It's Sunday.
I'm supposed to update on Saturday.
Fuck.
Piercing screams, pained yells, flashes of light and dark, ambient noise, twisted faces, overwhelming fear, loud disagreement, awful realizations, countless choices, lost opportunities, pointless sacrifice, red tears, horrible suspense, grotesque forms, terrible regret, searing pain, black blood.
Panting and sweating and clutching a hand to my searing chest, I woke up, finding it extremely hard to breathe. The muffled sunlight being blocked by the drawn curtains helped the terror swell back down. Gingerly, I sit up, placing one foot and then another on the carpeted floor next to my bed. Taking my shaking hands from my heart to my hair, I clutch it and pull in an attempt to pull me back to reality.
I want to move on from that horrible experience. I'm hardly stopping myself from thinking about it. I kept getting these flashes, before stopping myself from remembering just in time.
Get up, I ordered myself. Do something.
Unfortunately for me, I was rather experienced when it came to these things. Granted, this was the first one that had happened in almost a month while I was sleeping. The ones in the day time are never as bad. Like on Saturday, two days ago. Yeah, I guess that could be counted as one. These random flashes of things I didn't want to see.
I couldn't help looking into the full-length mirror as I passed it. I took in the scar running from my shoulder to my hip. Where did I get that scar again? I run some of my fingers over it, taking in the roughness it had compared to the rest of my skin and the uncomfortable prickles that followed after my hand.
"Oh yeah," I mumbled out loud. "The car accident."
Because of that car accident, I couldn't remember. And because of this scar, I was constantly tortured by a reminder.
I'm not really Soul Evans. My own parents let me know. I'm the new one, the fake one, the impostor. These eyes weren't mine, which captured people's attention. These teeth weren't mine, which scared people away. This hair wasn't mine, which stuck up in impossible ways.
I could tell, from the moment I woke back up, that I wasn't wanted. At least, not this version of me. People were crying, people I couldn't remember, who asked if I remembered them. People made inside jokes that I didn't understand, and references that made no sense. I'd forgotten everything, and in the process, I'd lost my identity.
I was taken where I was told was my home, fed by who I was told was my parents. I tried, I really did, but I didn't know them, and they didn't know me, and I sat in my room on my computer every day. They wanted me so badly to turn back into their son, their brother, the Soul Evans they knew. Something was always missing, there was always a distance, and I was always wishing the gap would fill. Once, I even attempted to play the piano.
It was at this time that Wes decided to tell me how he really felt. Calmly talking about how I wouldn't be able to redeem myself, he said it was best if I left. You can guess how I reacted to that.
Suddenly, I was on my knees. A searing pain ran along my scar, and I cried out, although I didn't hear it. "Damn it," I spit before pulling myself up. "I'm such a fucking idiot." I clearly recalled doing everything to avoid thinking about that.
I looked over at the clock on my screensaver. School was going to start in a little over twenty minutes. Attending school that day seemed like a horrible form of torture, but by somehow convincing myself that it would serve as a distraction, I dragged myself over to the shower.
My pants barely hanging on to my waist, I roughly push my towel into my hair as I attempt at getting out the last pesky signs of moisture. At least now I didn't smell like I'd just slept in my own sweat.
A mysterious figure with horrible timing gave a knock on the door. With the thought of who might be behind the door, I was tempted to pretend it had never happened. As if reading my thoughts, the urgent pounding repeated itself.
Quickly fastening my belt, I tossed aside the towel and opened the door. I found myself unsurprised that Maka was the one standing in the hallway.
Her cheeks lit up when she saw me, and I was reminded that I didn't have a shirt on. Turning around to rummage for one, I talked to her over my shoulder, leaving the door open. "Just because you know where I live doesn't mean you can come over whenever."
Picking up the first shirt I found conveniently hanging out on the couch, I began walking back, turning it from inside-out to right-side-out. "I know," she replied, looking anywhere but me. "But I felt bad about yesterday."
I stopped what I was doing and turned my attention to Maka's face, trying to find clues. Was she being serious?
