Love, Sora

by Dibellan Arts

There are many things that Sora can't give Kairi during his long absence–but thanks to Naminé the Nobody, sex doesn't have to be one of them. [Post KH2. Yuri]

~o~

Love from Sora

"Selphie? Selphie."

A series of sensuous giggles came gushing from the phone at my ear. Selphie's voice, muffled from the tiny speaker, gave a halfhearted, "Stop it, Tidus. I'm trying to talk to K-K-Kairi!"—a high-pitched squeal. A provocative slurping sound.

I wrinkled my nose, disgusted. Scowling and holding my phone at arm's length, I very nearly yelled, "I can text you later if this is a bad time, Selph."

"N-N-No," Selphie spluttered, "you're totally fine! We've got to make some plans for tonight! I was thinking—stop it—" I caught the slapping sound of a wet mouth on bare flesh.

I rolled my eyes. Selphie and Tidus had been "together" for almost two months now, and it seemed like the more comfortable they became, the less comfortable Wakka and I could ever hope to be. They were one of those couples that were totally fine with swapping spit whenever and wherever it tickled their fancy. And for some reason that I couldn't explain, it pissed me off. Majorly. Even Wakka was surprised at times by the vehemence with which I would criticize our two closest friends.

"—I was thinking that, y'know, since it's your birthday and all, maybe we could—" a sharp intake of breath. "Tidus! Not so hard! We could set you up with Tidus's cousin! He's here for spring break. We could like, double! Wouldn't that be fun?"

I was glad that Selphie couldn't see the almost involuntary souring of my facial expression. "Oh… um… I dunno, Selph…"

"He's really cool, Kairi! You'd definitely like him!" she gushed. I could almost see the maniac gleam in her eye that surfaced whenever she was talking about potential prospects for me. "He's tall and he's got kinda dark skin—"

"That's really sweet of you, but—"

"And he's from another island!" she barreled on, ignoring me as usual. "Tidus says that—" she was suddenly cut off by a stream of deep, incomprehensible murmuring. "Tidus wants to talk to you."

"Oh, um…"

"Kairi." Tidus's voice was irritatingly patronizing, considering he was so much younger than myself. "You don't have to be scared of this kid. He's really cool."

My scowl grew more pronounced. "Scared?" I snapped. "Who says I'm scared?"

A short silence. "Well, sheesh, Kairi, you haven't ever been with anybody before, so I just thought… y'know… maybe you were a little intimidated by the idea. "

"I'm not scared of being in a relationship," I said coldly. "Did it ever occur to you that instead of pretending like Sora was never here, I might be waiting for him to come back?" Ouch. It hurt so badly to mention his name.

A solid silence hung between us. I heard Selphie whisper something; the rustling of her fingers against the receiver of her phone was plainly discernable. "Sorry," Tidus mumbled, and I could almost see him leaning away from his girlfriend's grasping fingers. "But… you always get so awkward whenever me and Selphie are around…"

My temper flared. "Well if you had to watch your friends dry hump all the time, you'd be awkward too!" I snarled, and snapped my phone shut with a vengeance. I threw it on the floor, where it bounced of the rug, hit the hardwood floor on the rebound, and went spinning under my bed, battery dislocated. A rather undeserved punishment for my newly acquired cell phone, but suddenly I didn't care.

I sighed. Well, this explained some things. No wonder Tidus and Wakka always thought it was funny to make sex jokes around me. I recalled one instance in which I was blowing air into the blooming tinder of a campfire that Tidus and I had been trying to start, and Wakka had shouted, "blow Kairi! Blow, baby!" to the immense amusement of our audience. They must have taken my flushed skin as a sign of my embarrassment—my discomfort with the subject at hand. But really, it had just been the heat from the fire that had turned my face red.

I wasn't uncomfortable with sex. I liked it. Well… I would like it, I was sure, should I ever—

"Kairi!"

I jumped. Mom and Dad were home. I sprang up from my bed, a wide, genuine smile spreading across my face. Finally, someone to make my birthday feel—well, like a birthday. I imagined the massive cake that my foster mother must have purchased at the local bakery—it was usually draped in yellow and magenta fondant and sweetened with a personal message such as Happy Birthday, Princess!

I smiled. Of course, they didn't know anything about my being a princess of heart or whatever. It was just a nickname that they'd given me around the age of seven, mainly because of my tendency to sit politely with legs crossed, smile prettily, and wear skirts. It was a nickname that, upon our return at the age of fourteen, Sora had been only too happy to—

Pain seared through my upper body. I bit my lip and wrapped my arms around my chest, eager to quarantine the pain in that region, to close the door and never let it out again. Not again. Never again.

"Kairi!" Mom called again, this time more loudly.

"Coming!" I replied, heading through the door and down the hall, one arm still wrapped tightly around my middle.

Upon arriving downstairs, I was swept into a hug by the woman who'd raised me—a plump, attractive person with sandy hair that had been carefully styled in elegant pin-curls since before I could remember. Dad was standing not far off, tired and strained-looking as ever.

As soon as he saw me, the mayor's eyes brightened and a smile flashed across his face. He'd been the one to first start calling me Princess. Admittedly I loved them both dearly, although I had little to do with them anymore. They were always busy.

"Well! We're finally home!" Mom cooed, taking my face in both hands and kissing my cheeks. "How's the birthday girl?"

"Great," I replied, although this was a lie. So far the day had been nothing special: work, work, lunch with Wakka on the boardwalk, work, work. Oh, and an emotional breakdown, during which I'd retrieved the old paopu charm from the jewelry box on my dresser, clutched it to my chest, and sobbed my heart out. And then the pointless call from Selphie.

