Yao had disappeared. No one had seen him go, and no one knew how he had managed such a stealthy escape with such a deep wound. It was as if he had simply evaporated into that great and weighty air surrounding the entire Pavilion, and was now one of those golden clouds so many of those broken slaves had dreamed of.
Regardless, he was free. And he was gone.
Kiku awoke to the sight of a subdued Englishman sitting upon his bed, eyes buried deep within their thoughts and perhaps even the essence of nothing. He directed those dull emeralds to the chamber's owner, brows dipping and sitting upon those contemplative orbs.
"Kiku…What have you done?"
Immediately, the one addressed was taken with rage. "Oh, shut your mouth, Arthur." His body came up and those straggling instances of sleep were brushed from his aggressive lashes. "You come into my room with the look of a kicked puppy's, but you've done far worse. You've caused me to be this way; you took my virginity when I begged you to stop; you've ruined my life, snatching it from me when I was hardly old enough to know what was happening; You've destroyed Yao's numerous times over; I'd say you've ruined the lives of everyone you come into contact with. You took Alfred from me and you've stepped on all my chances of getting away from this hell; from you. I loved him…I loved him. Can you even comprehend that?
They say quiet a long moment.
"What's money to you? You have so much of it; you could likely purchase every building in the area. What does that make me to you? Soon, I'll just be another whore taking up your space. You don't love me. You don't love anyone. You're just a fucking dog who managed to learn poor Chinese. We all speak of you when you're not around. We tell each other how ugly you are…How horrible those scars look; your broken nose and how you deserved each and every little fracture and cut Yao gave to you. No one cares about you…No. That's incorrect. We all acre about your life because the moment it's over, we're all going to run screaming. I'm surprised no one has killed you yet. I'm surprised I haven't killed you yet! And all this mess around you; it's all your fault. We're all miserable thanks to everything you've done; we're all angry because of you; and we're all opium smoking lunatics because of you! I'm not even Japanese any longer, and it's no thanks to you! If you'd like to blame anyone, why don't you point that hideous finger to yourself?! Don't you come walking into my room and begin asking me what I've done! What have you done, Arthur?! Can you even numerate all the lives you've eaten, all the lives you've ruined and all the lives you've ended for your own greed?!"
Nothing sat upon that accused tongue.
"When you come to a conclusion with all of that, I'll be willing to listen…But the fact that you're questioning me about my actions…My goodness.It's just too funny for words."
And there were none.
"Why don't you go? I've got nothing left to say to you."
Mr. Kirkland did not move, but sat in his place, welling in all the misery the younger had just stabbed into his very blood. "I'm sorry, Kiku…"
"Sorry? Sorry?! Where was sorry when you had beaten me so many times?! Where was sorry when you raped me?! Where was sorry when you sent Alfred away from me?! Where was sorry when you stole my life?! Where was sorry when you devoured my language?! When you've caused me to be this way?! Bitter and angry! Where are all of those apologies, Mr. Kirkland?! I must be blind!"
Finally, tears of quiet rage descended upon those quivering cheeks and that shaken visage, and Kiku's once beautiful eyes held all the intent to kill.
"Where are they Arthur?! Show me!"
Finally, the white man simply left that chamber, his heart adopting marks of an iron brand against his heart.
And Kiku lied amongst those blind sheets, and allowed all of those pained sobs from his lips, all his emotion draining from those coal hued eyes.
He had not felt such anger in the duration of his borrowed life. It was as though his body had experienced all he was never able to feel, those emotions stowed away within Mr. Kirkland's silver cage. Each and every one of those fragments was returned to him in a great of flood of undesired generosity, the dam holding the almighty ocean shattering against that relentless impact, and the man left helplessly behind it drowning.
Yes… Kiku was a man now, in some odd way. He had grown from that sweet and affectionate kokeshi into a rage possessed and vengeful creature.
That was all that men were.
Screams nearly accompanied those sobs, hand trying to stop all those horrid crystals of unfixable harm. Yet they came, and had refused to stop.
As he calmed, he slept, and in those dreams sweet supposed to be as unfettered sugar, feeling built as acid welled within his throat. It was not only guilt, nor pain, nor greed, nor his loss of all that love. It was everything.
When the Russian awoke to his naked from and the mess spread all about the floor as a broken lake lying about a shattered city, he knew that something of terrible mishap had occurred, and that very concern sampled his blood and waked in noisy screams about his core. He stood and replaced his blouse, pulled those wrinkled trousers around his waist and sealed that button. He strained out those tangled and light strands and tried with all his determination to undo the discomfort writhing inside his skull.
He remembered blurred shouting…And fighting, yet he could not identify the words thrown as spears, nor the cause of that horrid war.
Ivan stumbled into Yao's room after several flights of struggle and found crimson upon those sheets, the owner of those threatening stains not present. Immediate worry affected him as a potent drug, yet, he could not move those limbs, so affected with sudden stone. His mind pushed through that ache to try and find the reason of that awful canvas and the absence of the man who he had given so much of his weighty heart to, but nothing could be recovered from that deadly haze.
Shame possessed him, and Ivan left Yao's room, determined to return at another time as his heart flooded with imminent concern.
He hoped that Yao did not witness that brief and reckless act; it had not been intended. The one who had lost so much essence and went still held that core within his gorgeous hands.
The Russian left that Pavilion, his entire being submerged in multiple instances of pain and utter confusion. Stomach and logic writhed in the residue from the night before, and core drenched in concern built of all his undying adoration.
