the
pathological
case
of
a
fractured
fairytale
i. Orihime wipes her face dry but another batch of tears appears. Frantically, she hurries to wipe them off with the back of her hands. Above her, a big chunk of cloud moves and reveals the unusually big, full moon.
Wobbling ever slightly, she pauses beneath a streetlight; its light creates a halo over her head. She bows her head, staring at her shoes, her long auburn hair falling over her shoulders and face. Inhaling deeply, Orihime closes her eyes.
"Orihime."
She stiffens, her eyes flying open. Unsteadily she turns around with wide-eyed expression.
There is a seven step distance between Orihime and Ichigo. His lips are parted as he breathes heavily, looking as if he has completed a marathon. His spiky hair is messier, bright spikes standing up in odd angles, ruffled by the breeze. The distance slowly shortens, one step, two, three, four. In every step, the frown on his face softens. Finally, he stops before her, standing with her under the yellow lamplight.
Ichigo meets her watery gaze, and at the sight of her distress, his stomach clenches.
The unshed tears finally spill over her cheeks. It induces a look of horror and panic from Ichigo. "H-Hey, don't — don't cry!" Orihime brings her hands to her face to hide her tears.
Ichigo swallows nervously and without stalling much longer, he puts his arms around her. At first, Orihime stiffens, surprised, looking up to him. But Ichigo bends his head forward to her shoulder, hiding his face and holds her tighter against his chest.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I was angry at myself. I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you."
Orihime does not reply, but she wraps her arms around him, a sob escaping her mouth. Thin fingers move and rake over his back before curling to clench his t-shirt, anchoring her body to his. Ichigo places a hand at the back of her head and embraces her tighter, eyes falling shut as he relaxes inside her embrace, basking in the warmth of her presence. It is strange: she can wreck havoc in his system, but at the same time, only her presence can soothe him.
"I-I'm sorry…" she stammers against his shirt in her watery voice. Her tears drench a particular spot in his shirt. He could feel the dampness permeating his skin. "I don't listen to you… I annoy you a lot and –"
"You don't annoy me,"
Orihime looks up to him tearfully. "R-Really…?"
"Yeah. Now, stop crying, alright? I hate it when you cry," he mutters, wiping her damp cheeks with the heel of his palm.
Orihime nods determinedly, still embracing him. "I won't do it again!"
"I'm not forbidding you from crying," Ichigo says patiently. "I just don't like it when you cry and it's because of me." The tip of his forefinger accidently brushes against her parted lips. He freezes, the soft touch of her mouth sending a hot shiver down his spine. Something heated and distorted moves under the depth of his eyes.
Swallowing thickly and clenching his jaw, Ichigo mentally loads up his defenses and grabs hold of his control. Contact, contact is such a delicious thing – it blurs reasons, feeds desires, crumbles defenses. Quickly, he dries her other cheek before letting go. Orihime, he notices, hesitantly drops her arms.
"Come on, I'll walk you home." He averts his gaze, his mouth dry.
"You will?" asks Orihime in disbelief. Ichigo lifts a brow at her reaction, but later understands. Ever since he moved out of the house, he stopped walking her home to avoid seeing his mother and to preclude a possible row. The first few times, he was worried for Orihime; he only stopped worrying when she started to walk home with Tatsuki, a childhood friend. Tatsuki, despite her slim figure, is a strong girl, a karate champion.
"It's not safe." He tells her.
Orihime smiles up at him. "Thank you!" It is such a sweet smile and Ichigo could not help but favor her with a small smile. He starts walking, Orihime skipping beside him.
After a few minutes of silence, he glances at her from the corner of his eye. "Just because I'm walking you home and we talked, it doesn't mean it's alright for you to come and ask me about coming back. My decision is final."
Orihime glances over at him. "I'm not going to give up."
Ichigo frowns. "You're stubborn."
She replies with a small smile as she returns her gaze to the street before her. "Whenever Tatsuki-chan and I walk home, I think about you and the times when we used to walk home together." She looks at him solemnly, but she is still smiling. "They said it's weird."
"What is?"
"This bond between us."
His frown deepens. "What about it?"
Orihime bites her lower lip, looking away. "I don't know." Then, she laughs softly. "Maybe they think I have a strange brother complex."
