Disclaimer: No. I don't own anything.
Things are not boding well in my end. The letter 'v' on my keyboard doesn't work along with the other hotkeys. I don't know what happened. Also a friend abandoned me. Oh wells.
Anyway, here's the 26th chapter of Picaturi. I don't know how long this will go on exactly, but it's not too far until we see the end of the road me thinks. However before that happens I'd like to thank everyone whose encouragement and silliness got through me before and in particular, yesterday. I was lost yesterday on what to do with the story so I read through the reviews and subsequently made me remember why I liked sharing this story. Special mention to the following stubborn anons who refuse to register their names: PotatoKiller, she-who-must-not-be-named and Anon12345. Register you dorks so I could finally pm and thank you personally!
Droplets
by
WhenAnxietyKicksIn
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Chapter
26
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I came back once again.
With a heavy heart, a troubled mind, and a weakened soul.
I feel too much and too little that the ground could open up and swallow me whole and I wouldn't even notice.
I feel too much and too little that a speeding car could drag me across the street and I wouldn't even care.
I feel too much and too little that someone could slap me silly and I wouldn't even flinch.
I feel too much and too little and then…nothing.
Nothing.
I pretend to hear nothing as I enter the mansion. I tried my best not to hear the two dozen or so whispers of care and judgement.
But I can't.
I hear them all loud and clear—so loud and so clear that I could dictate each and every word they say.
I hear them all even as I will myself to hear another tune—a tune that will make their words, no matter how true they seem, to be static and unrecognizable.
I hear them all that it makes me want to scream so loud that I won't hear anything—a scream that could drown the noise and myself to a world of silence.
Nothing.
I pretend to see nothing as I continue my way to my room. I tried my best not to see the two dozen or so faces crudely carved of care and judgement.
But I can't.
I see them all perfectly well—so perfect I could draw their faces in my mind.
I see them all even as I will myself to picture a faceless mob—a mob of faceless strangers that I will forget after a single meeting.
I see them all that it makes me want to close my eyes and see nothing at all—close my eyes to the blinding light and open it to the infinite darkness.
Nothing.
I pretend to feel nothing as I sit on my bed and as they wait for me to say a word. I tried my best not to feel the stare, the expectation, the explanation needed of the two dozen or so howling emotions of care and judgement.
But I can't.
I feel them all with outstanding clarity—so outstandingly clear that they don't need to speak or move to show me how they feel.
I feel them all even as I will myself to protect myself from those buzzing feelings surrounding me—a protection, a barrier, a wall that will hold to keep me safe from the overpowering aura they all emit.
I feel them all that it makes me want to feel everything all at once and then out it goes—to feel every single thing to the point I couldn't take it anymore, to the point that I couldn't feel anymore.
But I can't.
I hear, see, and feel in such detail, in such a way that it seems I'm in a slow motion film. Everything it seems is in high definition which makes it harder for me to push it all away. I can't find the remote, the switch to turn these all away.
I want to scream. I want to shout. I want for everyone to leave me alone. But I can't. I can't find my voice. I can't find the energy to say anything at all. I can't…do anything at all.
I suppose this is a way for me to punish myself for what I've done. These people are the ones I've wronged and left behind. They have the right to be angry, happy and worried that I am back. They deserve an explanation or a reason for my actions but I can't. I can't give them that.
Even I don't have a reason.
I already had that special someone, that very special someone who could light up my world and what did I do?
I let her go.
I already had that chance to be free and happy with the love of my life and what did I do?
I let her go.
I already had love, the one I've sought for years and years, and what did I do?
I let her go.
Even though I didn't want to.
I want to keep her by my side, to be with me all the time. I want her to be the first thing that I see when I open my eyes. I want her to be there as I lie still on my bed until I slowly fall asleep. I want to hold her hand, tight and tender, so I could never let go.
But you did…let her go.
I did.
I'm perfectly aware of what I did.
I let her go because it was the right thing to do. We are broken and we both know we can't fix each other. We are broken and we need to let go.
You have a reason to let her go...you both have a reason to let each other go.
But it's not exactly a reason anyone would ever believe. It is a reason that will not appease anyone including my own heart.
My heart.
My heart is torn.
I am torn.
I'm so torn of what has come about that I want to do it all over again. I want to go back so I could repeat that faithful day and change my decision altogether.
But it's the right thing to do…
I know.
I know it is the right thing to do.