"Hmmm," Mom sighed, touching the end of my nose with one fingertip. "You look tired, hon."

I was. But somehow I managed a smile. "Oh, I'm okay. It was kinda busy at the store today, is all."

"You're working too many hours," Dad said in his deep, gravelly voice. He looked straight into my eyes, eyebrows wrinkling with concern.

I continued to smile. "I could say the same for you, Mayor."

He shook his head. Mom chortled a bit, then steered me into the kitchen and made me cover my eyes as she unsheathed what could only be my birthday cake and began to light the candles.

"Mom," I said smilingly, amused by her enthusiasm, "I know it's a cake. Why can't I look?"

"That's the rule, Princess. No peeking. Besides, I've got a present for you that I want to set out. You've got to get the whole effect all at once!"

I giggled. "Artist at work!"

"You bet." She tapped around in her heels for a minute more; I could hear her rustling with this and that, the click of the lighter, the cadence of cardboard on cardboard. "By the way, have you got any plans with your friends tonight? Because your father and I were thinking that the three of us could go catch a movie and get dinner, if you weren't busy."

"That sounds great," I said, with all the exuberance I could muster.

"Will Selphie be okay with that?" Mom asked gently.

A short pause."Yup."

When I was finally permitted to open my eyes, the first thing that caught my attention was the flickering light of my birthday candles—sixteen, all perfectly arranged in little hearts upon the shining surface of my cake, which was a deep pink, just as I'd predicted. But then my gaze was drawn, almost magnetically, to the shining heap of fabric on my right.

It was a dress. A beautiful dress. Not frilly and immature like most of the ones that I owned, but a strapless, satiny cocktail dress. It was a silvery sort of blue.

"Oh, Mom," I said breathlessly, catching the cool fabric in my hands and tracing patterns on its slippery surface with my thumbs. "This is gorgeous."

She put her arm around me. "Glad you think so. I thought you should get something special for your sixteenth. Something to make you feel like a woman."

I picked the dress up and held it to my skinny frame. The skirt fell to my knees, the top layer flowy and translucent over the darker one on the bottom.

"That color looks pretty with your hair," Mom mused, twisting a dark lock of it around her fingers and lying it against the bodice. She stepped back, hands on her wide hips, and cocked her head. "Maybe this will make a nice prom dress for you."

The smile faded from my face; I set the dress back on the table as though it were suddenly a rather upsetting object. "Maybe," I said quietly. More than likely not.

Suddenly the phone rang, shrill and demanding. Mom gave me an apologetic look before tapping off to answer it.

After hanging up and having a rather hushed conversation with Dad in the living room, she returned with news that made my stomach sink. "It's Uncle Marc. He's had a stroke. He's at the hospital now."

"Oh… Mom…" I said in a hushed voice, unsure of what to say. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I'm not sure," Mom said quietly. In the next room, I could hear Dad retrieving his coat from the hall closet. "Your father and I should probably go and see him…" She looked up at me, uncertain.

"Of course you should." I didn't bother to ask if I should go too. "Uncle Marc" was barely even an acquaintance of mine, let alone someone whose bedside I would feel comfortable visiting, surrounded by weeping strangers.

Mom gave me a quick hug. "I'm sorry, hon. You shouldn't have to stay here alone on your birthday…"

"I'll call Selphie," I promised, although I had no intention of doing so. The last thing I wanted to do was to discuss my non-existent love life with Juliet herself. But I didn't want Mom to feel guilty, either.

She kissed me on the cheek and promptly departed. I watched my parents pull out of the driveway in their car (we were one of the only families on the island that owned one) and onto the narrow dirt road. Then they were gone.

I was suddenly seized with a pain so fierce that I had to wrap my arms around my middle. It was times like these, abandoned and alone, that I just couldn't keep him out of my head—his skin, so soft and suntanned and warm against my own—his eyes, the color of a deep, sparkling sea—the smell of his disheveled brown hair, so unique and dear and familiar…

Before I could stop myself, the tears were running down my cheeks and a wounded animal cry had escaped my trembling lips. "S-S-Sora…."

I cried for what felt like a long time, imagining the feel of his hands on my shoulders, my neck, my back—there had been one night after his return that we had climbed onto the bent palm tree and made out until the sun came up. I could still feel the whisper of his lips against my collarbone; it was as if I could hear the sound of his voice, all deep and rumbling in my ear—why was it still so fresh? So heartbreakingly beautiful? So… sensual?

I thought of the afternoon when he had come up to my room for the first time in at least ten years to help me paint the walls a deep, spry shade of magenta. My parents hadn't been home… we'd dropped the brushes and exchanged a few warm, initiatory kisses and then, I don't know how it had happened, I was on the bed and he was on top of me, fingering the hem of my skirt, my zipper, kissing his way down my neck and across my chest, and all I could do was lay there and moan…

Stop, I told myself. Already, I was feeling a bit turned on. Not that the story had a satisfactory ending; Selphie and Wakka had arrived to help and the loud chime of the doorbell had brought Sora and I back to our senses. Still, just the thought of Sora, even after all this time, made me want to reach through the vast expanse of space and time and pull him back into my arms.

With a yearning sigh, I moseyed into my bedroom and knelt down on the floor to retrieve my phone. Upon popping the battery back in, I was immediately bombarded by a symphony of electronic sound.

"Hello?"

"Kairi!" Wakka's voice boomed. "I been tryin'a get ahold of you for an hour!"

