Crisscross
By: Stained In Negativity
Chapter fourteen: abstract

As the front door closes behind me I know nothing will ever be the same. A sound resembling gunfire startles me and lets reality seep through my daze of stupor. Standing numbly in the hallway, I breathe slowly, as if for the first time. Again, I begin trying to figure out what happened in the last few weeks and minutes. Everything is so blurry. My eyes are burning.

When you hear gunfire, most likely an army is nearby. But in this case it's a lone soldier on a mission to save his daughter from dangers that don't exist.

This seems so familiar, like it already happened before. And it did. I was with Tai at the time. But I stop thinking about it and concentrate on what's coming, what my father is going to say. Whoa. Déjà vu. I brace myself for another screaming match with him; however, I will let him win in the end. There's nothing to fight for anymore.

"Where have you been?" he demands, on the brink of hysteria. "You're always going to places without telling me or your mother. You can't leave and not tell us, Sora! And you never gave an explanation as to why you didn't home from school that one day a week ago-"

"I never went to school," I interrupt. As the last word rolls off my tongue I cringe. Someone, please slap some sense into me. Why would I go ahead and say that? Despite fear, I look right at my father's haggard face and wait for his complexion to redden. Surprisingly, it doesn't. Instead he raises a hand up to his face to rub his eyes.

"Where were you then?" his voice came out calmly.

"At Tai's apartment." I swallow the acid that came along the broken memories.

"His parents didn't mind you two missing school?"

"They weren't home. I think they were out of town."

"So two teenagers were alone in an apartment for more than eight hours?"

"It was more like fifteen or so."

He sighs deeply and heads another direction. "Why are you answering my questions so indifferently?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?"

My father stares at me, dark eyes searching for an answer that I can't give him verbally. It is easy enough for him. He reads the thoughts behind my auburn eyes like a book, like a diary that is supposed to be kept secret. I wonder how much he's read.

"Why are your eyes puffy and red?" he asks, concern glazing his face. "Are you alright?"

I sniffle. "Sure."

"Are you certain?"

For a minute it seems like he's the father I remember when I was five. The father that was always there and made me smile when I was down or tickled me just to hear me laugh. Oh, the wonderful faded memories…

"It doesn't hurt," I tell him, but I can't help but think that I'm just saying those words to reassure myself.

Ring. Ring.

This is the fourth time in less than half an hour that the phone has rang, but no one has bothered to answer it. I think Mom is grocery shopping with my father. I can't exactly picture them together as a couple. Anyway, they aren't home, and I keep telling myself that if I do not answer the phone maybe the person on the other end will stop trying. It's probably telemarketers anyway. But what if… what if it is Tai?

Suddenly, I spring for the phone on my desk, almost falling flat on my face. As my fingers curl around the headset, the phone falls to the ground, and for what seems like forever, the ringing stops. Oh, no. What if that was my last chance at getting back together with Tai?

Ring. Ring.

I sigh deeply and close my eyes in relief. I reach down and retrieve the black headset. Pressing the orange button that says talk, I raise the phone to my ear and I clear my throat before trying to nonchalantly greet, "Hello, Takenouchi residence, Sora speaking."

"Sora," the voice on the other line exclaims, "are you okay? I haven't seen you in days. Whenever I try to get your attention in the halls at school, you only keep walking away. Are you mad at me? Are you upset?"

Why do I always keep my hopes up? I should have known it wouldn't be him. Most likely, he'll never talk to me again.

"Hello? Are you there?" the person on the other end asked. Amazing. Cynthia is actually concerned for someone else besides herself. I shake my head clear of thoughts.

"Sure," I say, but my voice comes out scratchy.

"I heard about your breakup with Tai," she starts casually. My face softens at the thought, at the reminder, but then I imagine her glossed lips curve into a smirk and a newfound fury conquers over dejection.

She's still talking, "How long as it been?"

"Huh?"

"How long has it been since you two broke up?"

"Um… about two weeks." I don't tell her that I spent days moping around and lost track of time.

"Oh, you poor thing," she coos.

"It's alright. It doesn't hurt anymore." Am I lying?

"If I lost a great guy like Tai Kamiya," Cynthia puts in, "I would absolutely die. Really. I'd crawl under the covers and cry and cry until I just stopped breathing…," she trails, and starts off strongly again.

