Standard Disclaimers Apply.
Thank you all for reading.
This is gonna be one
hell of a long chapter as it is a coalition of possibly 2, erm no, 3 chapters.
I wanted to be nice and decided to spare my readers from nasty cliffhangers ^^ watch
out for them ^_____^ so brace yourself for a long ride ahead. Enjoy.
Part 7- Goodbye
--------------------------
Earlier the skies had been clear, but
now there was a tangle of clouds overhead. The loss of sunlight swept over the
land like an incoming wave over the seashore. Aoshi felt himself shiver. Alone,
he sat cross-legged in his nippy room, ruminating over how accurately the
ever-changing skies reflected his conflicting thoughts.
Seasons come and go easily, changes
take place regardless of mortal protests or reluctance. And time, time waits
for no man. Still, the past can never be altered. But all that mattered now is
this; - Misao has returned. Back home. Back to him. And her recovery was
progressing rather well through the months.
It had surprised him, initially, that
among the first things she started to remember about were of her friends. His
friends too. In fact, they were family - Hanyya, Shikijo, Hyottoko and Beshimi.
Once, he had found her atop the high branches of a sturdy centurion cherry, her
favorite childhood hiding place, weeping grievously over her remembered loss.
True, he inwardly shared her enthusiasm to remember - he wanted her to remember
yet he doesn't
want her to remember; he does not want her to hurt all over again. And see her
cry. It pained him to see her cry.
Gods,
no. Let her remember everything but that.
"A…Aoshi-san?" a meek voice probed
form behind the opaque paper door, startling him. He straightened his back a
little but otherwise made little effort to move.
"Come
in, Misao, I've
been expecting you,"
Aoshi calmly replied. She slowly pulled back the shoji timidly, revealing a
tray of tea set in her hands. Gingerly, she stepped into his room, lowered her
body so that her knees were touching the floor, then balancing the tray on her
lap, closed the door shut again with her right hand. She rose with no hurry and
moved nearer to him before setting the tray down.
Carefully, she turned two cups over and
mechanically poured the tea she had prepared earlier into them. Shyly, she
offered him a cup, which he readily accepted, their fingers brushing against
each other briefly causing her cheeks to rouge slightly. She had cast her eyes
down, saving herself from the task of having to look at him.
Aoshi, on the other hand, had his eyes
fixed on her, watching her intently, gazing her face with the same fascination
as a fortuneteller would gaze into a magical crystal ball, only he was sincere.
When she had first stepped into his
room, he had immediately felt lighter. Even the contending skies have once
again cleared, he noted. It's
as if her presence had chased away the gloominess of the day as well as in his
heart.
Misao was feeling queasy. She could
practically feel his eyes burning hot through her skin. It was weird, in the sense
that she could not identify this feeling with anything else. But her feelings
for this man, in front of her, were contradicting. She felt at peace being with
him, yet at the same time, there's something about him that she found
rather intimidating. Nonetheless, being with him, like this, simply felt …right.
Memories were still coming on to her,
usually in the form of dreams. On some nights, she would wake up from
terrifying nightmares, bathed in her own cold sweat, realizing that she had
been screaming out sporadically, uselessly. And -he- would always be there,
standing by her door with unfathomable eyes, watching her. She wondered if he
was there out of sheer concern or perhaps he was just plain annoyed that he was
rudely awoken from his restful slumber by her disturbing nightly cries.
The latter then, she decided. For never
once did he actually come in to comfort her. Or hold her or reassure her. He
merely watched. And then he would disappear back into his room.
Back into his world of oblivion.
But in the daytime, he was different.
He would interrogate her about how much she had remembered. Reproduce articles
from the past and request her to avidly search the shadowy recesses of her
memory for some form of reaction. And patiently he would wait- for he was a
very patient man.
Her memories must be failing her, she
concluded. At one moment, she remembered him as someone whom she goes to, to be
soothed; at another, he's
the cold statue of a man, like the one drinking tea in front of her right now.
Passive, reflective, frightfully sharp. And this person, she somewhat feared.
Don't get her wrong, though - her memory is
almost perfect now, save for clumsy patches of blanks for Aoshi that she simply
could not bridge.
Why
is that?
