ANI: Yes, its finally an update. I've gotten really behind, and have found little motivation to do any writing... hey guys, you know what helps? Reviews! ... yeah, I'm only kind of kidding. Regardless, thank you to those who have put this this story on Story Alert, because at least I know people care to see this thing updated! Stylistically, this one is all over the place, because I wrote it in three sections. Kudos if you can figure out where the swaps happened.

Anyways, enjoy!


Title: Breaking Point
Author: seinakyou
Theme: #19 Itch
Genre(s): Angst, Drama
Characters: Ichimaru, Orihime
Word Count: 1,999 (oh yeah!)
Rating: T
Summary: Ichimaru always smile, even as he rips your heart to shreds.


...

...

...

...

This town of night

Is lit by a light

The sound of a creaking gear and a wheel

It echoed as I walked

...

...

...

...

Orihime sits on her cold, white throne, and can only think of Ichimaru.

She hates him, she hates him, she wants to hate him and she doesn't, because it's hard to hate him, not because he's nice but because she always tries to see the nice in people, but look where that's gotten her now.

She sits on her throne and laughs bitterly, because all the kindness she invented was not real, not at all.

She froze.

"Wha—why are you back here?" she cried out, shocked, and a little bit scared. "They can't have let you go!"

He laughs, throwing his head back, before fixing her with what she knows is a piercing gaze, even though his eyes are closed.

"You're smart, hime-chan. You know why I'm back."

The blood rushed in her ears, and she can feel herself fall to the floor, under the watch of impassive eyes.

No. No. No. Please, no.

He sighs, faking exasperation. "Fine, fine, I'll tell ya." He glides over to her, gracefully, before crouching down in front of her and tilting her chin up so she's forced to look at him.

"I won, hime-chan. They didn't let me come back, I just did."

He's still grinning, but now she's sure if she could see his eyes they'd be crazed.

"It's over."

Orihime sits on her throne and stares sometimes, stares at the doors she know exist down at the end of the hallways, hoping someone will walk through them.

Isn't that how it went, when Ichigo came to save her, he just burst and helped her and that's what she needs, a hero.

She's a damsel, again, but this time there's no iron will. She just needs to be saved.

It took all her courage to swallow and shoot back a response.

"Don't you mean we won? Where's your precious Aizen-sama, huh?"

He sees through her bravado, and parries without missing a beat. "Nah, I meant we."He leans back on his haunches, and gives a gusty sigh. "He… didn't make it." His tone was solemn, but the maniacal grin is still on his face, and immediately she realizes the implications.

"Impossible." She whispers, eyes widening in horror. "You… you wouldn't…"

He laughs, and the sound rumbles from deep within his chest. It is by far the most frightening this she has ever heard.

"Now, now." He gently scolds, "don't tell me what I would or wouldn't do. That isn't the proper attitude to have towards me, hime-chan."

Her eyes narrow, indignation welling up inside of her. "You've killed my friends!" she exclaims shrilly, "what do you expect?"

He blinks, nonplussed, before some of the malice seeps out of his expression. "I didn't kill 'em. I left 'em alone." He registers her blatant distrust, and then puts a hand over his heart, sincerity practically oozing out of his pores. "Honest!"

She can feel the teardrops hit her thighs before she even knows she's crying. "Liar." She grinds out, "Liar, liar, liar!" She feels a sudden urge to hit him.

He stands back up, stretching and popping his shoulders. He then turns, and starts to walk away. "Fine." He sighs, putting his hands in barely visible pockets. "Believe what you will. But be nice about it, will you?" He gives her one final glance, and the wicked glee in it leaves her chilled. "We're engaged, after all."

It's not like she has a choice, though.

It's not painfully trite, unlike most descriptions of being unable to look away. She is not riveted; she is not particularly looking forward to anyone coming through that door, and most of all she is not delighted by her horror.

It's that she literally can't move, because in every direction in her peripheral, all she can see is the cold glint of his sword, from every direction, in every way whispering I dare you to.

Orihime felt very, very cold. A chill was creeping up her spine, and no matter how many blankets she wore, she was still cold.

So very cold, because she couldn't stop thinking about that maniacal grin and the words that, no matter how many times she replayed the memory wouldn't change: We're engaged… we're engaged…

It was no use trying to change his mind, no use crying over it, no use fighting it; she couldn't kill him even if she really truly wanted to. She couldn't even scratch him, but that didn't matter, because if everything went right for her, for once, if she got what she wanted, what she needed, for once, maybe Ichigo or Shiro-chan or someone would come and save her.

Again.

She's very cold, and very alone, and for the first time ever she realizes that there's nothing she can do about it.

Orihime never expected the door to open.

Sure, she that was what she was waiting for, but in truth no one actually used that door, unless there was a great need for formality or else an invader was rushing in, to kill him or to save her, it didn't really matter because one was essentially the other.

But no one ever used that door, so when Ichimaru came strolling through it four hours after she had been left there –

"Now, now," he whispered into her hair, mocking her, "Shh, it's alright, I'll be back soon."

Her fingers wrapped around the arms of the throne, knuckles turning white with the force of her grip.

"I hate you," she seethed, eyes bright with anger and fear and something else he couldn't identify."