However, I stop listening. Eyeing my top drawer of my desk, I'm temped to open it and take out what I haven't seen in weeks. Out of the blue I yearn to see my reflection upon silver.

"-and the worst part is, he's falling apart without you."

This grabs my attention.

"What?" I demand.

"You mean you haven't noticed?"

I feel guilty.

Cynthia takes my silence as an answer, and the correct one at that. "Well Tai hasn't really been concentrating in class, and I think Adeel told me that ever since you and Tai broke it off he was skipping or 'forgetting' to go to soccer practice."

I listen intently to what she says though her voice rings loudly in my ear. When she's done and moves on to the next subject, I hang up on her. In just one efficient and swift movement, she's gone. To prevent from hearing from her again, I unplug the telephone cord from the wall.

I sit on my bed facing my desk. It's too early to be tired. I lose track of time as I repetitively sigh and close my eyes for a minute or two. I try to think, really I do, but it's just so damn hard. Feeling so useless has never been an abnormal feeling for me, but this time it's too much. I can't take it anymore. The bricks being thrown at me are too heavy.

And before I know it, I see my reflection in a knife.

The blade shakes as it lingers over my wrist. Stalling now. I think. Someone is vaguely telling me that this is wrong, but that voice fades away and it leaves me with pessimism. And so the blade dives once, and then twice, and then thrice. And again. And again. A pause. My lips twitch when I feel the familiar crimson that drools out of my flesh. Tears come to my eyes as I realize they taste just like blood. Nothing is more frustrating than feeling the presence of things that used to bring tranquility. But someday everything will die away, after all. Someday I'll be blind, numbed. But right now it does hurt.

"Wine, Toshiko?"

"No thank you."

And it's still again.

My parents have been acting very strange lately. They're actually having civilized conversations like normal people. Normal, defined as "average", "custom" and "regular" in almost every dictionary. The thought of them fitting that description is too out of the ordinary. I still shake my head at it.

I glance at the both of them while we are yet again enjoying another meal that Mom took the time to make. Sometimes I fear for my safety when I find that I am seated between them even though they are on either end of the table. But I always realize that there's no way Mom would throw the good china at him if he said something incredibly pigheaded, and he would never dare lay a finger on her.

And thus my crazy thoughts of violence in the family are ceased.

Since I no longer am preoccupied with hopes and dreams, I begin to notice things around the house. Small things. My father has unpacked. It looks like it could take a while for him to leave. Mom has been wearing sweaters and has been quiet these past few weeks. Too quiet. A reflection of worry has taken the place of optimism in her eyes.

And me? Have I changed, too? No, I haven't changed- I've become less of what I was. And somehow I'm not afraid to admit that.

"Dad, why haven't you been to work?" I ask, breaking so many things in doing so. I try to make the question sound like I truly am curious instead of hinting for him to take leave. At the same time I decide that I am not hungry anymore. I wipe the corner of my mouth with a napkin and wait for his reply.

His answer is clean and simple, "I'm on vacation."

"It's a very long one."

"Yes," he agrees, nodding, "it is."

I look at Mom. "May I be excused?"

She nods as though speaking would crush her. She's worried again. I can sense it. With her fork, she picks at her food. But I think nothing of it as I try to get up but am restrained by my father who quietly asks me to stay for a minute. He looks me in the eyes, melancholy in his own, and says something any five year old princess lives to hear:

"My daughter, I know I might not show it, but I am proud of you. My daughter, my only daughter, I love you."

But I am not five anymore.

"Please forgive me for not being there for you and your mother."

And now 'sorry' isn't good enough.

Being the perceptive girl that I am, I really don't take notes in any of my classes at school. My notebook has clean lines whereas the boy sitting next to me has cluttered scribbles upon scribbles of notes and pictures to help him understand things better. I, on the other hand, have dreams and goals written in my journal. All of which have been crossed out one by one as the sun and moon took their turns in the sky. Now the only thing I can do is sit at my desk and wonder of things that have long since not passed anyone's mind.

But yet my fingers still play with the notebook, gently tracing the edges. Knowing I shouldn't write down anything else, having the responsibility and burden of listening to the teacher's lecture, I flip open the journal's cover and I am greeted by the site of a typical clean page. I tear it out and set the notebook aside. Maybe if I kiss this paper, rip it into bits and pieces and toss it into the wind for it to take away, I will be at peace. I search for my pencil and begin to write down why.

