A/N: This chapter is essentially a prologue and there is no Kick here. I am making some backstory for the Yoshimi and Mariko to set up his love/obsession. Also, Yoshimi story takes place 200 years ago, so I made some period appropriate assumptions.
Yoshimi had forgotten how long he had been trapped here. The damn curse kept him in this basement forever and he did not remember the world, the sun, the air, the smell of nature, or even sometimes his own name. He was not sure he was ever a human. Being a ghost had a way of making one forget what being corporeal felt like. To be honest, he did not even have thoughts like that anymore.
Hahaha... Corporeal... If he had a body... He would... touch and taste and bite and drink in.
Oh Mariko, so sweet is your nectar, where are you, my love? I long for you.
But one thing he always remembered was Mariko and her face. Just like that the image of a girl appeared in his mind's eye. A girl in her first bloom of spring. Lovely and light. He saw her. He saw her gorgeous dark eyes like glittering jewels, her beautiful raven black locks and her feminine body so slim. She smiled up at him, coy and timid, but oh, so tempting...
He would find her. He swore to himself when he was trapped here. She would be his and he would be free. She had to be somewhere, trapped as him. The last time he saw her she was unhappy. He needed to find her...
Is he hurting you? I knew it! Who could be better than me? It is not your fault, sweet Mariko. You thought you could thwart the fate... We are fated. Together, you and I, sweet Mariko. I need to see you again.
Yoshimi sometimes wished he knew how to stop thinking about her. (He didn't.) Because more often than not, when he thought of her, the memories, or wishes (dreams, fantasies, desires) would drag him in. Like right now, it was happening again. He tried to ignore it, forget it, do anything else but think about it, but he was already lost. Just like last time. Just like every time, if he was completely honest with himself. It was like a tide washing over him, and he has very little chance of making it back to the shore until the water decides to release him.
It started with just her face and smile. Bright eyes, pretty bow like lips, soft sounds of the laughter. Sometimes he could reign it in before it went too much farther. But lately, it's becoming harder and harder to control. Maybe it was just becoming harder to control himself. Maybe he didn't really want to control it. Maybe he craved it.
He let the memory wash over him. Better to be there than here, in this dank place.
Mariko was in the garden, reaching to touch the blossom as pale pink as the colour on her cheeks. He was behind her, not breathing, afraid to startle her and ruin the moment. She must have felt him. She raised her eyes slowly to meet his. He watched her swallow – the way her throat moved, drawing his eye to the shadow at the base of her throat and the line of her collarbone. He caught himself and dragged his gaze back to her face, to eyes filled with fear and determination. She was brave and beautiful, and incredibly, incredibly innocent. And, even knowing that, he only just stopped himself from smoothing the worry from her face with his fingertips. This fierce protectiveness shook him again and he scanned the garden for danger.
"What scares you, my love?" he said quietly.
"Nothing... Just... I worry that you never have time for me, for us... You work hard. You art is important to you." She did not say more, but he heard it (only now, when its too late! Stupid! You lost her! Shut up!) that she thought his art was more important than her.
"I take great pride in my studies, its true. And soon this studiousness will bear fruit and I shall be the grand-master. Would you like that, Mariko?"
"Yes. Because you want it so much." She raised her eyes again and her smile was soft, tentative. As they continued to look at each other, her smile faded a little and the dark eyes turned more hooded and she bit her bottom lip. He felt himself being drawn in and her lips were closer than ever.
To crave the taste of something you never tasted, that is a true torture. Or worse yet, missing something you already had and lost. No matter. I am punished for my cowardice. If only, I had... Sweet Mariko, to drink you in, to touch your perfection... I long for you...
Distantly he heard the gong that called them to practice and he reluctantly stretched up again from where he bent to bring his face close to hers.
"I have to go. I am sorry to leave you so soon, my love." He saw her eyes dim and the pouty lips purse into a tight line.
"Of course. You art..." she said quietly and turned away to look at the blossom again.
Yoshimi pulled himself out of the memory, regret and anger at himself splitting him anew. Sweet Mariko... How often did he spurn her like this? How much did she suffer at his carelessness? Was she harbouring resentment at him at that moment already? Was it then, when he lost her? That almost kiss in the garden, so long ago? Was it when she decided to give a chance to another man?