Even now I still know that it is but it doesn't make things easier. It doesn't make the pain to be lighter. It doesn't make my ailing heart any better.
Yes, it is the right thing to do but why…?
Why do I feel so bad?
Why do I feel like crying my eyes out?
Why do I feel the need to bash my head onto the wall repeatedly until I could successfully evade the pain that I feel in my heart?
Broken.
Wounded.
Hurt.
That's what I am. That's what I've become. That's what I feel.
I want to hurt myself so bad to make the pain, the noise and the what ifs to go away.
Please go away. Please…
"Are you done now?"
A familiar voice managed to break into my trance. It was then I realized that the deafening chatter no longer surrounds me. I gradually lift my head to see this person, whose voice demands guilt and explanation.
Yukio.
It's my younger brother, Yukio.
I bit my lips in hesitation for I could see the anger in his eyes. I'm aware that I could not say his name so lightly like before. I could not pretend that I don't know what he means. I could not pretend at all.
"Are you done now?" He says again, his voice full of control and yet laced with venomous anger and bitterness. I know that tone so well. I know that far too well.
I bit my lips harder as I close my eyes.
I know what he's feeling.
I know it perfectly well.
I know for I have been there.
I know what he wants.
As I open my eyes again to look at his eyes, I see that there's use for me to lie and pretend. There's no use for me to round-about the story to make the truth bearable. There's no use for me to be silent for he already knows.
He knows.
I could see it in his eyes—furious and yet full of bitter understanding—to his trembling jaw and fist.
He knows.
And that's when it hit me.
He's not like me from before, the Shizuru who needs explanation and reassurance. He's not the Shizuru from before who hates the silence to the core. He's not the Shizuru from before who doesn't know the truth.
He knows.
He is here. He is here, angry and demanding for me to speak not because he wanted me to tell the truth.
He knows and he is here because he wanted me to lie. He is more like the Shizuru of today, of this moment wherein she wanted nothing else for the truth to be a lie.
Lie.
"I can't do what you wish for me to do…" I tell him softly, wishing, hoping that the blow will be less. But it doesn't for his face reveals it all.
"Why? Why does it have to be you?" His voice, along with his spirit, is breaking. He stumbles on my bed and asks feebly, "Why does it have to be…her?"
I stare at his eyes, the very same as mine, the very same that were exuding so much hatred a few seconds ago. Now all I see are eyes filled with misery and helplessness. I see his eyes and I know they reflect mine. And even though all I wanted is to see nothing, to hear nothing and to feel nothing, I know that he deserves more than nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing in this world could possibly take my love for Natsuki and frighteningly so I could sense that it's the same way for Yukio. I could sense that what he feels is true. But he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve to be hurt like this.
So I tell him the truth that we both already know. "I'm sorry, but it has always been Natsuki."
I exhale deeply as I open up even more. "It has to be her, Yukio. It has to be her."
Tears.
It was then I see the first tears of Yukio trickling down on his face.
This man—who was once a boy in my eyes—never cried even when he tripped on his own feet and broke his wrist.
This man—who used to make silly faces in private to make me laugh—vowed to uplift the prestige of the Fujino clan even before he knew the vastness of its responsibility.
This man—whom I've always thought to be a boy, my younger brother—is my beloved's fiancé: the one who led Natsuki to the altar; the one who wanted to be Natsuki's husband; the one who asked Natsuki to wear a wedding dress.
Yukio.
He is crying.
He cries louder and louder, showing that he's not a boy pretending to be a man but a man whose heart has been broken.
Broken.
Yukio is now broken too.
Is this what falling in love really entails? Why does it have to be like this? Why can't it be like in the movies where the couple can live happily ever after?
After.
I thought that after finding that special someone, that someone you can truly say that you love then the rest will be easy. It will become easier because love can sustain it all. Love, as they say, is all what you need.
But why?
Why?
Why does love have to turn into a vicious storm? Hurling and breaking anyone on its path, not caring the receiver of its wrath. I'm well aware that I belong to this whirlpool of a disaster but I didn't know the extent of its reach. I didn't know that it could reach and hurt anyone else.
Why?
Why does it have to be Yukio?
"I'm sorry."
That's all I could say.
I know it won't suffice. I know it will never be enough. I know it won't do Yukio any justice but it's all I could say.
"I'm sorry."
And with that I embrace my younger brother, finally letting the tears I've been keeping all along to freely flow in the hopes that at least one of us can fully and truly…
"Let her go."