Ichigo almost trips but catches himself. "Oh!" Orihime exclaims, pointing. "We're here!" Ichigo refuses to glance at the painfully familiar façade of his father's clinic. It is empty now, locked and dark. Orihime stands in front of the gate, a slim hand hovering before it. Ichigo raises a brow when she glances at him, a thick lock of hair falling over her shoulder and on top of her chest.
Her lips curve in a small smile that does not reach her eyes. She opens her mouth, but she pauses, her lips parted as though the words she wants to say have evaporated at the exact moment she's about to say them. An odd look flits over her face: in her eyes is a muddle of sadness and longing and confusion. She does not wear sadness well.
"There is something wrong, isn't it?" she says softly.
Ichigo gazes off to the side, his mouth in a thin, tense line.
"It's okay. You don't have to tell me now." She tells him quietly. "When you're ready, please tell me about it and I'll listen." Ichigo looks at her from under his lowered lashes, eyes dark. Softly, Orihime smiles, the same smile she usually wears. It reminds him of their childhood together. This reminder only makes him more bitter. "Thank you for walking me home."
Ichigo watches her enter the house, the click of the lock echoes inside his head like a bell.
:
ii. "Thank you, Kurosaki-san, for your time." The professor gestures towards the chair. "Please take a seat."
"Thank you."
Orihime's homeroom teacher appears to be in mid-thirties, has a kind face, black hair in French chignon and slim figure. She dresses very simply, yet elegantly.
"Let's start, shall we?" The teacher smiles, and Orihime's mother nods. Unlike her cheerful daughter, Orihime's mother has a cold, distant and delicate air. She is like a shard of ice: beautiful and brittle, cold to touch and difficult to hold on to. Her beauty speaks volumes of loneliness that it is almost tangible.
"Orihime-chan is an exceptional student." The teacher begins. "She is in top 5 of her class, interacts excellently with her classmates, very hardworking and I believe she has a bright future ahead of her."
Orihime smiles gratefully. The professor smiles back and turns to the older woman. "You have brought her up so well, Kurosaki-san."
"Thank you for your kind words."
A careful, curious look, and then, "Please correct me if I'm wrong. Orihime-chan has a brother, hasn't she?"
Orihime lowers her thick lashes, suddenly very tense. "Yes, she has." Her mother's voice is perfectly neutral. The teacher smiles politely and prudently changes the topic.
"As for Orihime-chan's academic standing, there is nothing for you to worry about. Her grades are excellent. However, I have noticed that she seems preoccupied for the last few months." Orihime looks down to her lap, twisting her fingers. "Additionally, since I am in charge of the Handicrafts club, I have received written reports about her frequent absences in the club's after-school activities."
There is a sound of papers being turned.
"Fortunately, her grades haven't suffered from these occurrences. They remain excellent. I know Orihime-chan can be imaginative and often dreamy, but I think this is not her normal daydreaming ways. She is distracted." There is pause, and very carefully, the teacher chooses her next words. "I am aware of your circumstances, Kurosaki-san. I know things are difficult for you and for Orihime-chan. So, I understand."
Orihime's mother's next words are clear, her tone is dismissive. "We are coping well."
"That's good to hear." The woman's expressionless face is an uncomfortable sight, so the teacher looks at Orihime with a smile. "Whatever it is, Orihime-chan, I hope it's not love life-related." The girl blushes shyly. "Kidding aside, if there are any problems troubling you, do not hesitate to discuss it with your mother. This is your final year. You need to focus, to concentrate without any distractions."
Orihime nods obediently.
"Let's discuss your college plans, Orihime-chan." She picks up a paper and segregates it from the rest. "University of Tokyo," she reads. "If your aim is to enter Todai, you have to work harder, Orihime-chan. Only the best enters Todai, and there are very privileged few who graduates successfully. My advice is to focus on your studies. You are intelligent and hardworking. I am certain you will be successful."
"I will do my best, sensei."
:
iii. The car stops at the intersection as the traffic light changes from green to red. At their left, a red Mitsubishi Strada stops. Orihime glances outside the window and stares at the gleaming red paint vacantly. The vehicle is new; it has the proud glow of a new, pampered machine.
Overhead, the stoplight becomes green. The Strada shoots forward; their red Honda follows.
The silence cloaking the interior of the car is heavy and uncomfortable. It resembles the calm before the storm. Orihime keeps looking outside, watching the scenery go by while her mother continues to drive. At four-thirty six, the car stops in front of their two-storey house. The engines die and the silence returns.
