"What city did you grow up in?"

We were on a hilltop, lying in the soft fuzzy grass that swayed in the light breeze of the day. My hands were placed behind my head and she was lying on her side as she fingered the tender grass between us. We had been lying there for a while when I asked her. I don't know what possessed me to do so though. Usually it was her that asked me a question about my past and soon we would share each other's experiences but the inquiry bubbled in my head and out of my mouth. I turned to look at her to see her with a small smile at her lips and her eyelashes touching the beginning of her cheeks.

"Toshima, Tokyo."

Her reply drifted pass my ears in the light zephyr and she opened her eyes to reveal a softness and nostalgic love that took my breath away. She closed her eyes again and sighed in the clean air around us as she continued to fiddle with the grass.

"It…was just me and my brother. My parents weren't the greatest role models. They were unfaithful, fought until the point of violence, and went on drug binges that could last for weeks. My brother was sick of it. He didn't want me to be abused by them as he had been. All I remember of them are the violence and language. Sometimes their fury would spill over and they would attack me or my brother."

She kept a small smile on her face and a softness about her voice as she talked.

"How old were you?"

She shrugged her shoulders before she answered. "I don't know five or six maybe? An age that a child should be nurtured by their parents, not beaten and battered by. When my brother was old enough he took me away. It wasn't as difficult as I expected. I thought they would fight for me, that they would go to the courts to seek custody but they did nothing of the sort. They handed me and their legal rights over without so much as a goodbye. They called my brother and I names, saying that he wouldn't be able to raise me right.


The girl's frame was small as she stood behind the much larger body of her brother's. She grasped onto his hand for dear life, thinking that if she let go they would drag her back into that house, back into that place to do horrible things to her, to beat her, to hurt her any way they could.

"Take the little sult. I don't care what you do with her."

The female's voice was caustic and biting, her eyes holding a vehemence toward the child that was unjustifiable.

"Mother! Don't you say that about Orihime, she's done nothing for you to be calling her names!"

The child crouched more behind the tall frame of her brother as the name calling began. So many words were thrown at her, so many that she couldn't grasp the meaning of. But one thing she did know was that those words were filled with hate. A hate that made her eyes wide with fear and made her want to cower down and say sorry; she didn't know what to apologize for but whatever she had done must have been unforgivable.

"Take that stupid snkak! Don't come crying back to me when she grows up to be a wohre who'll fcuk anything she sees! Don't come back!"

He covered the little girl's ears but it was a second too late. The foreign words had already entered her hearing canals and burned in her brain. Tears welled up in her eyes as they met with her mother's. Those eyes she possessed were those devoid of love and concern. They were bubbling over with resentment and hate for the child she had birthed.

The older brother took the little girl into his arms and left. He tried to console the girl with his gentle words and kind promises. He told her that she would grow up to be a great person, that she would be the best mother on earth. He told her that what their mother said meant nothing. That she was mad at the path her life had taken and felt it necessary to put the blame on someone else.

And she listened and clung to his words for dear life.

She clung and she hoped.


I turned toward her as I listened intently to what she told me. How could a mother ever say something like that to a child? She hadn't done anything to deserve her wrath and yet she received it without reason or logic.

"My mother wasn't well mentally. After years of drug binges they had finally taken a toll on her psychological state. She needed something, someone to blame for all the hardships she had been faced with. And instead of realizing that it was herself she should blame everything on, she instead took all her anger and frustration out on me, when my brother wasn't available."

"Do you hate her?" I found myself asking as I stared intently at her calm expression.

"For a while I really wanted to. I wanted to hate her with every part of my being and throw back all those words she pitched at me. But I couldn't find it anywhere in my heart to possess such a negative feeling towards her. I couldn't find the hate I searched for and instead found an overwhelming sense of sympathy and love. She had treated me bad but I couldn't help but love her and feel for her because I knew she was going through something greater than she could handle. She was my mother after all; there will always be a bond between a mother and daughter, no matter how weak it may be."

She shivered lightly as a breeze whisked by and I instinctively grabbed her arm to quell her quakes. My hand felt cool on her skin as her body greedily sucked in the warmth it offered. Her arm possessed that creamy silky feeling her hands did but was so much softer than I imagined. She slightly opened her eyes to reveal a tenderness that I had never been privy to. They shined bright in the sun yet were so mellow and comfortable that I could sleep in her gaze. She closed her eyes as her soft voice filled my ears again.

