I picked up the pace with this chapter. I hope it comes off as believable. I have some ideas I would like to get to. -TPP
Perfect Silence
Chapter 4.
"I'll be the one to protect you from
your enemies and all your demons.
I'll be the one to protect you from
A will to survive and a voice of reason.
I'll be the one to protect you from
Your enemies and your choices, son.
They're one and the same, I must isolate you
Isolate you and save you from yourself."
–A Perfect Circle 'Counting Bodies Like Sheep'
The next few weeks are boring, restless. I see Kurosaki on the roof. He looks at me sometimes. I don't approach him.
A part of me wants to. The more I think about him, the more I want to know.
I want to know what he knows, what he sees, in me.
I don't know what I see in Kurosaki, but whatever it is, I don't think it will be much longer until we face off against each other, demanding answers.
He has to feel what I'm feeling. His eyes slide over to me more and more as the days drag by. I know this because I'm watching him.
And then it happens.
One day after school, I go back up on the roof to get high. The doors don't get locked until late afternoon, so it's usually the best spot to get high without worrying about teachers or faculty.
I can get high anywhere, but the roof is where I want to be.
If I wasn't so focused on my mom, I know I'd have the money to be a real baser. I'd probably be doing hard shit, shooting up in a rank bathroom somewhere, but I don't have the money. I never have the money.
I'm rolling up my second blunt when I hear him.
"Can I burn with you?"
I turn slightly, locking eyes with him.
I nod.
He sits down next to me, waiting patiently as I finish tonguing the leaf.
I light. Lungful. Release.
I pass it to him.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
His face is pretty blank. I guess mine is too.
"I love the EP," he says, staring at the lousy grey sky.
I open my mouth slowly. Smoke releases in long, thick tendrils.
I breathe in quickly through my nose, sucking it all back in.
I nod my head.
He looks at me, quite serious, "I don't really want to talk about that."
This gets my attention. It's the way he says it and the way he looks at me that makes my guts squirm.
He's rubbing at his arm.
I lift my arm towards him, my opposite hand scratching at my forearm, just like he was doing.
He stops, eyes wide.
I know his secret.
I see you.
He folds his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, looking away from me. He eventually lays his head down on his knees, still facing away from me.
I don't like this. I don't know why I don't, I just don't.
I don't have anything to do with Kurosaki. He's a stranger to me. I shouldn't have any interest in him, but I do.
He must have some interest in me too because he still hasn't left.
"How did you know I was up here?"
He looks at me, shrugging slightly, "I followed you."
"Why?" It comes out more curious. I should sound threatening, but I don't.
He looks out at the city again before saying, "I don't know."
Minutes stretch by.
He finally says it, "Why do you talk to me? You don't talk to anybody else."
I look at him, at those rimmed, sleepless brown eyes. It's the little details in the long run that always seem to give you away.
"I can see you," I say, not really sure what I mean. I don't know any other way to communicate it.
He stiffens. Stares.
We go back to companionable silence, at least until he says, "The world's too loud."
I look at him out of the corner of my eye.
And he's looking right back.
Three days after the roof, he comes back to BENEHIME MUSIC.
I'm trying to look busy when really I'm flustered.
My stomach is squirming.
"Hi," he says, picking up a cd not far from me. He studies it for a second before putting it back.
I move down another aisle. Starrk is watching us from the register area. I don't want him to see. I don't want Starrk asking me any more questions I can't answer.
But I don't want to give up my time with Kurosaki, who followed me, studying yet another cd I know he won't buy.
"When's your shift over?"
My response is automatic. It scares me, "Five."
"Okay. I'll come back at five."
And then he leaves.
I go back to stocking.
Starrk asks me if I'm secretly dating.
I glare at him. He laughs.
Kurosaki does this for weeks.
He comes in, asks me when I get off, and then he'll be there, every time, on the dot.
Waiting for me.
Me.
We don't do anything in particular. Sometimes we just walk. Sometimes we stop and get take-out or sit in the park. Sometimes we're together fifteen minutes. Sometimes five hours.
By the time summer is almost over, I'm talking in complete sentences. Not all the time, but I'm getting better. I don't ask him things, but he tells me some things.
Like that he's got a weird doctor dad and a very sweet mom. His favorite color. A band he appreciates. His love for art. How much he fucking hates scratchy sweaters and cats.
I notice that Kurosaki is talking more and more, and that doesn't bother me. It should, but it doesn't.
I shouldn't want to be around Kurosaki. He doesn't know me, not the real me. If he did, he'd stay away from me. I think that's why I can't fully trust him. I don't know when his fascination with me, whatever it is, will end.
Shitty, I know, but I don't know how to explain that feeling like something's growing, that something's becoming personal or safe. It's something I haven't felt in a long, long time, and I'm getting spoiled feeling it with Kurosaki.
Like any addiction, it gets harder and harder to say no.