"Sorry," I said, plopping down on my bed. "Technical difficulties."

"Uh huh," he replied, apparently unconvinced. "Hey listen, my dad's outa town, and I was just thinking, hey, I should take advantage of this, ya? What are you doing tonight?"

"Um…" I said noncommittally. "I'm not sure yet. I'm kind of tired, so…"

"Aw, c'mon, it's your birthday!" Wakka protested loudly. "Well, lemme just tell you what I been thinking. You wanna know what I been thinking?"

"What?"

"I think I'm gonna throw a party. You know, like that one that Riku had at his house before he left, ya?"

Riku. Oh, forsake the cursed name! I missed him nearly as much as Sora. "Sounds fun, Wakka. I'm sure you'll have a blast. Invite some girls from school—maybe you'll get your first kiss."

He was silent for a moment. "What… you really aren't coming?"

I traced patterns on my bedspread with one finger. "No… I'm sorry, Wakka, but I just don't feel like it. I… I'm really missing Sora tonight. I need some alone time."

"Oh."

He made no other sound except to breathe evenly into the receiver. Shame flooded through me; I knew that I was probably Wakka's closest friend at the moment, in spite of the fact that I was a girl. But he had other buddies from school. He'd have a better time without me.

After exchanging a bit of awkward chit-chat, we finally hung up and I set my phone on the nightstand, tempted to turn it off altogether in case Wakka decided to try me again.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. All that company, if nothing else, would surely drive Sora out of my mind. And yet some tiny, masochistic part of me actually liked having all these memories played across the T.V. screen of my brain, dragged from the most sheltered reaches of my heart as though to torture me.

I decided to go to bed; at least I could escape them via sleep. After a hasty shower, I dried my hair, brushed my teeth, and reached into the cupboard for my lotion. I accidently knocked it down, however, and in reaching to pick it up, my hand made contact with another bottle.

I picked it up. It was the pomegranate oil that Sora had given me, the kind that I never used even though it smelled fantastic and left my skin feeling baby-soft. Half of me wanted to throw it to the back of the cupboard with a strangled sob—the other half wanted to apply it and savor the anguish that it left in its wake.

Acting on impulse, I squeezed a dab of it into the palm of my hand and rubbed the stuff all over my naked body. The results came almost instantly—I was crying and cradling myself around the ribs in a matter of seconds. "Stupid," I sobbed. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

I staggered into my room, got dressed, and flung myself upon my bed, unable to stifle the cries that jerked and tore their way from my body. It was all so pathetic. Honestly, what I think I was doing, keeping that boy on my mind like this? Leaving him behind would work wonders on my sanity.

After all, what guarantee did I have that he would even come home this time? He and Riku had left, determined to help all the "sad people" that were somehow connected to the three of us. To save them. To resurrect them from the dead. But was it even possible? I didn't know. I didn't know! And neither did they.

I wasn't a hateful person. I was of a gentle, patient temperament for the most part. But in that moment, I hated those "sad people." I hated them with all my soul. It may have been selfish of me, but I wanted Sora for myself. He was mine, and nobody else's.

Dammit! I was so tired of sharing him with everybody else. Damn them all!

I sobbed until my pillowcase was completely soaked. Then I sat up, trembling, turned around slowly, opened my heavy-lidded eyes and—

I gasped and clutched a hand to my heart. There, at the end of my bed, sat a familiar, albeit a bit forlorn-looking blonde girl.

"Naminé!" I yelped, nearly sliding sideways off the bed. She reached out to steady me, forehead wrinkling with apparent concern.

I shied away from her touch, scooting backward until my back bumped up against the head of my bed. Some distant part of me knew that my mouth was wide open, but I made no effort to close it. "What are you—why are you—what—"

She put a finger to my lips. "I'm a part of you, remember?" Her voice was tremendously soft and sad.

I continued to gape at her, my heart rate only beginning to slow. "Oh… yeah… but why are you…?"

"Here?" she finished, eyes filling with tears. I couldn't help noticing that they were the same shade of deep blue as mine, although somewhat less angular around the corners.

"Well… yeah."

I studied her for a long moment. She looked as miserable as I felt, arms wrapped securely around her middle, eyes dripping excess moisture. The last time she'd made an appearance, I'd been with Sora in the World that Never Was, and Roxas had appeared then, too. She'd seemed more serene then, although more physically transparent. The girl who sat before me now looked fairly solid.

Other than that, she was quite unchanged. She even wore the same tiny white dress, only her breasts seemed to strain against it a little harder than they had before.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I never meant to do this. I just couldn't take it anymore." Her voice broke toward the end.

"Couldn't take… what, exactly?" I asked, confused.

Sniffling a little, she glanced up at me, then pointed one trembling finger directly at my heart. "I can't be in there anymore. I can't!"

And suddenly I understood. "You can feel… what I feel?"

She nodded, shaking the tears lose from the corners of her eyes. They trickled down her cheeks in long, straight rivers.

"Oh." I stared at her for a long time, a bit unnerved by this discovery. She gazed resolutely at her knees, her tiny frame still shaking with anguish.

"So… apparently Sora hasn't freed you," I murmured, scratching my chin.

Again, Naminé shook her head. "He's trying," she replied. "Sometimes I can see what he's doing, because of my connection with Roxas. Sora… he misses you."

I was a little taken aback by this, and then a little angry. It was her fault that Sora had left me in the first place. Taken Riku and his little stooges and hit the road. "Yeah… and I miss him too," I said coldly. "But you already knew that."

