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Chapter 10: Mementos

After Maka leaves the apartment, a mixture of relief and sadness sweeps over me. By leaving I will save her the unpleasantness of realizing the truth about me, that I am self-centered and enjoyed her company and hunting demons for all the wrong reasons. Maybe she will eventually realize that I am just like the rest, a cock-driven horney asshole who really should never have been trusted. We were able to make it work for a while, but the demise of our happy pairing was inevitable.

A part of me is tempted to lie on the couch and talk myself out of leaving, but I love Maka too much for that. She deserves better than to live with someone who is harboring these kinds of violent and despicable thoughts. Besides, there is no reason to wait; the sooner I hit the road the more distance I can put between me and her and the entire demon hunting portion of my life. I figure it makes the most sense for me to head to Vegas or Reno; I can probably lie about my age by forging a couple documents and land a job playing piano in one of the many lounges there. The irony that I'm leaving my peaceful little apartment to go tickle the ivories in Sin City, an environment not all that unlike the red and black room is not lost on me, but at least Maka won't be there and hopefully, eventually I'll get over her. It's not like we were married or something.

I go into my room and look around- I don't own a lot of stuff, certainly not a lot worth lugging to my next life. I grab my jeans, t-shirts, some underwear, my guitar, and the standard issue DWMA Survival Kit. The school has made it incredibly easy for me to take off. The Survival Kit given to each student that goes on special assignment includes essential supplies for roughing it while away from civilization: bedroll, sleeping bag, mess kit, pocket knife, flint and steel, and a small, but well-stocked first aid kit. There really isn't much more I need. Maka would say a toothbrush and toothpaste, but I know darn well those are optional.

I open my night stand to grab the keys to the motorcycle. Inside the drawer is some random crap I have stuck there for lack of a better place: a birthday card from my grandmother, a couple photos, a few stray guitar picks, half a pack of bubble gum, and some miscellaneous junk. Staring back at me from one of the photographs are a younger Maka and me, shortly after we became partners. I can't believe how small we look. I don't feel any different, but it's obvious we've both grown up tremendously since our first year at the academy. I try to remember what I felt for her then, before things got so damned complicated. Another photo is of a bunch of us at lunch… I'm stuffing my face with a huge wad of something while Kid is waving his arms in disgust at my appalling table manners. I'm gonna miss messing with him. He's a good sport considering we all pick on him about his OCD and all.

There's also a photo of me dressed up for one of the school's formal dances. It was taken on one of the school's balconies. I like to retreat there during big social events like the Death Bash because dances aren't really my thing, but I don't want to be a party pooper and not go so I usually escort Maka and then retreat to the solitude of the balcony and admire the stars and enjoy the cool evening air, instead of getting myself all hot and deaf out on the dance floor. Or at least, that's what I've done till now. I guess that's all over now. I sigh.

The other photo is from the beginning of this school year and it's of Maka and me. In this one I'm in weapon form and she's wearing her don't-you-dare-mess-with-me look. It's a copy of our official "partner photo" that goes in the yearbook to commemorate the school's meister/weapon teams.

A part of me things that if I really want to move on I should leave these things behind, but I can't shut the drawer and leave these things there. It seems disrespectful to those special memories and the people I shared them with so I grab the photos and stuff them in my bag along with a couple other mementos from my friends: a token from the arcade that one of our friends pierced a hole in with a lightning attack, a gaudy Death mask ring that I won as a prize at the school carnival one year, and a letter from Maka that she sent me when her and the girls went away for a couple weeks.

Maka is good at writing letters. She has the vocabulary necessary for good written correspondence and pretty handwriting that isn't too loopy but distinctively her own. I don't know why, but I find myself opening the letter. In it she talks about how they went whale watching and swimming and how she lost her bikini top in the pool and Patty had to swim way out into the ocean to get it. The letter is signed the way Maka always signs letters to me, "Sincerely with love, Maka."

I can't compete with her storytelling or her penmanship, but I know I can't get out of leaving her a note. If I don't leave a note to let her know I've left of my own free will she will assume something bad has happened to me and by tomorrow morning she will have the whole of Death City plastered with "missing" posters and the entire DC Police Force on the case. She worries about me.

I grab a ballpoint pen and some notebook paper from my drawer.

Dear Maka,

Great- that's a start. Now what to say…

I'm sorry but I have to go. I know it will upset you, but know that I'm doing this for your own good. There is stuff going on with me that you don't need to be worrying about. Trust me when I say it will be easier this way for both of us.

You will find another weapon you are great with. You really don't need me. Please don't worry about me. I'll be fine. You know I'm good at taking care of myself. Tell Blair she can eat all those cans of tuna in the cupboard and Black*Star can have my comics- they are in that box in the corner of the closet.

I will never forget you.

Love, Soul

P.S. When I've earned some money I will send you a couple hundred bucks for the bike because it really belongs to both of us, but I'm taking it anyways. Don't dare put the money into your savings account, please buy yourself something nice with it to make up for all the crappy Christmas presents I've gotten you.

There, done, but it doesn't seem right somehow. Maybe because a part of me wants to tell her that I really don't want to be doing this, but what's the alternative…stay here until I snap and do something I regret? No, thank you. I'm not going to be doing anything to please Little Orge. Staying would be nothing but selfish.

My angular handwriting resembles Stein's stitches and I briefly remember that moment when I thought Maka was a goner. That split second when I jumped in front of her- the moment I got infected with Black Blood. That single action has tainted our relationship with so many problems, but I have never once regretted it. I'd die to save her any day, but leaving is the only way I can think of to save her from me.

The lines on the page begin to blur as I cry. Damn, Soul, quit acting like a girl. I snicker at own self-deprecating humor. I am acting like a girl, an average girl, not at all like my Maka.

Maka is not like any girl I've ever met. If she were here right now instead of crying she'd probably be threatening me by brandishing a book or her fist. She'd be screaming at me or trying to bargain with me, all while trying to sneak inside my mind to meet me in the red and black room in hopes she could somehow convince me not to go, that she could prove that my inappropriate thoughts are due to my infection with the Black Blood and not really my fault.

But lucky for me, Maka doesn't suspect there is anything going on with me other than contraction of some stomach bug or food poisoning. I wouldn't be surprised if she stops by the library at lunch time to read up on which herbs to put in my tea to make me feel better.

I create too much work for her. This will be far better for her. She shouldn't be stuck with the albatross that is Soul and his antisocial, grouchy nature. All those dances we went to together and I never once danced with her or with anyone else. So many times I squelch her optimism or put down her bookish nature. We're a horrible fit for one another. What on earth was I thinking falling for someone like her?

I go out front and secure my knapsack to the back of the bike and toss my guitar over my shoulder. I take one last look down the street to the DWMA admiring for the last time its iconic Lord Death mask and candle design.

Being a part of the DWMA has been a ton of fun: the demon souls were damn tasty, the kids were cool, and we had a lot of really great adventures, but now it's time for me to move on. I should have known this wouldn't last. I had convinced myself this was where I belonged, but it was all a lie. I knew that deep down inside I didn't belong here. I'm a solitary creature by nature and being one of Lord Death's students was just too social for me. The school is one big family and I don't do well with that kind of thing. I need to find a place where once again I am alone in the world.