Why couldn't I say it?

I spend forever on this question.

On the whole, I give up and move on to the others.

Why can't Tai and I be together? Why do I think, that after weeks of hurting and yearning, that he is better off without me?

1. He is strong, I am not.

2. He is gorgeous, I am not.

3. He loves me, I do not. I don't mean that the wrong way. I love him; I just don't love myself. Can he understand that?

4. He is alive, I am not.

My hand is shaking again. Against my will, my fingers loosen their grip on the pencil until it falls and lands with a painful strike on the desk. Only, it didn't do any harm. Before, it might have been a vast awakening to the silence, but since there is no stillness to break there is no damage done.

I see the smiling faces of my classmates around me. Apparently, the class clown has said something funny but not worthy of repetition and he has the class, even the teacher, laughing. Except for one. Make that two, as I look to my right and see Tai numbly sitting in his desk, his expression grim. There isn't even a hint of contentment among his bronzed features. Usually he'd add to a joke, but today it's like he's not the same person.

My head twirls when I see him turn in my general direction. Bare, I bite my lower lip.

Please smile, please laugh, Tai. If not for me, then do it for yourself. Please don't give up. I can do that on my own. Guilty, I look down at the paper that waits to be filled in with reasons why things won't work and slowly I pick it up just to crumble it into a ball. I steal a glance at my chocolate memory across the room once again, maybe for the last time.

Please don't die, Tai Kamiya.

I awake in a cold sweat, scared and not breathing. My vision is blurry, my mouth is dry and I need the light. My surroundings are dark as usual, but never have I awakened in such a deep twilight to become aware of it. A change in volume is the only thing I notice. There's a pound, a thump, a beat. My hand comes up to my chest, anxious to feel the thump of something that either disintegrated a long time ago or was never there to begin with.

Do I live?

Patiently I wait for an answer.

I frown. The answer is always a 'no'.

I realize someone is pounding on my door. Groaning out of aggravation, I climb out of bed and drag myself toward the door. The strain on my wrists is terrible. A little more intensity and my veins will pop out of the cracks on my flesh. Disappointingly, and to my surprise, they don't. Moving through this impossibly dead atmosphere is hard enough. Painstakingly, I stand on my own two feet, as if for the first time in years, when I reach the door.

Gradually, I turn the doorknob.

Abruptly, the door swings open.

My father, worn-down but nevertheless strong, stands tall in the doorway, dim lights illuminating his frame. He has the most disapproving scowl embedded on his face that I have ever seen. In his hand lies something which he pushes right in my face, and when my ears unclog themselves from flying at outrageous speeds through the horrible nightmare that awoke me, I see more than I can hear.

"-what's this, Sora?" my father is demanding. It seems like the empathy that he had been showing earlier has been wiped out of his system. "I knew I should have been watching you every second. A girl your age can't defend herself against the world. I knew that relationship with Tai was destructive, but I didn't know it was this serious! Please, Sora, no more lies. What's happening?"

He's said so many things. Too many. And at the rate I've been functioning these past weeks, it takes a while for my brain to process what I have just heard. What is he talking about? I do know, though, that my relationship with Tai Kamiya is over and that it was not destructive. The earth takes hits to the surface and with time those holes fill up, I finally comprehend. But I can't understand another word my father spoke.

"Huh?" I am confused, probably sleepily. Yes, that's it. The insomnia is taking a toll.

"Do you know what this is?" my father asks quietly, now patient. I begin to think he is bipolar.

I stare at him vacantly in response.

"It's…," he pauses to pick different words, "Be honest. Are you expectant?"

My jaw practically hits the floor. "What? That's insane! I'm too young! Besides, I haven't even-"

Distantly, I hear someone's faint footsteps coming down the hallway and nearing my room. My father glances over his shoulder, and I lean a bit to the left to peer around him. Mom, with her unusually messy hair, wide bright eyes and calm presence stands there, both hands gently lying on her somewhat flat abdomen.

"Haruhiko," Mom casually says from the behind him, "Sora is telling the truth. That pregnancy test that reads positive… it's mine. I'm pregnant."

My father goes silent. Through my stupor and astonishment, I become conscious that, finally, finally, it doesn't hurt anymore. I am numb.