She began to weep, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth on my bed. "I'm sorry!" she cried out, looking me directly in the eyes. "What more can I say?"

I stared back at her for a long moment. "Nothing," I replied evenly. "Nothing you can say will bring him back to me."

I rested my head on my knees, my sudden fury abating. There was no reason for me to take my frustration out on Naminé. She was on my side; her very existence was linked to mine.

"Kairi?" she asked. I'd never heard such sorrow in a human voice before.

"What?" More warmly, this time.

"Sora, he… he…" she took a gulp of air and pressed on, "He misses you so much. Roxas hurts too. We all hurt. Sometimes Sora reruns the same memories that you do. Over and over and over again…Today he remembered that it was your birthday. All day he was thinking about… giving you a birthday present… a kiss….and—" She broke into a fresh batch of sobs.

Suddenly I felt so sorry for the poor, miserable creature before me that I didn't care what she'd done—I only wanted to ease her suffering. "Shhh," I said, crawling over to her and wrapping my arms around her slender body. "It's alright."

She cried for a long time. I rubbed her back consolingly, mildly bemused by the hairpin turn that my own emotions had taken in the last few minutes. Naminé buried her head in my shoulder (soaking the armpit of my tank top with her tears) and wrapped her skinny arms around my waist. Oddly enough, I found this gesture comforting.

"So…" I ventured after a few more minutes of this, "how often does Sora think about me?" It was a petty question, but suddenly I didn't really care.

Naminé sat back, smiling gently and rubbing her eyes. "E-Every day, at least. Every time he sees Aqua he asks her to tell him about the day she met you."

"Aqua?" I asked, thoroughly confused. "But I don't know anybody named Aqua."

Naminé smiled again. "She said she met you when you were a little girl."

"Huh." I racked my brains for a callback on the name, but I was coming up blank.

"And sometimes he thinks about…" she paused and looked at her knees, her smile growing more and more sheepish by the second.

"What?" I asked, confused by the sudden reddening of Naminé's cheeks.

Naminé shook her head, obviously embarrassed. "It's nothing. I couldn't really… explain it very well, anyway." Her blush continued to deepen.

"What?" I insisted, suddenly inclined to giggle at her discomfiture. I poked her in the ribs and then in the stomach.

She started and cried out, "Stop it! You know how ticklish we are!"

For some reason I found this funny, and she shook her head at me as I was overcome with a fit of girlish laughter—how long had it been since I'd actually giggled?

"Sex?" I ventured, as she remained silent and shamefaced. "He thinks about sex?"

She glanced up at me, then down at her knees. "Yeah," she admitted. "With you."

I sat back on my knees, gladdened by the fact that Naminé was not riding my rainbow of emotions at the moment. Sora wanted me. Just like I wanted him. Rather than feeling embarrassed and maybe even mortified as any good girl should be, I was a little bit… glad. Flattered. And… forgive me… a bit turned on.

"Is that what he wanted to give me for my birthday?" I asked coyly, leaning forward slightly. "If he could have?"

Naminé nodded, gaining boldness. "He wants to grab your bum and… well… you know that one time at the beach when you wore that little skirt and he saw your thong? That's the one he always pictures you in."

"That's the one I'm wearing now," I said, pulling down my flannel boxer shorts to show her. I didn't feel weird about it, really—she was me. And besides, she was a girl.

"Hmm," she said, eyeing the strappy black undergarment over. She closed her eyes, smiling slightly. "I can remember the whole thing now—his little fantasy. It's always on the beach, for some reason…"

I shifted myself into a kneeling position and leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me about it."

Slowly, she opened her eyes. There was a little smirk on her lips; all traces of the tears were gone. "I… shouldn't," she said, tucking a strand of silvery-blonde hair behind her ear.

"Why not?" I asked. "It's just you and me here. Essentially just me and me."

"Well…" she said slowly, "to be perfectly honest… it makes me kind of… hot." She blushed a little and returned her gaze to her knees.

I felt naughty. "Why shouldn't it?" I replied, impishly unfazed. My voice dropped an octave. "It's sex, after all."

There was a long pause; Naminé surveyed me with diffident eyes. "With you."

With… me? Oh, right. Because she saw the whole thing from Sora's point of view. I looked at her for a moment, rather unsure of how to reply. She was picking at my comforter, her pale skin filling slowly with color.

"Well… uh…"

"Seeing you through Sora's eyes… it's kind of warped the way that I see you through my own," she continued, still not looking at me.

"Oh. I… guess that makes sense."

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" Naminé asked, peeking up at me from beneath her eyelashes. I couldn't help but notice how long and thick they were.

"Nah," I replied, working to sound nonchalant even though I was a bit uncomfortable. "You… you like Roxas. I know that."

She nodded. "Yes. I do."

I stared at her for a long moment, the cogs in my brain whirring. Even though this person wasn't Sora, a trace of him lingered inside of her mind. His thoughts, his desires—they were right in front of me, hidden beneath the azure depths of Naminé's eyes. And while I didn't have access to them while she dwelled within my heart, there was nothing stopping her from sharing them with me now. "Um… Naminé?"

"Hmm?"

"I… I still want you to tell me about it. Sora's… fantasy." I smiled, reached over, and stroked her hair encouragingly. "And make it good."

Her answering smile was exultant. "Okay." In turn, she reached up and tucked a stray lock of my own hair behind my ear. Her touch was very soft and lingering; I couldn't help but lean my head into it a little bit.