Perhaps, from what she could remember
and from what she had been told, Aoshi had left her once. And his absence was
long.
Too
long.
But when he did eventually returned, he
had become a different man.
Too
different.
No longer is he the tall youth who
indulged her by engaging his self in her childish games, whom, at this point,
she could remember so clearly, like the back of her hand. Gone is that teenager
who had easily joked with her and readily smiled at will. Gone is that quiet
yet dominant Okashira whom she had infinitely admired so. And standing in
replacement of all those, was this man - Unlike the fiery young man he was when
he first lead the Oniwabanshuu, and unlike the cold, obscure person he became
afterwards whom she loved still - This one is a fraud.
But it's not like she had
stopped having feelings for him, ever, … however intimidated she may feel in
his repressed presence. That much she was certain.
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Aoshi lived only for this moment
everyday - to be alone with her and no one else. Having her here with him was a
privilege he can no longer deny himself of. He wondered clandestinely what she
was feeling.
She's probably nervous, he guessed. For
when she's
not pouring or sipping tea, she is always fisting her hands into the material
of her kimono. But she is not alone. To Aoshi, to be able to gaze at her
wondrous face and to exist in so close a proximity to her was a marvel in
itself. Though Misao is betrayed by slight fidgetings, his churning stomach was
endlessly doing double summersaults and his agitated heart was pumping
unhealthily at an accelerated pace. Just like her, he was equally anxious but
his trusted, rigid mask remained in place, revealing nothing. Like always.
And yes, she was actually wearing a kimono.
A simple dark blue kimono with motif prints of golden and black bamboo leaves.
And her lengthy shiny hair was pulled back into her custom braid again: He had
only seen her hair down once - on the day she had returned. He preferred her
that way, not that he was complaining… But nonetheless, what a sight for
tired minds and sore eyes she made. Indeed all womanly and beautiful. He
thought again how he had ignorantly missed those signs before.
No, it wasn't ignorance but
denial. Cruel. Vehement. Denial.
"Misao," his voice almost
made her jump out of her skin.
"A…Aoshi-san?" That indicated the
beginning of his cross-examination.
"Aoshi," he reminded her
gently.
"Aaa,
…
gomen de,"
she apologized to the reinstated, but nonetheless, diffident Okashira of the
Oniwabanshuu.
"You're tea is getting
cold,"
he stated coolly.
"Hai,
so desu,"
nervously, she reached for her cup, only to be intercepted by his hands.
"Here.
Let me…
let me pour you a new one,"
he softly offered, his eyes never once leaving the contours of her face.
"H… ha…hai, doumo arigato, …" she replied in kind,
not able to stop herself from blushing.
Delicately, he poured her a fresh cup
of tea before proceeding to ask, "So tell me, Misao, is there anything
new you want to share with me? Something you might want to discuss about?"
Misao almost snatched at the cup of
scalding tea on the tray. Then she thoughtlessly went on to emptying its
contents to buy her self some time before answering, numbing her tongue in the
process.
"Daijoubu… Please, take your
time,"
he added, exhaling slowly as he did so, remembering that he had involuntarily
been holding his breath.
"Actually,
…
there is something,"
Misao began, slowly replacing her cup back onto the black lacquered tray, her
lips pulled back thinly into a mock smile.
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[It was supposed to
end here... Can you tell?]
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She looked out at the window only to be
greeted by the pinkish tinge of the early morning skies. Outside, the trees stood
shabby, bare from their crowning glory. For their yellowing leaves had chosen
to abandon them to unite with the ground- dancing ever so gracefully, in
circles, as the recurring cold gale blew, while the trunks that had not long
ago bore them, stood forgotten, forlorn.
Her fisted hands sought deeper into the
sleeves of her kimono for warmth, mistaking its warmness for security when it
could only provide paltry sensations of it. She simply does not know where to
begin. Neither is she too sure if she wanted to talk about it. Yet.
"Yes?" Aoshi gently
prompted, when she remained extensively silent. He was about to start a new
series of questions, to aid her, when she suddenly spoke.
"Kireii
na,"
Misao whispered.
"Excuse
me?"
A puzzled Aoshi quizzed, hounding her lazy gaze suspiciously, only to catch it
lingering out of the window, then back at her.