Bitter jealousy and anger made Yoshimi howl aloud, long used to the fact that no one ever heard him.
She left him! For another! What treachery!
No, no. no... It was his own fault, really. She waited as long as she could. It was he was stupid to see it. Let me find you, sweet Mariko. You'll see, I know now. You will be mine and no one, no one, could touch you. Your delicate kisses, lips, face, body, your nectar... all mine...
At first, when she broke it off with him, he thought it was just a matter of time before they made up. But, Mariko was of marriageable age and her family wanted to see her settled. The long cue of potential suitors started almost immediately and while Yoshimi practiced and waited, her family paraded his gentle Mariko around and it was not too long afterward that one of the suitors made an offer. The marriage has been arranged.
She was not allowed outside without chaperons anymore. And she would not have gone to see him anyway.
Traitorous snake! She stole my heart and I am dying without it! I need to get it back, I need to get it from her! I need her to return it! I need... Need... Mariko...
Yoshimi was too starved to see her to be polite and followed her one day after she brought the offering to the temple.
It was so easy.
She was so beautiful, so stunningly beautiful. And it was just so easy. To hide and watch as she waited for her mother to return to her. To sketch her perfect image in his mind and not cause any suspicion from her. To follow her home and take a spot in the trees where he had a perfect view of her in the room she shared with her sister. To watch her wherever she went and never ever get caught. She never noticed him, which both pained and relieved him. She did not acknowledge his presence even when he came into her room and sat down beside her as she slept.
The first time he slipped into her room, the adrenaline and danger were making his heart pump so loud. But then he focused and saw her lying, curling into herself. He came close, as close as he dared and moved the long lock of hair out of where it fell on her face. She looked peaceful and beautiful, her plump pink lips slightly open and inviting. She was delicate and when he moved the hair entirely off her face he was rewarded with the sight of her slender shoulder visible when the counterpane slipped down. In the scarce moonlight, both her skin and hair looked so fair.
To touch it... Is it as delicate as the petal of the blossom? Is it cool and silky? Or warm and supple? Does she taste like the sweetest honey if I just touch her with my lips? Oh, I burn for you, Mariko...
Mariko... His poor heart cried out and he bit back the whimper.
Still, she must have sensed something, because her face lost its peacefulness and a crease formed between her brows and Mariko murmured something, troubled by the dream she was having. He gently laid his hand against her cheek and she leaned into it. His heart soared... and then plummeted back. She did not know he was here.
Ashamed of what he was doing (a Shaolin martial artist must be honorable!) he escaped the room and worked hard the next day to recompense for his transgression.
But the seed was planted and he followed her again and again. Slipped into her room while she slept and allowed himself this closeness to a woman, who was not his.
That covetous boar of her husband does not deserve to breath the same air as her! He must go! He must! Oh, Mariko, you don't have to suffer, no, no, no... You belong to me.
Soon he did not even have that. Mariko married and moved to her husband's house, where the walls were higher and guards, both human and animal, were vigilant. He only saw glimpses of his beautiful Mariko, always serious and pale, in temple and the market. He saw her husband too. Middle-aged, with hard face and thick purse, the man was as pedestrian as Mariko was ethereal. She looked so incongruously young and delicate to be walking alongside that man. Her hair was pulled into the chignon of a married woman, with complicated swirls and little braids, held together by beautiful jade pins. He always loved her hair, but right now he wanted to pull it out this updo and just put the cherry blossom, like she used to do.
It's awful... beautiful angel, weighed down by all those heavy jewels, and thick expensive fabrics. Can you fly now, my love? Can you even move as before? I will set you free... I will...
Mariko... Garden... Blossom...
He was there again. The memory no longer a gentle tide, but a tsunami wave, swallowing him whole. She was reaching the blossom again, but it was not pale pink and beautiful. This bud looked like it froze before it bloomed and the green of the stem was brown and brittle, the petals tinged with streaks of rot. Mariko was pale and sad and when she turned to him, there was only fear. He waited for the soft smile, but all he saw were distant dark eyes and lips pulled tightly into a frown.
"Mariko... What?" he did not know how to finish his question. Was this a dream? Or a fantasy? He could not tell sometimes... It must not be a memory, she never was not welcoming in his memories. This must be the nightmare that his guilty mind conjured. "Mariko, my love..." he whispered brokenly.