"Turn around," she ordered. I complied and she scooted up behind me, took my hair in her hands, and began running her fingers through it. "You have the prettiest hair," she mused, pausing to examine a lock of it between her thumb and forefinger. "So soft. Such a lush color."

"Mmm," was all I said. Her fingers kneaded slowly at my scalp, relaxing the muscles in my neck and shoulders in no time flat. "Is that… what Sora thinks?" I asked as she swept my bangs back with her long fingernails.

"Yes." For a long moment, there was nothing to be heard but the gentle rush of her fingers in my hair. She began kneading at my neck, and soon after her fingers wandered to my shoulders where they began to pull my muscles around in small, enduring circles. "He likes your tits, too."

My eyebrows shot toward my hairline. "How could he? He's never seen them." I laughed abruptly.

"Oh. Right," Naminé replied, rather absentmindedly. "Well, he hasn't seen them naked. But he likes to look at them, especially when your nipples poke through your swimsuit top. Haven't you ever caught him doing that?"

"Um… I guess not." I wasn't aware of my nipples ever behaving in such a way. Maybe my bikini needed more padding.

Again, quiet. She continued rubbing my shoulders with her firm, prodding fingers. Above the whispering of skin-on-skin, I could hear cicadas outside my bedroom window.

"Do you feel better now?" Naminé murmured.

"…Yes," I admitted, "But you still haven't told me the whole story."

"Where did we leave off?"

"Umm…"

"Oh, right," she said brightly, "the thong. Wait—do you mind if I take these sandals off? They're hurting my feet."

I glanced at her feet—sure enough, the straps of her purple sandals were cutting into her skin. "Ouch," I said sympathetically. "Here—let me." I leaned over and took a foot in my hands. After a moment of fumbling with the tiny metal buckle, the shoe came off. I tossed it on the floor and rubbed at Naminé's foot, unnerved by the reddish welts around her ankles. Apparently her feet had grown a bit in the last year.

Naminé rested her head against my pillow. She closed her eyes; a gentle smile played around the corners of her lips. "Your hands are so soft," she said with a contented sigh.

I removed her other shoe and massaged the ball of her foot between my hands. I wasn't exactly sure why I was doing it… maybe because she looked so peaceful, eyelashes fluttering whenever my skin made contact with hers. Maybe it was because I was so hungry for contact with Sora in some way, shape, or form. Or maybe it was because she understood me, and I understood her, and we both knew that we needed each other in this moment. Whatever the case was, I felt very comfortable around her in spite of the feelings of anger and awkwardness that she had initially aroused in me.

"Thanks, Kairi," she said brightly when I was finished. "Anyway… what were we talking about?"

"Sora," I replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, right," she said offhandedly. She seemed much more confident now—buoyant, even. I couldn't quite place her change of mood. "You know… I'm really not that great at telling stories."

"But you said you would," I reminded her.

"That's true. I guess I did."

I reclined backward on the bed and rested my head on my pillow. "Alright, start talking. I'm going to close my eyes and imagine the whole thing." A naughty smile pulled at the corners of my lips as the room and Naminé disappeared from sight.

"Well… alright," I heard Naminé say in what sounded like a pensive voice, though I didn't reopen my eyes to see her expression. "Well… the first thing that Sora started loving about you was your lips," she began slowly.

"My lips?" I said skeptically, eyes still screwed shut.

"Yes. They curve in all the right places, and they're always glossy and yummy-smelling from all that strawberry lip-gloss you use."

"Mmm," I said knowingly, smacking them together. I hadn't applied it for a half-hour or so, but its subtle sweetness was still residual on my lips.

"Yummy tasting, too," she continued, voice low and reminiscent. "He especially loves to suck on your lower-lip… partly because it tastes good, and partly because you always wriggle and pull his earlobe whenever he does it, like it's making you crazy or something…"

I sighed, eyes still shut tight. "I'd almost forgotten how he used to do that… it felt so…"

"And he likes the way your tongue tastes," she went on slowly. "You don't stick it in his mouth as much as he'd like, though… he usually has to go fishing for it—"

"I never knew that he wanted me to…"

"—but he doesn't mind. Nothing about you is unsatisfactory as far as he's concerned, Kairi," she said fondly, and I couldn't help but start a little as I felt her soft breath waft across my cheek. "He thinks you're absolutely perfect."

I was tempted to open my eyes, a bit disconcerted by her apparent nearness. I could smell the scent that was coming off her skin. It was kind of like vanilla.

"Oh… I'm far from perfect…" I replied after a long moment, unsure of what else to say.

"That's debatable," she murmured, voice low and soft. And suddenly—

Lips. Cherry-flavored lips. They were pulling very lightly at my own, coming together and apart with quiet popping noises and leaving a moist residue to soak into what was left of my lip-gloss.

For a moment, I was frozen. I could only lie there, shocked beyond reaction. It was as though my brain had been dumped into a bowl of ice water. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe.

After I'd finally collected my wits (and realized that, in the mean time, I'd been kissing Naminé back with those same soft, sucking motions) I sprang up, hitting my back against the wooden headboard of my bed in the process. My eyes widened dramatically and an appalled shriek escaped my lungs before I could stifle it.

"Naminé!" I gasped, wriggling away from her to the opposite side of the bed. "What the hell!"

She shrank back a little, placing a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, Kairi. I don't know what got into me…"

"I didn't—I didn't want—now look what you've—I'm not—"

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, reaching over and patting my knee, though she didn't really seem all that sorry at all. I retracted the appendage, still staring at her with what I can only imagine was a horrified expression on my face.

