Shadows
………
Chapter 4 : Closed doors
………
Contained my feelings for too long,
Forcing her darkiest song to unfold
And pushing her into self-destruction.
Muse – Showbiz
………
Useless.
Lying down on her futon, Misao's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling above her. After three days spent at staring at the ceiling, she knew every detail, every imperfection on the white expanse. She knew the shadows, at any hour of the day. And she was still lying there, refusing to wake up.
Because anyway, she felt useless.
I was dying to hear a single word of love… of care… for a single heartbeat… I was dying for you, Aoshi… And I'm still… It feels so empty in me… My heart's such an emptiness now… So empty that it will crush and fall apart…
The first day, Okina had desperatly tried to convince her to open the door, which remained locked, as Misao remained deaf to his anguished questions. Then, the old man seemed to have decided that she needed to spend some time alone, and noone troubled her loneliness, except Okon who, three time a day, came to put a tray with some food in front of her door. But most of the time, Misao didn't even touch her meals.
He doesn't want to tell you a single word of care. Because he doesn't care. I had warned you about this.
I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think at all.
The first day, too, she had heard Aoshi asking to Okina to move in another room. After that episode, her bitterness had only increased. Not only didn't he love her, and did he consider her as a child, but he didn't want to sleep in an adjacent room to hers any more.
Why would he ? It's not like if he needed you, as you need him.
She had lost everything : her enthusiasm, her joy, the mischievous way she was smiling when the sun warmed her face, her will... She was no longer the lifeful young woman that the others used to know. She was a doll without heart, without soul, deserted, in lack of someone who could give her a new life. But nobody would come.
For her now, day and night were exactly the same routine. Torturing herself with her own pain, she cried during hours until she fell asleep, exhausted and dizzy. As days passed, she looked more and more slovenly; she was wearing the same yukata, and her braid was undone, long dull tresses sadly falling across her face.
But everything was useless. Life had no attraction left.
Sunshines were now darkshines. Whatever could have made her happy once, was only irritating now. And when her look aimlessly fell on her kunai, abandoned in the opposite corner of her room, she couldn't help having a lump in her throat. This was so explicitly the sign of her defeat ; not even able to fight by herself, not even able to defend herself, forever depending on Aoshi's protection… Once more, he had been the one who had fight for saving her poor, defenceless life, that life that she should have pitylessly put an end to, rather than giving him a so evident proof of his superiority, of her own weakness…
And he's right.
Of course he was right. She was a child who needed protection, nothing more. Reckless and idealistic. And pure. So pure.
Was she a child because her hands were not covered with blood ?, her mind screamed helplessly. Was she a child because she wanted to believe in her former dreams ? Was she a child because she trusted the ones she loved ? Had she to burn her purity of mind and ideas on the altar of insensivity, to be an adult in Aoshi's mind ?
………
Three days. Aoshi was sure he had counted well. Misao had not left her room for three days. This began being really worrying.
Leaning against the wall, he tried to gather his thoughts. The problem with Misao, far from solving naturally as he had thought it would, was worsening frighteningly.
Since that horrible day for both of them, he had convinced himself that everything would get back to normal. When he had seen Misao, closed lips, hurt look in her eyes, overtaking him to walk straight in direction of the Aoiya, not even saying a word, he had thought that she would forget him.
But now she was locked in her room, and gave no sign of life. Just, from time to time, one could hear her smothered sobs through the closed door.
It was time for him to gather his courage and face her. If he didn't, she would let herself die. What he wanted to tell her, he didn't know yet, but he would do whatever he could to save her from self-destruction.
………
The shoji was white, uniformly white, just like his mind.
He had never payed attention to the strange and tormented shadows which played, ran, danced on the walls of his former room. Until this night.
For the first time, he was gazing at them, surprized and fascinated. Soft courbs, pale figures and dark patterns composed and declined the beauty of that odd monochrome ballet. Here a gnarled branch casted its streched outline with unknown grace, then met the corner and broke clean off to go on on the white shoji.