"Is it because of him?"
That tone, Orihime recognizes that tone. "Mom…" she mumbles while turning to face her mother. But the older woman unbuckles her seatbelt, unlocks the door, steps outside and slams it closed. In a swift, cold grace, she enters the house. Orihime fumbles with her seatbelt, opens her door with one hand while the other reaches for her schoolbag.
"Please listen to me."
The woman stops in mid-swing and whirls around, her poise cracking like a vase. "You are being unreasonable!" Few auburn locks untangle from the knot. Orihime does not dare to meet her mother's eye, keeping her gaze on the floor. "Instead of focusing on your responsibilities as a student, you are chasing after him!" She snarls the last word as though it is poison on her tongue, causing Orihime to cringe.
"This has to stop. Concentrate on your studies. Don't waste your time on him. He's not worth it."
Orihime's mother sits down at one end of the expensive sofa. Orihime remains standing.
"I've always wanted for you to have a bright future, Orihime. I don't want you to waste your opportunities. Throw away your chances. Prioritize what is important, and that is your future." She closes her eyes and breathes deeply – one, two, three. When she opens her eyes, she has transformed. She looks calmer, more distant, and colder. Orihime, for a moment, wonders who this woman is – where she comes from and why she is here. She looks like her mother, only that she is not. A stranger who has her mother's face, her mother's name, her mother's clothes.
"No more trips to his school and apartment. If I have to pick you up from school, I will do it. Stay away from him. His bad luck is infectious." The woman stands up and turns her back to Orihime, ending their conversation. This is when Orihime speaks up.
"I'm sorry."
The woman does not turn around to acknowledge her.
"I can't. I can't stay away from him. He's very important to me. He is a part of me – the other half of me that I cannot simply forget and abandon. It's like… It's like asking me to discard the other half of my body!"
Her mother does not reply; she simply goes up to her room, closing the door behind her without a sound.
With a heavy sigh, Orihime sits down, head bowed, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders. The living room is quiet, and only then Orihime feels the loneliness that haunts the house.
:
iv. The comedy show is on.
His eyebrows furrow as a string of knocks hit the front door. He lowers the volume of the TV set before standing up. He opens the door, and his eyebrows go up in surprise and disbelief. His grip on the door knob tightens until veins appear from holding it tightly. The air becomes too thin to breathe in.
Forcefully, he relaxes his grip and let go.
"It's been a long time."
He forces himself to look at her in the eye, feeling a disgusting urge to weep like a child.
"Mom."
:
v. The comedy show is back after three commercial, the audience claps and the two hosts exchange words.
"Are you kidding me? After all the things you've said to me, the troubles I went through to put a roof above my head after you—"
The dark, silver glint of warning flashing in her eyes prompts Ichigo to pause in the middle of his speech. Muscles clenching in his jaw, he continues with forced calm, "After I left the house, you wanted me to—"
"This is not my decision."
Ichigo clenches his fist and ignores the pang of sharp pain lancing his chest. What has happened to the beautiful woman who used to dote on him? Who is this woman who has his mother's face, his mother's voice, and his mother's clothes? With bitterness, he realizes that pain, like love, can change people.
"I don't want you near Orihime." The words cause Ichigo to grimace and wish to break something.
Orihime glances over at Ichigo worriedly.
"But this is what she wanted," their mother goes on. Ichigo looks at his sister with a frown. Orihime tries to smile but it is strained. "Because of her unhealthy obsession of following you around and convincing you to come home, her school performances are declining. Her grades haven't suffered yet, but I won't allow you to jeopardize her chances of having a better, jinx-free life."
Ichigo turns away, hiding his expression.
"I have no choice but to concede: you will come home immediately."
Come home and live with Orihime? Ichigo swallows hard, facing the wall. "This is not a good idea," he says between clenched teeth.
"I agree," their mother says. Ichigo faces the corner of the room where his mother sits on a chair like an expensive statue. "But I'm doing this for Orihime. I figure if I allow you to live with us, she will stop chasing after you and concentrate in her studies once and for all."
Ichigo is staring at his mother with an unreadable expression. Locks of bright orange hair fall over his forehead and intense half-lidded eyes. The woman looks back impassively, her eyes like ice.