"You don't have that right anymore, Yoshimi. You cannot call me that. I am not yours." She spoke and her voice was as pale as her face.
"No! Don't say that! I can change!" He stepped closer and she took a step back, shaking her head.
"I belong to another now," Mariko said listlessly and she did not sound happy at all. Her eyes dropped to the ground and when he looked down he saw then standing at the grave site. It was her father's.
Hateful man, who sold his daughter to a rich man.
He had to go!
"I don't... Mariko, what is going on?" He lifted one hand to touch her face and she jerked the head back, almost hitting it on the tree trunk. Alarmed he put his hand on her elaborate updo of the married woman and when he touched the silky hair, the careful chignon fell apart under his hand and the glorious, long, silky strands spilled on her shoulders. He held on to one strand that was so glossy that at certain angle it shone like it was the brightest of metal.
It was so soft, the texture so rich on his skin, the fragrance so intoxicating.
His hand, on its own volition, followed the strand up, until his fingers grazed the skin of her neck.
It was like the lightning strike: just as powerful, just as painful, just as unstoppable...
"You should not be here," she whispered to him, eyes darting to his mouth, just like the last time they were in that orchard.
"No, I really shouldn't," he agreed in that soft, quiet way, that betrayed the fact that she had completely destroyed his defenses, his hands coming up to frame her face and his lips finding hers insistently, the demand in stark contrast to the gentle tone of his voice.
Mariko resisted, putting mere inches of breathing room between them, her fingers curled in the fabric of his gi. "No, no we can't-" she pleaded, more with her conscience than with him, shaking her head fiercely. "We can't do this to my hus..."
Snarling at the mention of another man, he pushed her up against the rough bark of the tree, hands trapping her against the wood. "He has you. But tell me you haven't dreamt of this. Tell me you haven't seen me when you've kissed him and I will leave you alone forever," he murmured, lips a breath away from hers.
The last of color drained from Mariko's pale face, her eyes widening, her lips parting around a disbelieving gasp. "How… How could you possibly know that? You, who never ever was tempted..."
He surged forward, capturing her mouth in a rough, desperate kiss she was hard pressed not to return. "I can't get you out of my head," he whispered against her skin as though it were physically painful for him to admit, fingers tangling in long dark strands. "You're everywhere."
It was wrong, so wrong (she was married! he was honorable!), but she moaned at the press of his fingers on her breast and sank onto his thigh as he pushed his knee between her legs. Mariko shook her head, hand clenching in his gi, nails biting into his shoulder in an apathetic protest...
YES... Yes, let me taste it, let me feel, let me live, let me love... Oh, Mariko, you hold my heart now. I cannot be without you...
He let go of her lips and his hand touches the small vein at the base of the neck that fluttered wildly. Her heartbeat was so fast. He looked at his hand still pressed to Mariko's throat and it was like a ragged and bare twig against the white cloud. She felt like a cloud now, soft and impossible to hold on to.
Mariko! Don't go!
He pressed his hand harder and harder, but she felt like air and her face was fearful again. "What? ...Mariko? What scares you, my love?" He whispered, but his voice was loud and angry.
Her beautiful dark eyes flashed at him and he saw that courage and determination again. Her lips, suddenly chapped and bleeding from the split on one side, moved.
"You."
Just as he knew it would, the memory/fantasy/nightmare/torment were over and he was stuck again in the dank room, grey and spare.
NO! Mariko! Mariko... Mariko... Mariko...
Soon the repetition of the name became the murmur that was as constant as the beat of his heart, when he was alive.
Yoshimi lingered on the memory of the training, remembering the quiet breathing exercises meant to help one to center the mind. Slowly, so slowly, the maddening tattoo of Mariko quieted down to just whispers of something so soft, it was incomprehensible.
I need to find her. She is mine.
"I belong to another..."
NO, he roared again. NO! He knew she was right, but it didn't make the compulsion any less painful to deny.
Just let me... Please... I just need one chance... Mariko... Wherever you are, whatever you do, I'll find you. You have my heart now...
A/N: If it is disjointed, it's on purpose. Yoshimi is not quite right in the head and 200-year haunting did not make it any better.