I'm Yours
By Starian Princess
Chapter 2: Sealed
As he groggily draped an arm across her back, the first thing that came to mind was strawberries. She could see them in a big blue bowl at the far end of the room, sitting innocently atop the coffee table. Had he placed them there while she was sleeping? Or had they always been there to begin with? She was, nevertheless, delighted to spot something edible for it seemed like an eternity had passed since she'd last had a proper meal.
Time traveled so quickly when she was with him, she mused, smiling as she turned on her side, the arm previously wandering towards her bottom now lying still against her stomach. For a moment, she drifted off again, taking note of how his skin contrasted with hers and how warm she felt there beside him. It felt like a usual occurrence actually, her waking up next to him. It was like it was predetermined by fate, like it was the beginning of a romantic movie she'd seen… More than that, it felt like it was meant to happen.
And then she stopped, blinking, then closing her eyes, and then opening them again. No, she whispered in her head, it wasn't supposed to happen at all.
She slowly dragged herself towards the nightstand, her icy-blue hairpins shimmering in the dark, forgetfully tossed against a red silk tie. She blushed, remembering how the said tie was used the previous night and shook her head, clearing it, before reaching for the treasured mementoes. Why? Why was it that when she thought of him alone everything felt so real- everything felt so right? But when she thought of him along with someone else, thought about him in connection to her life, like with her brother or with the man she was searching for, it felt like she was supposed to wake up from a horrible nightmare? Why did it hurt so much to think of him, to try and remember?
"Hi-Hime," his voice, accompanied by a resounding yawn, broke into her thoughts then. And she whirled around sharply, her eyes widened, mouth agape. Something was wrong and she knew what it was. Still, she couldn't believe it.
"You know it," she trembled, grasping the pale yellow sheets, "my name. How did you- When did I ever mention it?" In her mind, she desperately searched for the exact moment she did, hoping, wishing that somehow she could find the answer there. But she knew the truth; she knew and refused to admit it to herself.
"You tricked me," her voice shook with a mix of anger, fear, and betrayal, tears streaming down her cheeks. Like a glass wall, it shattered before her very eyes; her dreams, her memories, her life. How could he do this? Why would he do this? Who was he, really?
"I didn't do it on purpose." He sounded so calm, like he had predicted it. And that, in turn, broke her even more.
Quietly, she stood, the sheet falling back against the bed, her body bare for him to see. But she didn't care, not anymore. She reached for her pins and secured them in place, her face remained blank. And then she walked, as if gliding in a trance, towards the couch, where her clothes had been strewn amidst their passionate lovemaking. She saw nothing passionate about them anymore.
"Where're you going?" He remained in the same position, watching her from his bed, as if displaying the evidence of her sins. She sighed to keep herself from throttling him because she knew that if her resolve broke as well, she definitely would.
"Away from you," she answered witheringly as she fastened her belt and patted her dress. Once again, she moved, this time towards the door where her sandals had been placed beside his shoes, and where her bag was leaning against a stepping board.
"You'll be back." Oh, how she hated him. She considered actually telling the vile man this but she paused midway and did something completely unlike herself instead.
"Shut up."
And with that, she was out the door. On the other side, however, a fairly disgruntled man let out a bitter laugh.
It didn't take weeks, not even days. A mere five hours later, loud pounding was heard within the small apartment complex. The other tenants, if they were even a bit curious, refused to acknowledge it or to even look out their peepholes. This was because no one wanted anything to do with the rowdy man in Room 6, of course.
As he emotionlessly let her back in, all she could do was glare. Of all the nerve! She knew he was laughing at her, knew that he was making fun of her behind her back. She knew he'd planned it all, knew that he would shove it in her face. She really, really hated him.
"Give it back." Her hand was outstretched, waiting expectantly. She didn't intend to have anything more to do with him, let alone a conversation. But he seemed to have other plans.
"Give what back?" Again with that beyond irritable smirk of his! Did he have no shame? Of course, he didn't have any. Only a man like him would actually do something so… so… evil.
"The notebook, that's what!" What scared her the most though, was the fact that within her heart full of intense loathing, hidden passed the walls that she strived to keep locked up, was relief. She was relieved to be back, the promise of safety enveloping her once more. But she couldn't understand it, and she vowed she'd never ever tell him this.
"Oh. That." From behind him, he drew out his arm, the flimsy pink relic clutched in his hand. Time came to a stop as she stared longingly at it, unconsciously holding her breath. That seemingly useless piece of writing medium was actually so much more. It was her proof, it was her adventure, it was her life.
Tentatively, she reached out, ready to take it back. But before she could even touch it, he stopped her, his eyes growing dangerously dark.
"This," he started before tossing it over to his couch, "is nothing." He sounded angry, she told herself, like a volcano ready to explode. She didn't know why though, and she didn't know why she even cared to know. Nonetheless, her feet refused to move.
Maybe inside, she knew that something would happen if she walked over to retrieve it. Maybe inside, she could sense her own demise. Maybe again, she was just going crazy. Because she could tell, because she could predict things about him she never imagined herself knowing.
"That notebook is everything," she countered, her voice so soft. Tears were threatening to spill again and she didn't want to cry in front him. She didn't want to look weak; she didn't want him to have something more to gloat at her about.
"You don't have to believe what it says. It's a piece o'crap some sorry soul left behind."
A furious tension and silence followed, like another volcano was about to blow. She balled her hands into tight fists, her bangs shading her eyes. From where he was, she knew he could see her lower lip trembling. But that no longer concerned her.
"…I wrote it," she looked up at him after the pause, grayish-brown blazing in flames. It was then that she took menacing steps towards him. And once reaching him, she brought her hands out and started pounding.
"You idiot! You insensitive jerk! Does it mean anything to you at all that that is my sole purpose right now?" Her hammering turned into punching, "That is my truth, the reason I try so hard!" And her punching turned into shoving, "And you just discard it like it's nothing!"
She then found herself leaning against him for support, sobbing for the second time against his chest, frustrated beyond belief.
She thought that it couldn't get any worse, that nothing more could happen, but she was wrong. Gently, she felt him lift his arms and without so much as her permission, the man she so hated with all her heart- who she had tried to hurt physically and whom she still wanted to hurt, embraced her.
The notebook was left forgotten (now lying atop the coffee table), very much like everything else, as her breathing quickened and his chest rose. Her clothes had been discarded in a few swift maneuvers and were hanging at the edge of the bed, where is own clothes had soon followed.
She tightened her hold on him, her arms hanging from his neck. And then, she screamed out, moaning and writhing beneath him, pulling him closer. He bit down hard, leaving his mark above her collarbone. She could have cared less now; there were marks everywhere- on her thighs, on her arms, on her back. And she knew he was damn proud of his handiwork too; the jerk.
It was hours later when they finally stopped and hours later when she finally found some semblance of sanity within her to get up and reach for the bowl of strawberries. She took bite after bite, satisfying her hunger before turning to him to meet his smirk.
"I've got some whipped cream in the fridge if you wanna do something fun." She would have laughed and the idea was tempting and all, but she had to get down to business first. At least before dinnertime.
"Tell me your name," she stared hard at him, waiting for his answer, needing to know. And he stared back for a few seconds before finally complying.
"It's Grimmjow- Grimmjow Jeagerjaques."
She would have smiled, would have walked back to him and pressed her lips against his, would have laid in that large bed of his with him and marveled at his unique name.
But as she mouthed the name in her mind and heart, her world went into a complete and utter black. And somewhere in a far away place, she could hear someone else talking, someone familiar, someone she could never forget.
"Next time, I'll definitely protect you."
-TBC-
