that the beating is going to come but desperately begging for it all to stop. She doesn't have a reason. Just that everything's wrong, somehow, something happened to poison the connection somewhere along the line.
It's hard to say, really, why I keep coming back the way I do. Again, and again, and again. It's always the same, this game we play. I know she's different somehow from the rest of us, not just a Nobody, but a witch nonetheless, but it's at times like these when it's easy to pinpoint who has the upper hand.
Because when she's crying, there's never any room for relevant thought.
The room seems to spin. Everything, from the strangely metallic sheen of the walls to the tiny bottle of semi-viscous colour that is now smashed and bleeding violet into the floor. It had been something of a 'bonding' experience; I'd seen the idiots Demyx and Axel do the very same on countless occasions, cornering Number XIII and submitting him to the strange torture that I had experienced not five minutes previously.
Naminé had sat on the floor, cross-legged, and motioned for me to do the same.
It all went downhill from there.
Now, the half-dried substance is smeared across one reddened cheek, clearly visible as she slumps back against the wall, still reeling from the fact that yes, she had just been backhanded across the face, and yes, she is still at knifepoint. The blade spins lazily in my fingers, but it's steadily losing what little momentum it has left.
I pause, because it's all I can do, really, and lower the weapon. It's still there, familiar shape held between the knuckles of my index and middle fingers, just in case.
"Stop it." I say, giving a little leeway for her to catch her breath, watching carefully as she pushes herself to her feet, still more or less pinned against the wall.
Though it never seems that way to any onlooker, anyone outside this play we seem to be constantly rehearsing, it's Naminé who's in control. Maybe she doesn't know it herself, but I feel it everytime red-rimmed eyes start to water, it's always enough to make anyone falter. There's always the gritty satisfaction of causing harm, but underneath it all it's like kicking some form of defenseless animal. Knowing that she'll never hit back was always frustrating before this one particular incident, to say the very least.
When the fist first comes, I think absolutely nothing of it. Despite being partial to the projectile arts, I've made my fair share of physical assaults too. This time, it all happens so fast, it just doesn't register that the hand is travelling the wrong way until it makes impact. It's so like my own- small, pale, balled into a vicious fist as knuckles collide with my jaw, only then does it sink in that something's different this time around.
The feeling is decidedly alien, though I recognize it as pain, I still don't fully understand the concept. I've been injured before- during training with Marluxia, however, being on the receiving end of my own kind of treatment somehow triggers something much more deep, rooted somewhere in instinct. In one movement I manage to reel back, catching just a glimpse of shocked, blue eyes before the throwing knife is once again summoned and pressed lightly into the soft underside of her jaw.
Naminé squeaks, the action drawing a thin sliver of blood from the skin.
Silence.
The familiar mix of anger and resentment is suddenly fuelled by the odd throbbing of skin that is sure to bruise, but still I wait, not sure exactly of what to expect. Apology? Explanation? Tears? I'd never given any.
The hand that struck me as if out of it's own accord is now wrapped around my wrist, the sudden struggle for freedom vaguely amusing. Still, I've yet to emerge from the fog, still unable to regain my balance internally. I smile, though the action tightens the skin across my jaw and suppress the flinch that would certainly highlight the definite chink in my armour.
I'm met with absolute disbelief from the younger girl; she tries to speak but her words have no substance to them. It's almost painful in itself, the notion of simply standing there, waiting for something to come along and save us both from the silence.
I have two options. Press in the knife, bring it slashing across her throat, dig it in until her failing body simply gives up the fight, or, let it all go.
Leave it until tomorrow.
It's intriguing, this little twist that the girl has brought about.
I bring the knife-
Away.
It fades into nothing. The hand that gripped her shoulder, preventing her escape, is also removed. I look down, almost casually, at my fingernails, long and sharp and vaguely tinged with smudged violet and crimson. Purple for the nail varnish, and red for the blood. They both signify something. The top and bottom of the spectrum, one reminding me of the need for peaceful moments with associates, and the other for her sudden bravery- stupidity-
"It's smudged."
"-What?"
"Your girly shit. You know- this purple stuff? It's all come off."
"Oh..." Naminé still hasn't moved; almost as if she's afraid of doing so. "No one ever taught her, did they? About... About this sort of 'girl stuff'. Your other, I mean... Before..." She trails off, again so apprehensive just to stop dancing around the point.
"Before she became a Heartless." I finish for her, though completely unwilling to elaborate further. She looks at me questioningly, and I nod, though I don't really know anything about my almost-former-self for certain. Instead, I glance down at her own hands, raising an eyebrow as she twists her fingers nervously.
"We never sorted yours out either." Again, no response. I walk back across the room, summoning a portal and lingering for a moment before stepping through... "You'll need some more of that before tomorrow." I gesture to the smashed bottle, still on the floor, weeping the foul-smelling substance.
I leave.
Naminé is left alone to literally pick up the pieces.
No sense in ending it all just yet. The unrelenting ache across my jawline is proof enough...
It's always more interesting when the fallen bite back.
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Yeah, it's short, but I've been dying to write this up for ages... Review?
Ally