"My brother found us a nice little apartment and that's where I grew up. Each day after school I would wait for him. Standing in the spot he told me to and not moving an inch. In the beginning I was afraid that if I even breathed too loud he would get mad and hurt me. But he didn't. He would just smile at me, say his kind words, and take me into his arms."


The girl stood rigidly by the building staring at her feet as she tried to remain perfectly still. When she lived with her mother and father, if she even tripped they would beat her. They would tell her how much of a failure she was, how she would amount to nothing. Those habits of strict obedience followed her even after her brother took her away from their wrath. She thought that if she moved from the spot he told her to be in he would beat her with the same intensity and anger; that he too would call her names and tell her of the nothing she would become.

But he did none of those things. He chuckled lightly and told her that she didn't have to stand so rigid and straight with her eyes so downcast. She was shocked at his words. Shocked that he would let her move around and play in the snow or make silly pictures with her feet.

"You won't hurt me?" she asked, her voice light, wary, and weak.

"Of course I won't Orihime! I would never hurt you. I'm not going to be like them. I'll make sure to treat you a million times better."

He bent down and pulled her into a tight hug as he mussed her hair. "I'll swear to you Orihime, I'll always be here to protect you. I'll never let any harm come your way. That's what a big brother is supposed to do."


"When we lived with our parents I rarely drew and when I did I had to keep my sessions short. But living with my brother I couldn't help but to draw. I was so happy and excited. I had freedom. I could play with the other kids in the neighborhood and at school. I didn't have to tip toe around the house, and I could draw until I fell asleep at night. I think it was him that got me so engulfed into the world of art because without his positive reinforcement in my life I think I never would have gotten so involved in it."


"Orihime you drew that?" he said as his larger frame hunched over her smaller one.

She shook her head with much enthusiasm as she held the picture up to his face. He was genuinely surprised with her talent and saw that she had drawn herself and him holding hands. The picture was simple and rough around the edges but his heart was filled with such a pride for his sister. He saw the little details that made the picture stand out, the emotions and hard work she had put into the work. And to think she was only a child and possessed so much talent.

"This…this is wonderful Orihime. Can you show me more of your artwork?

She shook her head vehemently as she ran into the other room, happily searching for other pictures she had drawn. With her brother and the warmth of his love and his encouraging words she was finally happy.

Happy.


"Your brother seems like a wonderful person. I bet he was ecstatic when you told him you were going to art school wasn't he?"

A small yet sad smile crossed her face and she opened her eyes to reveal regret and an overbearing sense of pain.

"My brother never got to hear that I was going to art school. He never even got to see me enter high school. He…he died in my second year of junior high."

Her words were so calm and normal as if she was talking about coffee but they also seemed shaky to my ears, as if in any second she would break down into tears.

"Wh-what happened to him?" I asked, my voice coming across as a soft whisper.

"He-he was shot and killed. He was shot because he decided to take a shortcut home and someone mugged and shot him. It had to be the day that he gave me a gift didn't it? It was like he was saying goodbye and neither of us knew it."


Orihime there's something I want to give you!" he said, his dark eyes crinkling as his smile lit up his entire countenance.

Her face lit up as she looked at her brother with wonder, love, and excitement. He pulled from behind his pack a small velvety box and placed it in her small hands. She quickly opened the box and almost cried. Inside the box were two small hairpins of a lavender hue. They sparkled in the apartment light and in her eyes were the best gift anyone had ever gotten for her. She wanted to hug her brother senseless. She wanted to tell him what a blessing he had been in her life. She wanted to tell him that she loved him with all her heart, that she never took his kindness and sincerity for granted. She wanted to say so many things to him but all she managed was a tearful 'thank you' and 'I love you'.

She gave him a hug and put the hairpins in her hair before she smiled at him and wished his day well.

That would be their final goodbye.

When she heard that her brother had been shot, she bolted from the classroom. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her to the hospital. Her body began to ache from such stress placed upon it but she paid no attention. She felt the tears sting at her eyes but willed them away. Their last moments repeated over and over in her head. His smile, his eyes, his gift, his warmth. Her speed picked up and before she knew it she was in at the ER desk of the hospital, out of breath trying desperately to keep her sanity.