"When's the last time you were on a swing?" Kurosaki asks, staring up at the rusting bars holding the neighborhood swing set together. He's pushing gently with his feet in the sand, but not really going anywhere.
I'd just been sitting still, listening to the sound of his voice.
I shrug, wondering where he's going with this.
He says, "My dad used to take me here until I was twelve."
I don't want to think about when I was twelve. I don't want to think about it ever.
"Good boy, Grimm."
"…I just stopped wanting to after that," Kurosaki finishes.
I can feel his eyes on me even though I'm staring at my shoes.
They're dirty. Just like me.
"I don't have a dad."
Kurosaki looks sad, "Sorry."
I shake my head, look up at the darkening sky. Why had I said that? He didn't even ask. I just told him.
Because I wanted to. I wanted him to know that. Why? I wasn't sure. Just felt good.
"My mom's sick," I continue, not looking at him, "Really sick. Cancer."
"Christ."
"She's dying," my throat closes up. My chest hurts. It's hard to breathe, so I stop talking.
Silence. This feels good, too. This perfect silence.
And then he says something completely unexpected.
"I almost killed my mom."
I look at him. If this is some kind of a sick joke, I'm going to lose my shit.
He's looking right at me, those big brown eyes full of truth, "I was driving. It was raining. My little sister was in the backseat. She didn't make it. She died before the ambulance could get her to the hospital."
It's clipped, rushed, almost whispered. I don't think he's ever said these things out loud before. I wouldn't blame him.
"My mom and I survived. She still has nightmares."
I don't know what to say. I really, really don't know what to say.
But I think he's okay with that.
He doesn't need 'I'm sorry'.
He doesn't want 'I'm sorry'.
I think, really, he needs much more than that, something that is much harder to come by. I don't know what it is, or if I have it, but I sit with him for what feels like forever.
In the silence. That perfect, clear silence that is almost like two heartbeats.
But I finally say it, because something tells me it's true and I need to.
"Your mom loves you."
He looks at me, really looks at me, like he can see me.
"Yeah," he says, a sad smile on his face, "she does."
"Ichigo, we need to talk."
My dad is standing in the doorway of my bedroom. I don't want to have this conversation.
"Something wrong?"
His face is unusually serious, "You tell me."
My arms burn. I haven't cut myself in over a month. I wonder why that is.
"I heard you throwing up last night," he says, still not moving from the doorway. My dad can be an idiot sometimes, but he's far from stupid. I probably would have made a run for it.
I shrug, "Something I ate or something."
I think I'm getting careless with my lying. It sounds fake even to me.
"Lift your shirt."
I stare at him and stare at him.
I knew this moment would come, the moment were he would choose to intervene. Of course he would. My dad loves me. I don't understand that. I killed his baby girl. He should hate me as much as Karin does.
I shake my head side to side once, not breaking eye contact.
"Ichigo."
"Leave it alone, dad."
"No."
"I won't stop."
"You need to. I'm not going to watch this, Ichigo. Show me, now, or I'll have you pulled out of school and in rehab so fast you'll get whiplash."
He's completely serious. I haven't seen him like this in a long time.
"How long have you known?" I mumble.
"A while. I needed to be sure. Ichigo, whatever you're feeling, whatever you're blaming yourself for, starving yourself won't fix it. You know that."
"Does mom know?"
"She's worried about you. She knows you're not eating enough, but I don't think she knows to what lengths you're going to hurt yourself."
"I can't miss school," I say calmly. I'm far too calm. My remedial summer classes are almost over. My senior year is looming ahead of me, long and shady.
"Then let me help you. I'm a doctor for a reason. I can get you appointments with a therapist, anything you need. Fuck, Ichigo, I almost wish it was drugs."
I'm suddenly pissed. Totally livid. I stand up from my bed, take my shirt off and throw it on the floor. I hear him suck in a breath.
My chest, my stomach, my arms. He can see it all now.
He looks horrified.
"You can't fix this!" I say, hitting my own wiry chest. The sound is hollow, "Nothing you say or do will fix this. I have to pay, I have to. Don't you get that? Don't you?"
Tears are in his eyes now. I feel sick. I want to throw up.
I'm screaming internally as he approaches me and hugs me. Its solid, unyielding, his voice low, steady, "You're my son, Ichigo, my baby boy. I can't do anything? I can't help you? Save you? Then I'm a shitty excuse for a parent, aren't I?"
My eyes go wide. I feel small in his arms. I haven't hugged him in over a year.
I'm shaking and shaking until I start sobbing.
Minutes drag by. He just lets me cry. Damn him.
For the first time in a long time, we talk. Really talk. No bullshit. He might save my body. I know he'll watch me like a hawk from now on. He wants to see me eating even if its protein shakes.
I think of Grimmjow. I don't think that will be so bad.
When he finally leaves my room, I'm exhausted. The first person I think of is Grimmjow.