"I guess I was just… thinking Sora thoughts. He's wanted to do that for so long… I couldn't help it. And you really are beautiful, you know," she added as an afterthought, as though I might consider this an acceptable excuse.

"But I'm not—and you're not—"

"Please calm down, Kairi," she pleaded, scooting closer to me and putting another hand on my knee. This time I didn't try to escape, though I did shiver a bit. "This love that I feel for you, it isn't coming from me. I'm not the one reaching for you from the depths of this heart, this mind, whatever you want to call it. It's Sora. Think of the kiss I gave you as love from Sora."

"Love from… Sora?"

"Yes. It's what he'd give you himself if he could."

"But… but you're a girl…" I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them protectively.

"I'm sorry that you didn't enjoy it," she said calmly, face surprisingly impassive and pearly-white in the dim light.

I blinked. "No, it's… not that I didn't enjoy it, it's just that…" my skin was suddenly very warm. How did I feel about the kiss? It hadn't been unpleasant, really…

"I'll go now," Naminé went on, ignoring my last comment. "Guess I've done enough damage…" She closed her eyes softly, mouth resolutely set as though she were willing herself to fade away…

"No!" I cried out, so suddenly that Naminé's eyes flew open in surprise.

"Hmm?"

"Don't leave me. I mean…" I was rather alarmed as my eyes began to pool up with tears. "I don't want to be alone again…"

Naminé sighed deeply, then scooted closer to me. "You mean you still want my company?"

I nodded, wiping at the moisture beneath my eyes.

"Even though I'm feeling like Sora's self-appointed messenger girl at the moment?"

I giggled a little; it seemed to take both of us aback. "I… I get it," I said lightly. She gave me a stern look. "No, really, I understand, now. I won't take it any other way, I promise."

She stared back at me for a long moment, gaze clear and unwavering. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable…"

"No…. I…" I took a deep breath. "I liked it, Naminé…"

"Liked what?" She raised an eyebrow at me.

"The… kiss." I gazed down at my toes, chagrined.

When I finally looked up again, she was staring at me with an almost speculative look on her face. "You… liked it?"

"Yeah…" I admitted. "With my eyes closed, it was like it really was from Sora." Well, kind of. If you omitted the cherry-flavored lip gloss.

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm."

She cocked her head, expression thoughtful. "Kairi… would you mind if I tried something?"

"L-Like what?" I stammered, still somewhat abashed.

"Oh, just… this thing. It's something that Sora's wanted to do with you for a long time. If you want me to stop, just say so."

"Um… okay." I was suddenly tense and very nervous. This was so weird… but at the same time…

"Close your eyes."

I complied.

And then she was kissing me again, her lips warm and wet and soft on mine. She kissed me rather tenderly at first, her tongue only flashing out occasionally to wet my lower lip. I kept my eyes screwed shut, determined not to look, but only to feel.

Part of me was disgusted with myself and disgusted with Naminé. But she was just so warm… so soft… so smooth. I found myself running my hands over her arms and shoulders. Were they just a bit broader, they could have been Sora's, for how warm and soft they were.

Her mouth grew more insistent against mine as time went on. I kept my eyes shut, determined not to peek, though I was made curious by the feather-light touch of her fingers on my bare legs. She ran her hands up and down my thighs, along my stomach, and up my chest. I wriggled a little, a bit discomfited; in response, her lips crushed mine even more determinedly. Her tongue probed my mouth, hot and wet.

And suddenly she was gone. "Don't open your eyes," she reminded me, and suddenly her hands were at my waist. She grabbed the bottom of my tanktop and pulled it over my head.

I felt my bare breasts flop over my chest, knowing that the nipples must be standing straight out in the cool night air.

"I'm Sora," she said in a husky, passionate voice. "Remember… I'm Sora…"

And suddenly her mouth was on my right breast, sucking determinedly at the nipple, causing waves of pleasure to trickle from my brainstem and pool in my body. "S-Sora…" I murmured, and the face of the boy I loved came swimming into my mind, clear as day, along with the rush of the waves and the smell of ocean air.

His mouth was open wide as he took my entire breast in his mouth, his muffled moans barely escaping around the vast mound of creamy flesh that spilled onto his face and threatened to suffocate him…

Fingers on my ass. I jumped a little, but didn't lean away from them. The fingers snagged the hem of my shorts and began pulling them down; still kneeling, I put myself into an upright position so that the shorts could be more easily removed.

She pulled them down to my knees, slowly and purposefully. And then, brushing my thong aside, she stuck her cold fingers into my snatch.

My eyes flew open; I yelped almost involuntarily. Her eyes were still closed, her mouth working hard as though she were trying to swallow my entire breast whole. As her tongue rotated my nipple, her fingers clutched and grabbed at the soft, moist folds of skin between my legs. I had to bite back another cry as her thumb encountered my hard, tiny nub and began to grind on it.

"N-N-Naminé…" I whimpered, gasping as my hips began to jerk uncontrollably against her hand.

She released my breast; it flopped back against my upper-ribcage, gleaming wetly in the faint light. Then, with her free hand, she reached up to my face, placed two gentle fingers on my eyelids, and pushed them closed.

"I'm Sora," she reminded me.

I writhed as her deft little fingers pinched my clit. "You don't s-s-sound like S-Sora."

When she spoke again, she did so in a deeper voice. "I'm Sora, Kairi. I want you, Kairi." She laughed derisively.

I moaned—not because the voice in my ear sounded like anyone other than sweet, feminine Naminé, but because she was now grinding her knuckles into my pussy even harder than before.