"Where is he?" she yelped, her voice shaky and unstable.

The nurse looked at her, confusion seeping in through her eyebrows and spreading to the rest of her face.

"Where is my brother!" she yelled as her body convulsed from repressed sobs.

In the corner of her eye she saw the doors of the ER swing open as a nurse entered. She saw the head of her brother on a stretcher being covered by a white sheet and her whole world shattered. They tried to hold her back, but the girl was much stronger than her small frame appeared. She blitzed through them and entered the hallway toward her brother. She kicked, screamed, punched, and clawed her way through the nurses and doctors that tried to keep her away until she finally broke free and met with her brother in the dark room where they placed him.

She heaved when she took the sheet away from him to reveal his broken and battered frame. Bruises covered his face and in his chest she saw the hollowness of flesh. She cried as her body shook and her sanity splintered. She repeated his name as her knees gave from under her and she grabbed the sheet that covered him. The nurses came in and tried to drag her away from his corpse but her grip was strong on the sheet and bed. She refused to be moved from his body and they temporarily gave up, allowing her one last moment with her brother before she would bid farewell. She sat there for God knows how long reminiscing on the time spent with her brother. He was her best friend. He was her savior away from that hell; her companion. Now that companion was gone and she was left to deal with the hardships of life by herself.

Alone.


"In the apartment I made a shrine for him. I would pray for him each day. I would tell him the daily stressors of my life and how my day went as if he was still there listening intently to everything I said. I promised myself that I wouldn't let his death bring me down. I told myself that I had already shed enough tears and that he would have wanted to see me happy. After his death I went on a binge. I started drawing all the time, whether it was at home at school or at work. Art was like my drug. It was my outlet. It was the only thing I could do that would make me think of my brother without being consumed into that realm of darkness and depression. I always seemed to draw the hairpins he gave me. I always worked for days on one picture making every little intricate detail perfect, making it as real as I could."

I listened to her soft words and soon enough found my hand wrapped around hers. She was so strong, so brave to carry on with a smile on her face and that brightness in her eyes. I realized why I had come to like her so much, why I was attracted to her like a moth is to a flame when I knew it was a losing battle. In her actions, her smiles, her voice even; it reminded me of her.

She reminded me of my mother.

"What was your brother's name?" I asked as my hand softly stroked hers.

"Sora. Sora-oniisan. He…was my sky, my protector."

I placed my forehead against hers as a slight heat rose to my cheeks but I ignored it. "I bet you were the light of his life. I bet you were the one thing that kept him going even when he wanted to give up. He might have been your sky but I bet you were his sun."

My hand released hers and began making its way to her face. It stroked the soft skin it touched and when she opened her eyes they held such an undeniable sincerity and tenderness in them. My lips met hers and she didn't refuse my touch. Instead she pressed her lips against mine and gave me the courage to continue. My hand left her face and intertwined itself with her hand as my chest hovered over hers. Her lips were just as soft as I remembered and her touch set fire to every part of my body her fingertips came in contact with. Her hands became entangled in my mess of hair and she gently massaged my scalp. In a seconds time my tongue met with hers and we engaged in a battle of dominance, fighting to see who would be victor. She played with me, leading me in circles with her tongue, keeping me guessing on the action she would take next. Her tongue was tender yet firm against my own and dominated the taste that her whole canal possessed. Her teasing, playful, tongue had my head reeling and a fire began to ignite in my veins. I fought though, stroking my larger tongue against her smaller one until I had her under sweet submission. We parted from the loss of breath and when I saw the look in her eyes I wanted to delve into her mouth again, to savor that sweet tangy taste she carried.

"Kurosaki-kun…" she whispered so softly that I almost didn't hear.

"What happened to Mr. Kurosaki?" I asked as the pads of her thumbs massaged my neck.

She shrugged then answered. "I don't know. I think Kurosaki-kun is cuter than Mr. Kurosaki," she giggled before she continued, "besides, didn't you say I didn't have to be so formal?"

I chuckled as I brought the warmth of her body closer to mine. "I guess I did, know didn't I?"

I was going to say something else but my voice was lost to me. I didn't need it anyhow right now. Her soft hands played around my collar and hairline and the warmth of her body was close to mine. I closed my eyes and snuggled my head into the heat her neck possessed and fell asleep.

Into a peaceful blissful sleep.