"The
sky. The trees. The leaves. The wind. Everything," she dreamily
drawled, not diverting her scrutiny from the window still. "Isn't it beautiful how
the murky, dark night always gives way to day? … And it could be any
day. Bright and sunny, or cool and cloudy, gloomily stormy, maybe perhaps … bitter cold and …wintry…" her voice dejectedly
dropped an octave, as she remembered the freezing night she spent hiding in the
closet in vain, after learning from Jiya they had left her behind- because she
had foolishly believed he would find her, just as he had promised. But he didn't. And that never
cease to hurt her.
"…"
For the first time that morning, Aoshi willed himself to look away, finding
himself unable to respond appropriately to her musing.
"My
…friends…" she choked on the
word, "
once left me on a cold wintry night… and they never came back for me… Pity. It was snowing
softly- the pure white snow blanketing all earthly flaws from view so … so beautifully."
"Aaah.
Kireii na. …It
will snow again soon."
Aoshi accepted, finally finding his voice.
"Hontou
ni,"
Misao murmured languidly, thinking aloud to no one in particular. "What irony. …Yuki no kirai." Casting her eyes
down regretfully, she additionally breathed, "Ame ga no kirai."
-Rain, summer rain, fall down hard on me.
Please have mercy. Wash away all my grief and sorrow. Wash all this hurt and
pain away. Make me forget. Make me
forget… make me forget everything… -
Almost
hurriedly, she snapped out of her teetering reverie, not wanting to be swept
away by the tides of depression once again. Understanding finally dawned in on
her. She was suddenly overwhelmed with that feeling as the final forgotten
piece of the most fuzzed about puzzle resurfaced, and surreptitiously fell into
place.
By
now, of course, she was already a master of concealing her unstable and raging
emotions in place, having had many a vicious memory assaults previously. She grabbed
at the tray into her hands and quickly hoisted herself up in a single hasty
motion. "Sumanu.
I must get going. They might need my help. Ja."
"I'll go with you." Without turning
around, Misao reluctantly nodded her head to comply, knowing full well that it
was pointless to argue with Aoshi. His answer no longer came to be a surprise
to her; it had, after all, become a routine for the both of them- that is, him
following her around as she makes her way through the Aioya each day.
She
found this frustrating and draining, at times, always having to be conscious of
his presence and to constantly be the subject of study of his watchful eyes.
And at moments such as this one, when she felt the great need to be alone, she
found his company utterly unnerving, to the extent of suffocating.
She
knew he had already picked up on her unsettling aura; she could have sworn she
had caught a flash of concern fleeting momentarily in his hard eyes. But being
a gentleman he was, he would not push her in a corner and force it out of her.
He would wait until she was ready to voluntarily venture it forth. He was,
after all, a very patient man.
Ever
grateful of that fact, she silently thanked the gods. For the time being, she
would make do by putting up with his disconcerting insistences. Confrontation
of the truth, the newly realized truth that promises a great deal of undeniable
pain ahead, will have to wait. She will eventually deal with it when she is
ready. Now, however, she is not. Now is not the time.
But
unknown to her was the guarded fact that he was actually terrified of being
bereaved of her again.
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Misao
longingly studied the profile of the tall handsome man leaning by the corridor.
-Was he really the man who had once told her
to never show her face to him again? Was he the Okashira whose lust for power
was so severe that he had willingly turned his back on his clan's honor? Was he the very lad who had
lovingly tucked her in bed promising her that they will never be apart and then
had cruelly left her on a cold lonely night? Was he the same person who had
hugged her so fiercely then when he had welcomed her home? Yet really the one
who had wanted her to leave him alone? The man who spent the better part of his
returned days meditating in the cheerless temple? The very one who believes
that he is too tainted to ever deserve a shot at happiness and love? A man who
is forever tied to her only because of an oath and not because he truly …
- "You don't have to do this,
you know."
"Do what, Misao?" he implored evenly,
lifting his strong poised shoulders off the cold wall with fluid-like grace,
before sauntering his way towards Misao.
