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e
m b e r ;
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1ŠÎÐÉD
rikuiné
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The room was cast in darkness; shadows seemed to have nestled in every nook and cranny of the enclosed space. Only a few rays of molten gold speared through the gap in the pearl-tinged curtains, spilling into a narrow spotlight on the painted floorboards. It was through this crack that the girl peered wistfully at the forest just outside the Old Mansion, her gaze occasionally shifting to the horizon, set ablaze by the sunset of Twilight Town.
Naminé had barely moved from this position in the past few days; for nearly a week, she had stayed there, her face pressed against the window, her breath smearing a downsized fog onto the thick pane of glass that clouded her vision for several seconds before fading away slowly.
It was immature, she knew, to isolate herself from everyone else by barricading herself into her room—but she couldn't help it. Her time alone gave her time to reminisce, to remember her happier times.
To remember her times with him.
She recalled the conversations she had shared with him—both the serious and the not-so-serious. She summoned from the depths of her memory the hardships they had encountered—and how they had helped each other through them.
But most of all, she remembered the jokes, the childish pranks they had pulled on each other. The superglue on the door handles, the shaving cream in the shoes, the false love notes—she could still each one clearly in her mind.
No matter how hard she tried, none of her tricks had ever fazed him, while his practical jokes had always embarrassed her to no end, and once her friends had finished laughing, he would step out from hiding, a mocking half-grin evident upon his features.
And she would be ready, her reprimand already bracing itself to leap from the edge of her tongue.
"I hate you, Riku!"
She never meant it, of course. It was only a way to vent, to let him know how humiliated she was; to let him know that he had won the battle.
But no matter how awkward she felt once the prank had been pulled, no matter how many people enjoyed the chuckles they received from it, it was always his reply to her insincere declaration that unnerved her to no end.
"I love you too, Naminé."
But, like Naminé, he never meant it.
He didn't love her.
He loved Yuffie.
×
The flames cast an eerie tangerine glow upon the alabaster walls, dancing in time with the blackness that had made its home in the corners of the room. She had finally unstuck herself from her place at the window and now sat in front of the fireplace, her sketchbook open on her lap, frowning at the picture she had drawn onto the page.
Orbs of gleaming sapphire swept over the drawing, taking in the platinum bangs, the aquamarine-hued irises, the peach-colored lips forming a miniscule smirk.
It was a perfect image of him.
It was almost too perfect.
She didn't even know why she had kept the picture.
He didn't love her.
He has Yuffie now.
He never had loved her.
Why didn't I see it before?
He never would love her.
How could he love me? I'm just a Nobody.
She'd known it before—she'd known since the day the perky ninja had come along and taken Riku from her life. She'd known it ever since the day the two of them had paraded down the street, their arms swinging, their fingers entwined with each others for all to see.
She had known Riku didn't love her for a while now.
So why was it so hard for her to accept that?
Maybe it's because admitting it to myself hurts more than it would have if it had come out of his mouth.
Or maybe...maybe it's because I really did think he loved me.
Her frowned deepened. Her eyes flashed angrily, azure darkening to a fiery cobalt. She clenched her fists, nails embedding her near-white palms with deep, crescent-shaped marks.
Something inside her snapped.
She couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of rage, she tore the drawing from the sketchbook, crumpled it into a loose ball, and threw it into the fire.
She watched in a form of twisted amusement as the flames flared violently like a monster eager for its next meal, licking greedily at the edges of the textured surface, curling it, turning it an ashy gray. Tongues of crimson burned away the flawless face drawn perfectly and with immense care—both on the paper and in her heart.
The glare slipped from her face, the hatred inside her simmering down to a calm anger. Staring fiercely into the grate, she watched as the miniature blaze within it intensified for a split second, swallowing up the remnants of the drawing forever. When the flames died down again, she spoke for the first time in a week, her voice hoarse from many days of shedding tears.
"I hate you, Riku."
And this time, she meant it.
x
x
x
end
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Disclaimer: I don't own the hawtness that is Kingdom Hearts.
A/N:
Dedicated to Roxas in a Box.
She wanted me to write more
angst,
so I did. :D
This
is on top of my to-be-rewritten
list of fics; I'm not too
happy
with how it turned out.
Yes, I got a little lazy on the disclaimer.
Be
a dear &&review.
(Even if it is just to
flame me.)