"Listen," she started, her cheeks flushing further. "I'm sorry that I said things that"—she turned completely around—"don't concern me." Something suddenly seemed off. "I don't… don't know you that well, so I shouldn't get involved in these things." With a start I realized she was shaking, and didn't know what to do.
"Sorry," Maka apologized, a waver in her voice. "I'll leave now."
Abandoning the shirt, I grabbed her wrist as she reached for the door knob and turned her back around. She tried to cover up her eyes with her hair, but I could still see the tears running down her face.
"Why are you crying?" I asked, genuinely concerned, although I tried not to show it more than necessary. When she didn't answer, I hesitated, my hand reaching out, wondering if this was okay. Deciding I probably wouldn't regret it, my hand cupping her cheek and forcing her to look up at me.
Suddenly, I was flashed back to Friday, when I'd last saw Maka cry, and was filled with the same remorse. Without knowing it, I forgot to filter what I was feeling, and the look on my face would've surprised her, if she hadn't been avoiding my gaze.
Surprising me, Maka placed her right hand directly over my heart, on my scar, before running her hand along it like I'd done earlier. I didn't understand why, but I knew enough not to stop her.
"Maka, what…?" Unsure of how to finish the question, I didn't.
All I could do was watch. Watch as her gloved fingers went up and down my scar, briefly wondering why it wasn't triggering anything. Watch as her eyes filled with something I couldn't identify, and the tears dried, leaving stains.
Finally, I couldn't stand the suspense. I grabbed her hand and got her to look up. My eyes widened at the look on her face, tears about to brim over, nose red. "Maka…" I mumbled, not sure what else to say. I was about to ask what that look was for, before she closed the distance between us in one step.
It took a couple of moments for my mind to process what was going on, and long after Maka's coat had settled, it sunk in that Maka's arms were becoming tighter around my waist and her nose was burying further into my neck and her body was flush against mine. And then another moment to process the sniffling.
"I'm sorry," Maka said, again. "Just…" I got the silent message as her arms tightened further, almost uncomfortably. Don't move.
In a way, I didn't like it. Bonding with people is… scary. The more attached you are, the more it hurts when the connection is ripped out or cut in half. One of the few things I carried on from my other life is that, and the problem with the Black Blood, probably. But I couldn't deny that my heart had sped up, and my fingers were itching to return the gesture. Hesitantly, one of my hands supported her lower back, and the other tangled into her ashy hair.
"I really missed you, Soul."
The words rang out clear in the quiet room. I figured now wasn't the best time to ask what she meant as I took in the distinctly familiar sent of Maka's hair.
For some reason, I felt like I knew exactly what to do. Everything that was happening was too strange for me to question what seemed trivial.
I pulled away from Maka. She watched me as I shrugged on my shirt and headed over to my desk before grabbing my headphones and iPod, which I'd already transferred my newest song over to.
The music was loud enough and the headphones were large enough the room was silent enough that I could hear the entire song. When the first drop came in, after what seemed like an unusually long time for me, I heard the illtuned-piano kick in, continuing to crescendo.
Her eyes widened. "Soul," she gasped. "This is...
"You."
This chapter is 1,528 words.
I'm supposed to make them at least 2,000.
Fuck.
Besides that, sorry for updating late. Also, my creativeness sort of stopped around the end of the chapter, so I apologize if it's sort of complete bullshit. I was going to make this take place on Monday, but then I thought I wanted him to wake up from a night terror thing and then this just happened. I sort of think I should've made it tense between Soul and Maka, but I thought I would be horrible at making that entertaining.
Sighhhhh overall this was a bad chapter. I APOLOGIZE. But srsly. Sorz.
#sorrynotsorry
#noreallysorry
Well. See you next week. I'll try to write not horribly, and uh... school is tomorrow. So that's bitch.
REVIEW. And has anyone else been obsessed with Free! Iwatobi Swim Club since the moment it existed? Seriously, I thought I would stop being so obsessed with it. It's been five months. But I will not deny that RinHaru is like the bEST THING IN EXISTANCE
Then again, Soul Eater came out over four years ago... so...
Heh. I need to calm down. This ending is way too long...
(#youshouldstillreview)