He laughed. "I know, you're scared," he fake-soothed, "but I won't be long, I just have some business to finish up." He paused, before drawing his sword. "I won't need this anyways, so why don't I leave it here, to protect you?"

He whispered his sword's release, and suddenly, streaks of metal shot past her like light, and within a second she was completely surrounded.

"Now," he said fake sincerely, "you're completely safe."

She could've screamed if she could've moved.

– she was sure she had fallen asleep and had begun to dream.

As quickly as it had happened, she noticed that the blades of the sword no longer surrounded her, and yet she still could not move even an inch, now for a painfully trite reason: his full gaze was fixed on her and she could scarcely blink, let alone look away. It didn't take long for the arrancar, or whatever was left of them, to appear in the hallway, clearly awaiting their new orders. Ichimaru barely spared them a glance, before flicking his hand in dismissal. Then, in a blur of white armour and vividly coloured hair, it was just the two of them.

She licked her dry lips and swallowed, and was about to say something when Ichimaru covered the distance of the stairs in two long steps (was that Flash Step, or something?) and suddenly kneeled before her.

"My Lady," he murmured, oozing sincerity, "your humble servant returns to you."

The rage hit her like a slap in the face, and it took all the power of the restraints holding her down to keep from jumping up and maiming him with her bare hands.

"Now, now," he placated, standing up, "calm down, hime-chan." He reached his hand into his coat, and pulled out a indistinguishable piece of black fabric. "I have spectacular news for ya!"

It took her a few seconds to recognize the fabric for what it was, and when she did her eyes grew in horror and a sound something akin to a choke came out of her throat. She stared down at the fragment of a shihakusho in his hand. It was fairly standard, but in was also drenched in blood, dying Ichimaru's pale hand and dripping onto the pristine floors of the throne room. Bile rose up in her throat, and she noticed with dim awareness that her fingers had relaxed their death grip on the arms of the throne, but this wasn't her main concern anymore, staying mad at him, because someone…

Then Ichimaru coughed, and her head exploded into agony around her and her world swam, the black and the red and the white all bleeding together in a mess of colours and thoughts. She could barely think over the rushing in her head, and she swooned a little, before the hand that wasn't holding the garment steadied her.

"Hey," he chided gently, amusement in his voice, "I didn't think ya'd nearly pass out!" There was a pause, and she could almost feel, tangibly, the shift in his demeanour. "Weird!" he finished cheerfully.

Slowly but surely, the pressure in her head and the nausea faded, at least to the point of being able to manage it. She wasn't sure when she had closed her eyes, and she also wasn't sure when she had cut half-moons into her palms with her fignernails.

She opened her eyes and flinched violently, for there was Ichimaru, within inches of her face, the bloodied hand on her forehead.

"Inoue-chan," he whispered earnestly, and the use of her actual name shocked her into awareness, "Are ya alright?" She timidly looked up into his eyes, and instead of mockery and cold amusement, she saw what he took as legitimate concern. Close as she was, she could see all the colours of his eyes, and she suddenly realized just how pretty they were, when they were painted in shades of worry and concern and compassion.

The moment passed quickly, and she could feel, rather than see, the barriers be drawn across him again, and this time his eyes closed into his typical half-lidded glance.

She frowned at the sudden rebuttal, and the circumstances came rushing back to her as the blood, drying on her forehead, trickled down into her eyes. She inhaled sharply and pitched herself forward, letting out a little wail. Names and faces flashed through her head, getting mismatched and suddenly she realized he hadn't yet disclosed who it was. Looking down at her knees, she felt a small drop of blood from her forehead stain her once again pristine uniform, and she realized with cool detachment that her forehead was itchy.

"Who…" her voice cracked, but she pressed forwards, "whose is it?"

"Oh, well," he began vaguely, "you know…"

She bit her lip sharply in sheer frustration, and was rewarded with the taste of blood. "Please, Ichimaru-san," she begged reluctantly, eyes shadowed by her bangs, "please, I have to know!"

He sighed dramatically. "You see, hime-chan," he began amicably, "only one person is stupid enough to barge into my home and demand something of mine." He shot her a pointed glance, and horror and understanding began to dawn on her at the exact same moment.

"No, no, no," she whispered, eyes going blank, "please no…" but he continued on, as if she hadn't said anything.

"… and he wouldn't go away, that stupid boy, so I had to stop him from taking ya."

She felt her hands tremble, and somewhere she heard someone whispering under their breath, and it took a few seconds to realize it was her. Shaking violently, she asked "…Ichigo..?" but it wasn't really a question anymore.

He knelt in front of her so that he could look up into her eyes, resting his forearms on her knees, and he looked up at her innocently.

She felt a violent agitation overcome her, and all she wanted to do get out of the room.

"He's dead, hime-chan." He affirmed, smiling. "Won't ya cry for me?"

She screwed her eyes shut, but a few tears still leaked out as she tried to keep her breathing under control. Panic overcame her, and she suddenly realized that Ichigo had been her only hope, her only saviour, her only…

She made no effort to restrain herself this time, and she faintly heard Ichimaru's hysterical laughter through her sobs, and both echoed together in the empty room.


ANII: Oh dear.

~Seina