Innocence
"Damn it," I cursed – I cursed and cursed and cursed. I hated this. I hated every second of this – this prolonged silence, this ebbing quietness.
Why was it always me?
Why?
Why?
...Why?
"Don't you get it?!" I yelled, shoving him into the wall.
Seemingly effortlessly, though, he pushed my hands away. Without so much as a grimace or a smirk, he replied. "No, I do not."
"Then, why did you say that? Why did you do that?" Was that me? Was I really growling – at him, at Ulquiorra?
"I don't know." The simplicity of his answer hit me hard.
This was too much. I didn't understand any of it, either. Honestly, I didn't even know if I even wanted to understand any of this.
If I understood it, would it give me reasons for what I did – for what I felt?
If I understood it, would I see something I didn't want to see? Would I know something I didn't want to know?
If I understood it, would it explain why I felt this way?
I didn't want to understand.
I didn't want to know the reasons. The reasons justified it – the reasons made this all logical.
If there was anything that I hated, it was logic.
It made everything seem mechanical – pre-determined, unimportant, worthless, ethical. Nothing about this was ethical. Nothing about this made any sense.
Perhaps, Ulquiorra had already seen this greater truth? Perhaps, Ulquiorra had already known that all along. Perhaps, that was why he didn't know.
Perhaps, he didn't want to know either.
I gave up on trying to make him understand.
I didn't understand. How could he?
Emotions were supposed to be my forte – I was the one who was supposed to know these things, not him. So, he couldn't be expected to understand when even I didn't.
"You've had an epiphany of some sort." he pointed out, seemingly uncaring.
"Yeah, I just had one." I agreed.
He frowned slightly. "What was it about?"
I shrugged. Explanations were worthless.
His face faded back into its usual melancholia.
That was the importance of appearances – no one could read you. In Las Noches, ha, if you wanted to survive, you had to keep up that stance.
It was our pride.
It was also what always got in the way. I was too proud to let him know.
He was too proud to understand.
This pride...there was a fine line between pride and insanity.
Between pride and selfishness.
Still, this isn't for me to say. It was both of our choices – Ulquiorra and I both decided that neither of us should no. And that decision was made, no matter the consequences, so that we wouldn't be hurt – and, the one condition was that, no matter how much either of us wanted to say it and no matter how much either of us wanted to hear it, we never would dare to speak of this.
Indeed, there is such a fine line between pride and insanity.
So, I leaned against him, not bothering to flash him one of my famous – infamous – smiles. He didn't display any emotions, either – none in his body language or his speech or even his eyes.
I had grown accustomed to that – but it still gave me chills. By "accustomed", I only mean that I began to expect that readily.
I didn't take his hand. I didn't speak, either.
All I did was kiss him.
Somehow, for him, that was enough.
It felt like all the kisses we had shared – rushed, quick – but there was something tender about this one, as though some sort of deeper bond existed.
Even though we did not share such a bond.
Even though we never would share such a bond.
Of course, that was all expected, wasn't it?
I gave him a rueful smile, not a grin. His eyebrows only seemed to knit together just a little bit more.
Or, perhaps, it was just a figment of my imagination.
His body was unnaturally cold, emanating no heat whatsoever.
It was Ulquiorra.
That alone sent shivers down my spine.
"Grimmjow," he spoke in a steady, unwavering tone – a tone I knew so well, "I feel claustrophobic."
I nodded vaguely, not really focusing. I didn't move, though.
His frown deepened slightly – unnoticeably, but I noticed. He didn't speak another word – that was unlike him.
As if forfeiting this little game of cat and mouse, he elicited a wistful sigh.
That was new.
My gaze fell from the ceiling to his face immediately – a questioning look resting in my eyes, curiosity brimming.
"Grimmjow," The way he talked, I could never tell whether he was going to reprimand me, scold me, warn me, torture me, destroy me, ask something of me – it was always the same. "Tell me something I don't know."
It was my turn to frown. But, my frown turned into a grimace.
"What's that supposed to mean – something you don't know?"
"Make me believe something I don't believe." he continued – seemingly absentmindedly. Again, there was that word – seemingly – a face kept for appearances only.
This was beginning to frustrate me. "I can't do that." I told him sternly. "No one can do that."
"You already have." he pointed out in that same dead, bored tone. Another chill ran down my spine. "You made me believe that I could do things I've never done before – like kiss."
I glared at him – pointedly. "Fine, what do you want me to make you believe?" He got me there.
"Make me believe that I can love," I opened my mouth to retort but he cut me off, finishing, "Make me believe that I am loved."
A pang of guilt hit me along with a reminder that I couldn't – because of my pride. Selfishness, one could call it. Pride just sounded so much more eloquent.
I told him honestly – but, perhaps, not so honestly, "I can't do that."
"I see."
There wasn't even the slightest hesitation. It was almost as though he had been testing me. There was no hurt in his eyes.
Another pang of guilt hit me.
Pride, pride, pride...
Selfishness, selfishness, selfishness...
I reminded myself that he had this same selfishness – he didn't want to understand by himself.
Still, it was guilt and that I knew, without a doubt.
This was his innocence, though – opened to me. This was his weakness – shown to me. Ulquiorra knew that, with this, I could destroy him – with this, I could kill him, surpass him.
If even I knew this, he must have.
Was this trust?
Another pang of guilt washed over me.
Did I even trust him the way he trusted me?
I doubted it, somehow.
This innocence of his made me want to hold him forever in my arms, cradle him as one would cradle a dangerous weapon – he was one, I knew.
But, I knew that I couldn't do that – never – no matter how much I wished or he wished.
I let him go, moving away.
He looked at me, confused – and, maybe I had only imagined it, a little bit of hurt.
"Claustrophobic, right, Ulquiorra?" I hastily excused my actions.
He nodded slightly – the same way he always did.
My imagination really was getting the better of me.
"Grimmjow," Ulquiorra asked, eyes not looking up, "What is innocence?"
That one caught me off guard.
"I don't know." That was an honest reply.
He turned at me and, for the first time in my life, I saw him smile. "If you do not know what innocence is, I must be the guiltiest man in the world."
I had no answer for that.
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Author's Note: I think I just succeeded in making absolutely no sense whatsoever. Didn't I? Haha. You poor children. If you're reading this, you must've read all of that. Anyway...It's confusing, I know. I don't even know what I was writing. Honestly, it's all Grimmjow's fault – him and his irrational thoughts. He made me write this. Ulquiorra and I are just the victims! I swear!