It was hard for me to feel confused or even reluctant anymore. It was hard for me to feel emotional at all, in fact, with the carnality of the entire situation crashing down on me like an ocean wave. A certain warmth was spreading though my entire body, an aching to catch hold of the warm, soft flesh of the person before me—to grind and ride until the pressure building inside of me could be somehow released.

"Naminé…" I said assertively. I found myself bearing down on her, pushing her back to the bed and gazing upon slender, willowy body. I grabbed the bottom of her dress and yanked it up past her bellybutton. Her panties were just as easily removed; they collected around her bare ankles, black and prominent against her ice-white skin.

I threw a leg over hers and sat myself down on her thigh. The warmth was pleasurable and gave me momentary satisfaction as I began to grind, throwing my head back and clenching my teeth together.

I scooted along her thigh until I could feel her warmth and wetness against mine. A tiny groan escaped her lips; she arced her back toward me as we came together with a soft squelching sound. I began to grind in earnest, my pussy swallowing hers.

Suddenly I felt a pair of hands clamp down on my shoulders. "No," she said forcefully, and as my eyes found hers, I could see that they had narrowed to angry slits. She was angry. Her voice rose to a dangerous pitch. "I—am—Sora!"

For a moment she merely glared at me, and I gazed back with wide, confused eyes. Then she flung me off of her with such force that I was slammed backward into the hard wooden bedframe. Breathing heavily, Naminé grabbed me by the ankles and yanked me down onto my back. My head sunk into the pillow.

"Close your eyes!" she said shrilly. Disconcerted, I obeyed her.

But my lids immediately reopened when something hot and very wet invaded my snatch. With a sharp intake of breath, I pulled my knees protectively together. I caught a glimpse of Naminé's head between my legs before her sharp nails dug into the tender skin on the underside of my knees—a message: Close your eyes.

My stomach squirmed uncomfortably, but I again reentered the world of darkness in which I could not see the slender blonde girl licking and sucking at my virgin cunt. My eyelashes stirred feebly; I wanted to see what she was doing… but then again…

If only I had a more vivid imagination. Then this whole disturbing episode could be turned into something beautiful, something that I'd been dreaming of for a very long time. If I couldn't have the real Sora, didn't I deserve this? Wasn't this the best birthday present he could ever give me, even if he couldn't deliver it himself?

Finally determined to put my best effort into it, I imagined with all my might that the hands on my knees were wider, the fingers longer and the palms sheathed in fingerless gloves. And suddenly (wonder of wonders) I was on the beach with Sora again, lying on my back in the warm sand as he touched me. He felt so good… he was so good…

His tongue—Sora's tongue—it was sliding and dabbing at my silken folds, pausing occasionally to worm its way even deeper inside of me. A surge of hot pleasure shot through me as he encountered my sensitive nub, causing my hips to jerk upward and my toes to curl. Several locks of his hair spilled onto my abdomen—it was, after all, very long in the front—

I gave a loud squeal as he nipped down, hard, on my clit. "Sora…" I breathed, reaching down to stroke his neck. His skin was so soft.

He withdrew his mouth. "That's right… keep your eyes closed…"

"Sora—I want to—I want you to make me… y'know…" Embarrassed, I could feel my face flooding with color.

"Don't worry, I'll make you cum, baby girl."

A smile pulled at the corners of my lips. "M'kay."

"I love you."

I sighed deeply, still relishing the feel of the cool ocean breeze across my skin and the warm sand beneath my back. "I love you too."

He removed his head from between my legs. And then, quite suddenly, a searing pain shot across my opening as something large and evasive tore through it. I cried out—the pain was so abrupt and bewildering.

"Sora," I whimpered, "it hurts."

I felt a hand on my cheek. "You want me to stop?"

I bit my lip, unsure of what exactly it was that I wanted. I began rocking my hips probingly back and forth, adjusting myself to the size of the intrusion as my thick juices began to seep down around it, lessening the pain exponentially. I puzzled over how he was able to penetrate me from this angle, with my back flat to the ground—was he crouching over me, perhaps? Leaning into me with his legs between mine? But I didn't peek. He'd told me not to open my eyes, after all…

"No," I finally decided. "I… I like it."

He began moving inside of me, slowly at first, and then with increasing force. One of his hands wormed its way beneath my body until it found my ass, then clutched it tightly.

The more he moved, it seemed, the less aware I became of any pain that I was experiencing. There was only warmth, pooling up inside me and tingling as it shot to every nerve ending in my body with each thrust.

I wanted to hold him. I moaned again, groping for him in the darkness, but to my dismay, there was no part of him close enough for me to reach. I tried to sit up, but a hand on my chest effectively halted my progress. Slumping back in defeat, I groped for the hand, determined to hold onto it, but it was removed as quickly as it had come.

The thrusts started coming more closely together, now, and the hand began patting on my clit in rapid, fluttering motions. The pool of pleasure in my brain seemed to be surging toward the flooding point. It was as though someone were pouring carefully measured amounts of water into a bowl; each thrust left the entire pool of it rippling pleasantly until its surface had almost reached the rim, sure to drizzle and flood over the side into unknown territory…

"Sora," I yowled, toes curling with each surge of hot pleasure that shot through my body. "More, Sora. M-M-More…"

There were squelching noises with each thrust, now. Sora was panting lightly, his fingers poking and pinching at my clit. After a particularly sharp thrust, I gasped and squealed as another small wave of pleasure bore down on me.

"K-K-Kiss me, Sora!" I demanded, breath hitching dramatically.

The rapid breathing came closer. Cherry lips mashed mine.