I take a shower. I scrub my accident scars until they're throbbing.
When I come back to my room, my dad is back, but this time he wants to know where I hide my razorblade.
"I thought you might come back from the shower with it," he says.
"I need that."
"No. You need me. You need mom. Karin. Your friends…even that blue-haired punk."
I'm startled. When did he see Grimmjow? And with me?
"In the park last week. Saw you there with him. You were smiling," my dad says with a lopsided grin, "I haven't seen you smile in over a year, and that punk had you smiling. I've never seen him before. Why don't you bring him by the house? I'd like to meet him."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
"It just isn't."
He looks stern again, "Drugs?"
Shit. How dare he?
"You know why he makes me smile, dad? He doesn't fucking judge."
I brush past him after grabbing my cell, taking the steps two at a time.
I slam the door behind me.
I know where I'm headed.
BENEHIME MUSIC is slow on Sundays. When I walk in, there is only two people browsing and the Goth-looking boy with the tattoos who I've come to know as Shuhei, is organizing music magazines.
"Hey, Ichigo," he says in greeting. I've been by the shop enough times now that Starrk and Shuhei are familiar with me. Urahara went to college with my dad, which isn't well-versed knowledge, but when Urahara is working the shop, he'll try to talk to me and ask me how the family is.
"Grimmjow here?" I ask Shuhei.
"He's on break."
"You know where?"
He looks me over. I must look pretty desperate.
"He might be outback smoking."
I mumble thanks and go out the back way that spills into an alley.
Grimmjow is leaning against a graffiti-covered brick wall, cigarette in hand. He looks a little surprised to see me. That has to be good, right?
"My dad knows about me," I say hurriedly, feeling naked.
Grimmjow flicks his spent cigarette down the alley.
I keep staring at him, waiting for him to say something, do something.
"He knows I'm cutting. He thinks I'm cutting, but…I haven't been cutting…lately."
I've never said it out loud before. I feel like I'm outside my body. He is just staring at me.
He's waiting for something. I don't know what it is but he's waiting for something.
His eyes are on mine as he says, "Why?"
One word. My mouth goes dry.
Why? Because I thought it would save her? Because I thought it could wash away my sins? Because I can't breathe without the pain and the nerves and the pound-pound-pounding in my veins?
It is none of those things. And everything. I am the monster.
"Why are you here?" he says, voice low. He sounds weary.
"What?"
He is not going to repeat himself. I know why. I know.
I run my fingers through my hair, look at him again. I'm worn out.
"I haven't cut myself in weeks."
Grimmjow's jaw flexes.
I take a deep breath, "You make me better."
Grimmjow looks away, shakes his head side to side once, eyes focused on a gang tag spray-painted on the wall, "That's not true."
"You can't tell me that. You don't know."
He looks at me again, hands in his pockets.
He walks towards me. My chest hurts, but it's different.
He's close enough now I could touch him if I wanted to.
He opens his mouth and says, "Go home."
I freeze. That can't be all. That can't be it. In two words, my world snaps in and out of focus.
He's waiting for me to leave, to do what he expects. Kurosakis do not walk away.
"No."
He looks mad. Angry. This is good. This means he feels enough to react.
I grow brave, "When's the last time you took pills?"
He doesn't look at me.
"Come on, Grimmjow, when?"
He goes past me to open the metal door that leads back inside.
I ram my shoulder into it, keeping him from leaving.
His entire body is tense, fingers gripping the handle so hard his knuckles are white.
I stare and he stares back. He's a simmering volcano. I'm not giving up.
"Your silence tells me everything I need to know."
We're frozen in this moment.
I've never felt so alive.
"I'm not good for you," he says slowly, evenly, his eyes betraying rage, "Stay away from me."
"You're perfect for me."
The words are out. I hadn't planned on saying them, but I'd been thinking them. I don't want to lose Grimmjow. I don't want to lose the peace I feel when I'm with him.
My dad might save my body, but I know, I just know, that Grimmjow is meant to save my soul.
I don't want to lose him. I won't lose him.
I lean my face forward. We're nearly nose-to-nose. I'm not touching him, not yet. His body is tense again. He looks like a caged animal.
He hasn't moved. Not yet.
"You're important. Very, very important, okay?" I say, trying to control my breathing.
His free hand had been clenched into a fist, balled at his side. It goes limp.
Carefully, slowly, gently, my fingers brush against his.
His eyebrows are drawn together, his lips turned down, eyes watching my hand.
He still won't move.
My palm finally slides against his too-warm palm, testing him.
He won't look at me, just keeps staring down at our now joined hands.
I lock my fingers with his. He's not gripping back, but he's not pulling away either.
"I don't want to fix you, Grimmjow," I say lowly, "This, just like this, is enough."
He's still studying our hands like he's never held someone's hand before. I suddenly wonder if this is true.
Then, he's gripping back.