"All this," Misao shrugged,
turning away from him to pull back her bedroom shouji, "You don't have to be so nice
to me. You don't
owe me anything. …Are
you …doing
all this because you …feel
sorry for me? "
"… Misao … I …" Aoshi fumbled trying
to find something that made sense to say. He was totally unprepared for that as
the norm would have her saying nothing to him save the expected polite bidding
of goodnight, " …you're my responsibility,
Misao,"
he uttered defeatedly.
"Is that so? Is that
all to it? If that's
all your reason, then DON'T!!" Misao fired,
suddenly sounding enraged as she abruptly turned to squarely face him again, " … No, not like this.
You shouldn't
be obligating yourself to do anything you don't want to. Nobody
should,"
she rectified, breezing into a soft whisper as swiftly as the sudden outburst
had came.
"…" Aoshi flinched away
from her accusing eyes and silently regarded her words.
"Who are you?" Another unexpected
query that made him turn.
"What?" Aoshi was taken
aback. "
You know who I am, Misao."
"Who are you?" She asked again,
firmly this time, choosing to ignore that previous reply, as she prodded deeper
into his emotionless dark orbs.
"I'm… Aoshi," he hesitated.
"No, you're not. …You're not him." Miserably, she tore
herself away, seeking asylum, instead, in her cold dark chamber, before the
fresh tears that were mounting, could make their presence known to the
accompanying person.
"But I am…" he protested weakly
as his eyes searchingly bore into her back.
"You're someone else," she finished weakly,
in contrary, as she forcefully pulled the shouji shut, separating herself from
him. "Oyasumi." She leaned against
the door clutching her disturbed chest vainly. Then she opened her eyes and
stared into the darkness of her room, wishing desperately that she could merge
into its shadows, paying no heed of the tears that rapidly flowed.
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She
did not bring him tea the next day nor the day after next. Hell, all she did
was avoid him hereafter. In fact, she tactically placed herself as far away
from him as she could, taking extremely careful measures to limit their
contacts to a brief occasional greeting or a silent nod. The most intimate form
of response he could wrench from her was a tight-lipped smile. Aoshi was
confused. He hated being confused. And he loathed the idea of not having Misao
talk to him and smile for him.
Tonight. Tonight he would talk to her.
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[Another end here too...^^]
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Misao
folded the last corner of the paper and pinched the pointy end into place. She
held it closer to her face and began to observe her handiwork. Perfect.
She
dumped her recent work to join the identical others, each one of congruent
color and size. 'And
to think that it used to be so hard to learn to make them,' she sighed, tickled
by the fond recollections of Aoshi having to repeat to her the same steps
recurrently on many different occasions when she was younger. He had always
been patient, unlike her.
'Even now,' she reflected
thoughtfully to herself. She eyed the pile pensively, seeing that her careless
toss had caused the paper cranes to somewhat scatter; a group of four that had oddly
formed a small imperfect circle and not very far away, a couple huddled
together, though facing away from each other. 'That's Hannya, Shikijo,
Beshimi and Hyottoko. And that's
Aoshi and …'
she put her musing to an abrupt halt. 'No. Stop.' How she wished
things could have stayed the same. Well, not exactly. But at least, like back
then when everyone was happier and everything was better off…
-Just like old times -
"IYYAAA!!! DAME YO!
Don't
even go there!"
she reprimanded herself, burying both her hands in her hair, grasping her head
painfully at that forbidden thought, as though doing so could exorcise her
scruples away.
-What's left to be afraid of, Misao? You know
he -
'still sees me as a… child. An obligation
whom he has to protect. To him, I mean nothing more than that. Nothing more… All these time, I'm just that,' she bitterly
countered.
-Do you honestly believe in that,
Misao? Do you? Do you? -
She
shut her eyes tight, shaking her head fervently, trying to ignore that
assiduous voice.
-Misao? -
It taunted her still.
"… Ee," she softly uttered,
completely beaten. With her answer, the goading miraculously stopped, giving
her a brief reprieve from self-scorn for the first time in months. She let her
cold, tired hands fall down limply on her lap. Her eyes widened considerably,
albeit vacantly, as she solemnly regarded the pristine white snow falling just
outside her window. It had already begun to snow. Even if she wished hard for
it to stop right now, it never will.