And behind the shoji, there was Misao.
Misao, so delicate, so sweet, so innocent. For the first time, he was paying attention to the world around him, not only to his deepiest concerns. And he started understanding what Misao had tried to show him, with her natural kindness and freedom of mind, that indifference to criticism which made her look so rashly independant, and so deeply, strangely beautiful.
She had wanted him to linger on little things, looking so trivial that he pushed them away. But shadows are trivial, if you don't stare at them carefully enough. A small star, gleaming with fleeting brightness, seems so insignificant… And Aoshi had never tried to see the beauty in a passing shadow, or a single star. In his mind, beauty was something tangible, constant. Like a poem or a picture.
Even so, he had understand something tonight, when bracing himself in order to face Misao.
Beauty was in every Misao's smile.
Beauty was in her slightest move, like the soft dance of shadows against the wall.
And Misao stood behind the closed shoji.
He was not sure that she was aware of his presence. Something moved in the room, a slight rustling in the silence of the night – was it the wind ?
He got up, and noiselessly walked towards the door. The shoji was still white, with the same pools of darkness, and he was about to knock when a strangled sob rang in his ears.
Misao…
Aoshi's heart wrenched, odd and painful sensation in his chest.
He agreed to answer to her sorrow, to repair where he failed, but never, never should she cry for him anymore.
But as he was making that promise, a trembling voice raised through the slim paper-made hurdle between them. So tired, so weak, failing with shaky hysteria… but incredibly strong and aching…
"Go out, Aoshi… I don't want to see you… I don't want you here…"
He closed his eyes, trying desperately to swallow, but a lump came to his throat and all he could do was to try to brace himself. Even in his deepiest nightmares, never had he thought that one day, Misao would push him back. And now, she was asking him to leave, leave her alone with her pain.
He should have open the shoji and face her, wrap her in his arms and tell her all the love he had for her. He should have opened his heart, because he would never have any other opportunity to do so, to tell her the truth, to rectify his mistakes…
But Misao had told him to go, so he would. At least, he could respect her decision. Her life could be so beautiful, if she only tried to forget about the past…
I don't want to interfere, Misao… I just thought that… that you could understand… How much I loved you, how much I wanted you to be happy… But I'm not the kind of man who could give you what you're asking for… You're asking for love, for care, for someone who could make you laugh and smile, and not cry…
Yet Misao hadn't understand. And now there was a single solution. Leave behind.
A strange, metallic noise abruptly interrupted his musings. With a pang of fear, Aoshi heared the cold whistling of a kunai hurled against the shoji. The light knife pierced the rice paper, breaking the shadows with his silver gleam, and flung through the air to get hammered in the wall behind Aoshi.
Aoshi glanced in utter disbelief at the weapon embed in the partition wall, still vibrating, then to the torn paper of the shoji. He swallowed. Though there was no sound troubling the heavy silence, he knew that Misao was weeping. And though there was no tear in his eyes, his heart was crying too. It was the first time that Misao was attacking him with such a violence, not for a training fight but in order to wound him. And more than the physical strike, what was hurting him the most was the symbolic meaning of the blow. Rejection.
The kunai behind him, thrown with too little strengh to be driven in, came out of the wall and fell on the ground with a metallic ringing.
He clenched his teeth, hard, and leaved silently.
…………
Okina was walking along the walls of the empty corridor. He made a face, his back aching with rheumatisms. Yes, he was definitely old now. An old and tired man.
This had been a while, since he had retired. The era had changed, the world and his own priorities too. One of them had been to keep Misao away from trouble, give her an happy youngth. A kind of balance, between her natural outbursts of energy and her pain of loosing her Aoshi-sama. He hadn't seen her grown, becoming a young woman he could be proud of, but now when he looked at her, all he saw was the beautiful gaze of hope in her incredibly blue eyes. This hadn't changed. Misao, the strong-minded girl, the mischievous tomboy… and the frail woman that Aoshi had ruthlessly broken.