"Of course," he says quietly, disgusted at the hint of hurt lacing his tone. "You will tolerate my presence for the sake of Orihime."
The woman stands up. Like Ichigo, she wears a heavily guarded expression. "I will wait in the car."
Orihime gets to her feet. "Mom, wait–"
"I need fresh air," their mother cuts in before walking out of the apartment. The door shuts without a sound. For a full minute, the two stare at the closed door.
Slowly, Orihime turns to Ichigo, her expression tender. Ichigo gazes back, watching the way she bite her bottom lip, the look of anguish and regret filling her eyes.
"I'm… selfish, aren't I?" she murmurs, dropping her eyes. "I… I want us to be together and my efforts cause us problems. I'm so sorry…" she pauses, her lips quivering. "Because of me, she said those things to you."
"Orihime…"
"I'm sorry… I—"
Ichigo put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't apologize," he says quietly. Clenching his jaw, he closes his eyes briefly. "I'll do it. I'm going home with you."
Her eyes have gone wide. Ichigo notices that she does not look happy with his decision. "P-Please, if you really don't want to, it's okay. You don't have to do the things you hate just because of me."
"No," he replies. His heavy-lidded gaze drops to her quivering, damp lips. Looking at them, he feels the fierce desire to feel them against his lips and between his teeth resurface with biting intensity, like a hungry beast scratching at the surface of his sanity. His dark, heavy gaze traces the curve of her cheek and chin before looking into her eyes.
"I'll do it," he whispers between clenched teeth, "for you."
Her long lashes lift and their eyes meet. For a moment, he lets himself get lost in her innocent gaze, pulling him in, reminding him how much he wants to escape to a place where neither heaven nor hell will be able to find him, a place where the two of them can be together.
Her lips part in a shaky sigh. The hand on her shoulder slowly moves up to her slender neck. Ichigo could feel her pulse throb under her thin skin. His thumb traces the soft curve of her chin, moving higher to touch her parted lips. Her cheeks color brightly at his touch, a look of wonder in her eyes. Ignoring the warning bells going off inside his head, he caresses her bottom lip. A delicious almost-violent shiver rips through him, coiling into a tangled mess of emotions and desire.
Clenching his teeth, Ichigo stares into her eyes – they are bright and limpid, watching, waiting, innocently curious and trusting. Breathing hard, his face tightens – how could she trust him so completely? He is a tainted man, a cursed man. He is a troubled mess of a man who wants to protect her, but at the same time, wants to ruin everything, burn the world and be consumed with it.
With great effort, he withdraws his hand and turns his back to her.
"Ichigo…"
His body reacts fiercely at the sound of his name from her lips. He clenches his trembling fists and grits his teeth.
Fuck.
Control, control – he fights for control, he struggles for it. Squeezing his eyes shut to block the heated thoughts and vivid images, Ichigo grunts through clenched teeth, "Wait here. I'm going to pack my things."
Orihime watches his back as he goes to his room and closes the door. From the distance is a sound of a train passing. The comedy show goes on, the audience laughs and the hosts jeer each other.
Separated by a plank of wood, listening to the low sound of laughter coming from the television, Ichigo and Orihime realize that the saddest things in life are the most comical of all.
:
vi. He is in love.
A love that is so strong that if it can take on a physical, tangible form, it will resemble a cruel wave or a reckless tornado that will ruin everything in its path.
It is terrifying to realize that his heart is capable of such feeling. Furthermore, he realizes, if his heart can love with such intensity, it will make him vulnerable. His heart, it will be wrung, it will be broken.
Thus, he locks his heart up in a safe. He wraps it in sackcloth, throws it inside a dark, damp room and locks it with a hundred locks of different sizes. He throws the keys in different places, in different open seas where no one can retrieve them.
His love, his heart, his secret, they are safe.
No one will know. No one will find out.
But his love is so strong that if it can take on a physical, tangible form, it will resemble a cruel wave or a reckless tornado that will ruin everything in its path. It rages, it demands to be acknowledged, to be realized. All it wants, after all, is recognition.
Thus, one day, while staring in a mirror, he confesses to himself:
He is in love – he is in love with a special girl.
It is perfect, like a fairy tale.
:
vii. There is just one tiny problem.
:
-i. Two days later after the confession he made to himself, a large delivery truck hits a bus full of people.
Ichigo is the only survivor.