The
sounds of heavy footsteps haunted the hallways then grew progressively louder
before making a complete stop outside her room. She pried her tearing eyes away
from the window, turning sluggishly to stare blankly at the door. "Jiya?" she called out,
angry at herself for not being able to surely identify her visitor and even
more so for the betraying voice that had escaped her lips.
No
answer. Instead, the paper screen was forcefully yanked open, revealing a
seemingly weather beaten man.
His
hair, once meticulously combed sleekly to the back, now ran messily in tangles-
evidently, he had been pulling on them while he thought, before he had decided
to come barging in. Dark pools of shadows uncharacteristically painted below
his droopy eyes, clearly indicating that sleep had been scant and scarce.
Impressions of wrinkles grazing his pallid skin around his eye, forehead and
mouth areas, seemed visibly deeper than usual. He is definitely not looking his
best today. Nature had been unkind. He looked haggard and old. Very old.
He
marched unceremoniously towards her, needing to hear it, not from Omasu nor
Okon nor from anyone else, but from her own mouth.
"Why are you doing
this to me, Misao? Why? No, why are you doing this to all of us? To you?
Especially you,"
he demanded, traces of his usual dreary humor long gone. She returned her head
to a more natural position, wincing at the thought of her answer as well as the
thought he had implied.
"Answer me, Misao!" he imposed.
"Once, …" she softly began, "you said I was young.
You said I was reckless. You also said I was naïve. Warm but naïve, reckless but
enthusiastic, you described me. …But why is it do I feel so old? So
cold?"
she looked at him regretfully with dark grave eyes as he planted himself before
her. "And
all this time, everyone kept telling me that everything will be all right if I
smile, if I just believe, that laughter can chase away all gloom, that the sun
still shines bright and strong after the nastiest of storms. And they kept
telling me that I'll
always be happy, for I'm
strong. I'm
strong they said…"
she chuckled bitterly, "…but
I'm
not. I'm
not."
Her
eyes struggled shut, her shoulders involuntarily shaking, as she went on, "No matter how hard I
believe, I can never get what I truly wish for. …Even when I smile, my
friends will still be dead. …I
laugh but I still feel very sad. …And the sun, …it understands not
and feels neither hot nor cold, neither happy nor sad, neither joy nor pain. … But I do."
"Misao, …we understand your
pains …we
all feel it too, so please, …
don't
do this, Misao,"
he let out, instinctively bringing his right hand to cup his similar sided
cheek.
"I'm aware of that and I'm sorry. I am VERY
sorry…"
She took in a sharp breath, trying to compose herself.
"The sun is like hope,
Misao. Believe in it. It will always illuminate day. With it, lives thrive," he tried to reason.
"But too much or lack
of it, life dies,"
she bluntly cut in. "You
see, it's
a double-edged sword in disguise; capable of destruction, hurt and pain. There is
no joy in hoping…
only searing pain when crushed…"
"Hope alone, without
effort, isn't
enough, Misao. Effort without passion is insuffice. Hope paves the way to a
vision, effort builds up that vision and passion makes it whole, completing it," he explained.
"What then of nature
and all things irrepressible? You can never change it, even if you tried, even
if you hope with the greatest fervor … even if you believe…" she heaved
heavy-heartedly.
He
was quiet for a while, choosing his words carefully. Misao is no longer a child
now, she is a beautiful, ardent and a highly intelligent young lady. And he is no fool to think that she could
easily be won over by simple false assurances.
"Aaah. That is true…" he agreed, "The snow will fall
down still, Misao, but it will cease after winter is over… the rain will not
pour down endlessly and the leaves that fall will eventually get replaced.
Nature is not that cruel, Misao. It gives us all time to breathe, a chance to
start all over …"
"No. The snow will
always come again; the next cycle of season, the next year- even colder, even
harder. And the rain- when torrent, floods Japan, and in its absence, cast us
the blaspheming dry spell. …Leaves
grow back but will they ever be the same? 'Cos everyone grows old and will one day
fade away- everyone you love, whom you can never replace. …And worst of all, it
gives us more than ample time to remember, to have them permanently etched into
our memories, right onto the part that visits us often, to regret … This life… So much misery, so
much pain. …Will
the pain ever go away?"
she whispered, hands wound defensively around her petite form, as though by
doing so would protect her from all further harm.