My eyes popped open.

And it was Naminé crouched over me, her hands busy between my legs and her underwear bunched around her ankles. She kissed me roughly, hungrily, leaving pools of moisture in the corners of my mouth as she continued to thrust into me with what I now realized were her fingers.

I whimpered as she removed them from my body in one quick, pitiless stroke. "No…" I whispered. My eyes found hers; there was something disquieting about the satisfaction I saw in their depths. "No…" I shuddered, my teeth chattering together audibly. "Stop…"

Suddenly she arched her back, spread her legs, and slammed her cunt against mine. Her hips writhed, her mouth became a hard, merciless line, and she ground into me as hard as she could all at once.

And that was it. "Naminé!" I shrieked, tears squeezing their way from the corners of my eyes as I came in a series of vibrations of pleasure, my insides writhing against each other in unspeakable ecstasy. My legs wound their way around her back as I held her to me, writhing and grinding against her as the vibrations began to slow and throb warmly and pleasantly through my limbs.

As the fire receded, I became aware of an odd, disconcerting tickling sensation on my face. Still gazing into Naminé's strangely detached eyes, I reached up and placed a trembling hand on my cheek, only to find it drenched with water.

A sob shook my body. I wiped the icy wetness from my face with my forearm, sat up, and scooted away from Naminé as fast as I could. My eyes could not leave her face, so cold, her lips mashed tightly together. I could feel the disquiet on my own face, the ripping agony that was slowly seeping to the surface.

"No…" I breathed. My flesh was twitching and crawling in the cold air; it made my voice tremble. "N-N-No…"

She continued to stare down at me. There was no pity in her gaze. She'd tricked me into cheating on Sora and she didn't even have the decency to look abashed.

My chest heaved. White hot fury flashed through me, and suddenly I was on my knees, my hands curled into fists at my sides. "You… you…" And then I was screaming. "You BITCH! You—"

"It's not my fault," she said coldly. "You know why I did it. You did it to yourself. You are me. You are the bitch."

"You fucking whore!" I screamed, tears coursing down my cheeks like acid rain. "I didn't want it! I didn't!"

"You did. It was your idea, Princess."

I stared into her eyes. They were dead and cold as an arctic plain. Her pain, her hesitation, her sorrow—had it all been a farce?

I wanted to break her. I wanted to smash her serene face into a pile of glass powder—to gouge flesh in handfuls from her cheeks—to rip her stolen sapphire eyes from their stolen Nobody sockets.

Instead, I collapsed into myself, burying my face in my hands and screaming into the all-encompassing blackness I encountered there. I sat back on my heels; they dug into my overly- sensitive, sopping wet cunt.

"Oh, Sora! Sora, come back to me! I don't know who I am anymore!" I wailed. I wound my arms around my naked ribcage, but they could not contain the uproar in my chest no matter how hard they compacted themselves against my ribs.

Gulping and sobbing, I lifted my head in time to see Naminé getting up from the bed. She put her shoes on, turned around, and looked me in the eye. A light smirk played around the corners of her lips. Who was she?

"Good night, Kairi. And happy birthday."

And just like that, she was gone.

I clutched my hands to my face, fingernails digging into the skin I encountered there, scratching, tearing, searching desperately for release. There were no words to describe it—where I was, what I felt, where I was going. And now the pain was too much. I flung it from me, shrouding myself in a protective fog of numbness.

~o~

Five minutes later, I got out of my bed and flung the bedroom door open. It hit the opposite wall with a bang.

Moonlight spilled in through the hallway windows and came to rest on my naked body. I breezed down the stairs and across the dark entryway, the occasional sob jerking at my respiratory organs. But there were no more tears.

I arrived at the kitchen table, upon which my birthday dress lay unwrinkled and serene in the dim light. I removed it with languid, deliberate motions, then hung it against my bony frame. Lovely. So lovely. Fit for a princess.

I slipped it on and pulled the zipper up with a flourish, barely noticing the tug at the nape of my neck indicating that I'd caught some of my hair in the apparatus. I jerked my head to the side, ignoring the accompanying twinge of remarkably irrelevant pain. Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glossy refrigerator door.

My eyes were wide, dark, and blank. My hair was a dull, rumpled mass, clinging to my damp, grayish skin. Blood trickled from one of the scratches on my cheeks. I wetted my finger with it and dabbed my lips. They sparkled red. Pretty Kairi. Pretty princess.

My hand slipped into the drawer at my hip. I regarded the knife it retrieved. So shiny.

I balanced the point on my forearm, mesmerized by the drops of ruby red that swelled from my dead looking skin at the incision point. Pretty, pretty. I smiled indulgently and dragged the point of the knife in a circular motion, downward, away from my wrist. I watched its progress with a detached sort of interest, smiling serenely all the while.

The point was lifted out of my flesh momentarily, only to sink down again not far from where it had been before. Now it went down in a straight, hard line. It was deep. I believe that some faraway place was sending messages of distress to my brain, but the control tower was shrouded in impenetrable fog, the captain vague and inaccessible.

The point rose and fell, rose and fell. After some time I realized that it was writing letters across my pallid skin in garnet-trail ink. My smile widened with this revelation. S, L, U, and with a long line and one minute cut, swiped in rapid succession, there was an T.

The knife fell to the linoleum with a clatter. I stood for a long moment, admiring my handiwork. The garnet trail was smeared and sopping. I wiped it carefully with my hand. It must, after all, remain legible.

Somewhere out there, in the endless sea of other islands that gleamed like stars in the great abyss, the boy had not read the word.