He swallowed with pain when he heard Misao's smothered sobs coming from above his head. What happened with Aoshi that faithful day, Okina didn't know. All he knew was that Misao wouldn't get out unharmed of that confrontation.
He ought not to accuse Aoshi ; the younger man had already done so much for Misao, this was more than fairness to allow him to push her back, if he didn't want to tie his life to hers in any way. But… As Misao's guardian, he was upset by the way the events were developping. With his tactless behavior, Aoshi had presumably hurt Misao more deeply than necessary.
He sighed.
"Okina… I have something to tell you."
Okina stiffened. He had been taken off-guard. Old and tired, he thought.
"Let's go to my office, Aoshi."
His voice was scaringly weak, oppressed by the years gone by and the freaking possibility of what Aoshi had to tell him. The old man opened the door, let Aoshi enter the room. He scanned his unreadable face, and caught the sharp and unfathomable look in his eyes.
The young man sat down on his heels. Some kind of reluctance was visible on his tensed features.
But he deeply caught his breath, and spoke as quietly as if he was speaking about the weather.
"Okina… I think it's not well for Misao to remain locked in her room."
What for an observation, Okina thought ironically. Though he didn't want to blame Aoshi, he wondered bitterly if the young man was only here to come out with sophisms. When Misao was dying because of his indifference, Aoshi's feigned carelessness seemed to the old man quite indecent.
"If her health concerns you, you should better go to her room and try to reason with her. Your behavior seems not exactly… helpful.", he answered sharply.
Aoshi stiffened, a shiver ran through his tense shoulders.
"For her own good, it would be better if she and I had no… contact from now on."
Shuddering at the thought of what Aoshi might imply, Okina turned deathly pale, then regain his own self-control.
"That means… ?"
Aoshi's face contracted, he frowned until his eyes narrowed.
"That means I'm leaving tonight."
………
Chapter 4 : Closed doors
………
Contained my feelings for too long,
Forcing her darkiest song to unfold
And pushing her into self-destruction.
Muse – Showbiz
………
Useless.
Lying down on her futon, Misao's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling above her. After three days spent at staring at the ceiling, she knew every detail, every imperfection on the white expanse. She knew the shadows, at any hour of the day. And she was still lying there, refusing to wake up.
Because anyway, she felt useless.
I was dying to hear a single word of love… of care… for a single heartbeat… I was dying for you, Aoshi… And I'm still… It feels so empty in me… My heart's such an emptiness now… So empty that it will crush and fall apart…
The first day, Okina had desperatly tried to convince her to open the door, which remained locked, as Misao remained deaf to his anguished questions. Then, the old man seemed to have decided that she needed to spend some time alone, and noone troubled her loneliness, except Okon who, three time a day, came to put a tray with some food in front of her door. But most of the time, Misao didn't even touch her meals.
He doesn't want to tell you a single word of care. Because he doesn't care. I had warned you about this.
I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think at all.
The first day, too, she had heard Aoshi asking to Okina to move in another room. After that episode, her bitterness had only increased. Not only didn't he love her, and did he consider her as a child, but he didn't want to sleep in an adjacent room to hers any more.
Why would he ? It's not like if he needed you, as you need him.
She had lost everything : her enthusiasm, her joy, the mischievous way she was smiling when the sun warmed her face, her will... She was no longer the lifeful young woman that the others used to know. She was a doll without heart, without soul, deserted, in lack of someone who could give her a new life. But nobody would come.
For her now, day and night were exactly the same routine. Torturing herself with her own pain, she cried during hours until she fell asleep, exhausted and dizzy. As days passed, she looked more and more slovenly; she was wearing the same yukata, and her braid was undone, long dull tresses sadly falling across her face.
But everything was useless. Life had no attraction left.