He
is no stranger to pain. The multiple scars he had gained, testified to the
physical pain he had endured in previous battles. Tablets that decorated the
altar, remains a grim reminder of treasured fellow comrades, lost amidst
valiant efforts. But he had always been one to be so easily pacified, who often
detached his self from too close an emotional contact, from being involved,
with the exception of her. For she was like a daughter he could not ignore.
"No, …I believe there is no
sure remedy for pain, Misao,"
he reluctantly answered, "But
give it some time, it might not all go away, but perhaps will reduce in time.
Be patient for patience is, after all, a virtue."
"Then SCREW VIRTUE!
Because you will never know how much … the pain, I mean. … you will never know
how much it hurts me,"
she confided calmly, in between clenched teeth. That came out better than she'd thought it would,
for when she had said that, she was virtually yelling inside.
"Misao…" He had lost. She was
right. Nothing mars the soul as bad as having too strong an emotion that one
cannot ever overcome. The pains of a battle, as he understood, may be soothed
with the thought of a glorious victory adherent to a brighter future for all
ahead. The healed scars that grazed his skin, no longer hurt him; in fact, they
had become heroic emblems of pride, instruments of impressing whey-faced
geishas and under men and such.
Apparently,
on the surface, he might have gone past the unlivable threshold, but try as he
might, he could never forget the grief of losing his poor family, his dear
friends, and a particular someone whom he had especially loved … still loves. Perhaps
that was the reason he remained unwed. Even after all these years. In memory of
his own unconfessed love that gnaws at his conscience still…
She
let her eyes stay shut a while longer, before slowly opening them, which was
just as well - the steady flow of tears blurred her vision, making it easier
for her to continue, even though her breathing grew labored, "I gave my heart so
freely, completely, unconditionally but all I got in turn was pain. …And every time I see
him, it hurts me more. Hurts me by ten folds and ten folds and ten folds… It hurts me a hell
lot more. And it never stops,"
she shook her head, "It
never stops. Even during that entire bout, I could feel it. Remember it so BAD.
Like a ghost I can't
shake, it haunts me still. And now, …it only intensifies. At every sight,
every memory, every talk, every thought, every second, every day. I can only
stand so much!"
He
immediately rushed to her side, crushing her tiny form in a strong, apologetic
embrace. He let his little angel cry into his shoulder, running his hand along
her long silken hair, rubbing her trembling back in a pathetic attempt to
soothe the pain he knew he could not. No actions of his, no words he could
possibly string and say could relief her from the hold of agony. Not even the
smallest bit.
So
he kept silent as he let her cry.
"I am SORRY that I
just have to love him so much! I am SO SORRY that everyone gets hurt as well!
But I can't
help it!! It just …
just happened!!! …
I DON'T
WANT this pain!! I don't!
…
Make it go away! Make it stop! ONEGAI!! …Forgive me, Jiya! … Forgive me please," she whimpered
beneath his hold, " …
I can only do so much,"
she whispered, "…If… leaving means being
selfish, then let me…
let me be selfish. …Just
this once, let me. Please? …I
hate myself being weak! I want…
I want it to stop, Jiya! …I
need to get away …far
away…
from this pain, …from
him,"
she sniffed, "…If
leaving means forgetting… if leaving means healing… then let me leave,
please, let me leave,"
she pleaded, her voice barely audible.
"Then go," he reluctantly
agreed, although his heart bled at his decision, "Leave this place and
be happy, Misao."
"Arigato. Hontou ni. Domo
arigato,"
in between sobs, she thanked him.
"Ssssshhh. Sssshhhh. I'm here. Whenever you
need me, I'll
always be here for you, my angel, Misao."
He
stayed with her as she wept, till her tears ran dry, till the sniffings ceased.
He did not want her to go but he could not stand seeing her so miserable like
this. Another love lost to fate. And he was powerless to stop it from
happening, yet again.
Promise
me you'll be happy.
-----------------------
Owarimashoka?
'Yuki
no kirai': I hate snow
'Ame
ga no kirai': I hate rain
'Kireii
na': Pretty, isn't it
i
think the rest are pretty comprehensible so i won't bother explaining them.