Sunshines were now darkshines. Whatever could have made her happy once, was only irritating now. And when her look aimlessly fell on her kunai, abandoned in the opposite corner of her room, she couldn't help having a lump in her throat. This was so explicitly the sign of her defeat ; not even able to fight by herself, not even able to defend herself, forever depending on Aoshi's protection… Once more, he had been the one who had fight for saving her poor, defenceless life, that life that she should have pitylessly put an end to, rather than giving him a so evident proof of his superiority, of her own weakness…
And he's right.
Of course he was right. She was a child who needed protection, nothing more. Reckless and idealistic. And pure. So pure.
Was she a child because her hands were not covered with blood ?, her mind screamed helplessly. Was she a child because she wanted to believe in her former dreams ? Was she a child because she trusted the ones she loved ? Had she to burn her purity of mind and ideas on the altar of insensivity, to be an adult in Aoshi's mind ?
………
Three days. Aoshi was sure he had counted well. Misao had not left her room for three days. This began being really worrying.
Leaning against the wall, he tried to gather his thoughts. The problem with Misao, far from solving naturally as he had thought it would, was worsening frighteningly.
Since that horrible day for both of them, he had convinced himself that everything would get back to normal. When he had seen Misao, closed lips, hurt look in her eyes, overtaking him to walk straight in direction of the Aoiya, not even saying a word, he had thought that she would forget him.
But now she was locked in her room, and gave no sign of life. Just, from time to time, one could hear her smothered sobs through the closed door.
It was time for him to gather his courage and face her. If he didn't, she would let herself die. What he wanted to tell her, he didn't know yet, but he would do whatever he could to save her from self-destruction.
………
The shoji was white, uniformly white, just like his mind.
He had never payed attention to the strange and tormented shadows which played, ran, danced on the walls of his former room. Until this night.
For the first time, he was gazing at them, surprized and fascinated. Soft courbs, pale figures and dark patterns composed and declined the beauty of that odd monochrome ballet. Here a gnarled branch casted its streched outline with unknown grace, then met the corner and broke clean off to go on on the white shoji.
And behind the shoji, there was Misao.
Misao, so delicate, so sweet, so innocent. For the first time, he was paying attention to the world around him, not only to his deepiest concerns. And he started understanding what Misao had tried to show him, with her natural kindness and freedom of mind, that indifference to criticism which made her look so rashly independant, and so deeply, strangely beautiful.
She had wanted him to linger on little things, looking so trivial that he pushed them away. But shadows are trivial, if you don't stare at them carefully enough. A small star, gleaming with fleeting brightness, seems so insignificant… And Aoshi had never tried to see the beauty in a passing shadow, or a single star. In his mind, beauty was something tangible, constant. Like a poem or a picture.
Even so, he had understand something tonight, when bracing himself in order to face Misao.
Beauty was in every Misao's smile.
Beauty was in her slightest move, like the soft dance of shadows against the wall.
And Misao stood behind the closed shoji.
He was not sure that she was aware of his presence. Something moved in the room, a slight rustling in the silence of the night – was it the wind ?
He got up, and noiselessly walked towards the door. The shoji was still white, with the same pools of darkness, and he was about to knock when a strangled sob rang in his ears.
Misao…
Aoshi's heart wrenched, odd and painful sensation in his chest.
He agreed to answer to her sorrow, to repair where he failed, but never, never should she cry for him anymore.
But as he was making that promise, a trembling voice raised through the slim paper-made hurdle between them. So tired, so weak, failing with shaky hysteria… but incredibly strong and aching…
"Go out, Aoshi… I don't want to see you… I don't want you here…"
He closed his eyes, trying desperately to swallow, but a lump came to his throat and all he could do was to try to brace himself. Even in his deepiest nightmares, never had he thought that one day, Misao would push him back. And now, she was asking him to leave, leave her alone with her pain.
He should have open the shoji and face her, wrap her in his arms and tell her all the love he had for her. He should have opened his heart, because he would never have any other opportunity to do so, to tell her the truth, to rectify his mistakes…
But Misao had told him to go, so he would. At least, he could respect her decision. Her life could be so beautiful, if she only tried to forget about the past…
I don't want to interfere, Misao… I just thought that… that you could understand… How much I loved you, how much I wanted you to be happy… But I'm not the kind of man who could give you what you're asking for… You're asking for love, for care, for someone who could make you laugh and smile, and not cry…
Yet Misao hadn't understand. And now there was a single solution. Leave behind.
A strange, metallic noise abruptly interrupted his musings. With a pang of fear, Aoshi heared the cold whistling of a kunai hurled against the shoji. The light knife pierced the rice paper, breaking the shadows with his silver gleam, and flung through the air to get hammered in the wall behind Aoshi.
Aoshi glanced in utter disbelief at the weapon embed in the partition wall, still vibrating, then to the torn paper of the shoji. He swallowed. Though there was no sound troubling the heavy silence, he knew that Misao was weeping. And though there was no tear in his eyes, his heart was crying too. It was the first time that Misao was attacking him with such a violence, not for a training fight but in order to wound him. And more than the physical strike, what was hurting him the most was the symbolic meaning of the blow. Rejection.
The kunai behind him, thrown with too little strengh to be driven in, came out of the wall and fell on the ground with a metallic ringing.
He clenched his teeth, hard, and leaved silently.
…………
Okina was walking along the walls of the empty corridor. He made a face, his back aching with rheumatisms. Yes, he was definitely old now. An old and tired man.
This had been a while, since he had retired. The era had changed, the world and his own priorities too. One of them had been to keep Misao away from trouble, give her an happy youngth. A kind of balance, between her natural outbursts of energy and her pain of loosing her Aoshi-sama. He hadn't seen her grown, becoming a young woman he could be proud of, but now when he looked at her, all he saw was the beautiful gaze of hope in her incredibly blue eyes. This hadn't changed. Misao, the strong-minded girl, the mischievous tomboy… and the frail woman that Aoshi had ruthlessly broken.
He swallowed with pain when he heard Misao's smothered sobs coming from above his head. What happened with Aoshi that faithful day, Okina didn't know. All he knew was that Misao wouldn't get out unharmed of that confrontation.
He ought not to accuse Aoshi ; the younger man had already done so much for Misao, this was more than fairness to allow him to push her back, if he didn't want to tie his life to hers in any way. But… As Misao's guardian, he was upset by the way the events were developping. With his tactless behavior, Aoshi had presumably hurt Misao more deeply than necessary.
He sighed.
"Okina… I have something to tell you."
Okina stiffened. He had been taken off-guard. Old and tired, he thought.
"Let's go to my office, Aoshi."
His voice was scaringly weak, oppressed by the years gone by and the freaking possibility of what Aoshi had to tell him. The old man opened the door, let Aoshi enter the room. He scanned his unreadable face, and caught the sharp and unfathomable look in his eyes.
The young man sat down on his heels. Some kind of reluctance was visible on his tensed features.
But he deeply caught his breath, and spoke as quietly as if he was speaking about the weather.
"Okina… I think it's not well for Misao to remain locked in her room."
What for an observation, Okina thought ironically. Though he didn't want to blame Aoshi, he wondered bitterly if the young man was only here to come out with sophisms. When Misao was dying because of his indifference, Aoshi's feigned carelessness seemed to the old man quite indecent.
"If her health concerns you, you should better go to her room and try to reason with her. Your behavior seems not exactly… helpful.", he answered sharply.
Aoshi stiffened, a shiver ran through his tense shoulders.
"For her own good, it would be better if she and I had no… contact from now on."
Shuddering at the thought of what Aoshi might imply, Okina turned deathly pale, then regain his own self-control.
"That means… ?"
Aoshi's face contracted, he frowned until his eyes narrowed.
"That means I'm leaving tonight."