Y'all lost yet? ;) Ready for some explanations? Well, here ya go- a LITTLE bit of much-needed explanation about Madonna's screwed up life. Not too much though! ;) I think from here on out, I'm gonna start pushing the "shock value". I'm gonna start off slow, so let me know what you think. Cheers!
RAPHAEL:
I ran as hard and as fast as I could with no destination. I could go to the end of the earth and back again without exterminating this fury. Bitter, angry tears streamed down my face as I ran blindly through the darkness. I'd roamed these sewers my entire life. I knew I could find my way back, no matter where I ended up. But when the tunnels ran out, I was still running. Running from the past, from memories I didn't want to have. From lectures and idols and a dream that could never be true. He wasn't perfect, but somehow, I'd always thought he was.
The perfect son, the perfect leader, the perfect pain in my ass that reminded me of how imperfect I was. I hated him, loved him, respected him, and ridiculed him... all at the same time. It wasn't right that he should forget who he was.
I went up to the surface, taking care to hide in the shadows. I ran past the bars, past the strip clubs and Central Park, where teenagers sat on the benches and made love to the sounds of the violent symphony that was New York City. I ran. Alone.
I ran to the end of the city, past the boat docks where a drug shipment was coming in. Past the ends of civilization. And I found myself in a place that I had never known existed. A place of total, emotional exhaustion. A place where I actually found myself craving the company of someone I could trust. I place where I wanted to let go of the pain, to release the anger. Don't you ever just want to stop fighting?
I stood on the beach. I screamed at the sky. I vented my fury in a flurry of violent movement. The ever-practical, always conscious sliver of my being, the ninjutsu training that had been embedded in me over the years, wondered where I was. Could anyone hear my violent protests? What state was I in? How many miles had I run? And for how long?
The questions meant nothing to me. I dropped to my knees in the sand and sobbed, letting the tears flow freely for the first time in years. Alone. Truly alone.
KATARINA:
I watched him for a long time, giving him a chance to calm down and collect his thoughts. He sat on the sand, his eyes fixed on the water and his knees pulled up to his chin. For an hour, he didn't move. Finally, I approached him, as silently as I could.
"I don't want to talk to you," he informed quietly as I came closer.
"Yeah, I got that impression," I replied, sitting down next to him.
For a long time, he didn't talk to me. We sat in silence, watching the moonlight reflect off the glassy surface of the water. A breeze swept over us, carrying the cool night air, and I shivered. I hadn't had time to grab my coat, and all I had on were a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Still, that was more than he had and I wondered if he was cold. If he was, he didn't show it. I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder, feeling him tense. I shivered, and he felt it. A moment later, he put his arm around me. Heat passed between our bodies and I closed my eyes, enjoying the stillness of the moment.
"Are you drunk?" I asked.
"I was," he admitted.
Well that sort of explained his reaction. I didn't understand why it upset him so much that Leonardo had a girlfriend. Wasn't he overreacting just a little? Those were weapons he'd pulled on his brother. I waited, not wanting to push him.
"You shouldn't have come here," he finally whispered.
"Where's here?" I asked.
"I don't know," he admitted quietly.
There was another long silence. He pulled away and stood up. I watched him walk toward the water and stand at the edge of it. He was still and silent. I waited for him to return. A moment later, he did. He laid on his back, staring up at the stars in the dark sky. For Raphael... cold, strong, independent Raphael... the position was more relaxed than I'd ever seen him. His guard was down, both mentally and physically. Maybe not totally down, but certainly more than I'd ever been allowed to witness. I struggled to hide my shock as he closed his eyes.
"Madonna is my sister," I offered, laying next to him with my head propped on my elbow. I rested my other hand on his chest, tracing along the lines of his plastron. "And my roommate. She's my best friend."
"Madonna," he repeated. "Is that her name?"
"Yes."
There was another moment of silence. "So you knew," he assumed quietly. The voice was tired, not accusative. "You knew about her and Leo."
"Yes I knew. Which is not to say that I approved."
"And you never said anything."
I sighed. "What was I supposed to say, Raph? It's not my place; you know that."
There was another long silence. I trailed my hand to his arm, but got no reaction. "I'm sorry, Raphael," I whispered. He didn't answer.
I ran my fingers back and forth over the hard muscles in his upper arm. I didn't need to see him in action to know that his strength alone was deadly. I remembered the way those arms had held me down when we'd sparred, and pushed the thought away. "Why does it anger you so much?" I questioned.
He was so still, it was almost as if he was asleep. His breathing came slow and steady, measured with the waves hitting the shore. "Raph?" I asked.
No answer. I sighed. I knew he heard me. But he wasn't answering. "He loves her, Raph," I whispered. "You must know that. And neither one of us ever had the right to get in the middle of that."
"A day, Kat," he breathed. His voice was nearly lost on the wind. "One. Day. After our father died."
"You were mad before you knew that," I reminded him.
He sighed. "Look, Kat, you don't know the way he lectures me. And he's doing the same exact thing. And he's been doing it since Splinter died. He was doing it while we mourned."
"That bothers you," I observed, half expecting him to get furious again. He didn't.
"It's disrespectful," he sighed, his voice ringing with sadness and quiet anger.
"To who? To Splinter or to you?"
He didn't answer. I stroked his arm, rubbing back and forth gently. Through another long silence, I closed my eyes and listened to the water wash up on the sand. "You said you want me to be honest?" he whispered. I stared at him, shocked. "Honestly, I know he loves her. I know he does or he wouldn't have..." He choked. I trailed over his arm to his plastron and traced the indentations with my fingernails again. "He's not like me. Oh, god, he's not like me."
Tears fell, and I looked away. He was opening up. I doubted he'd ever done that in his life. And a part of me hated myself, that I was the one he was trusting now. Still, I had what I'd asked for, what I'd worked so hard to get. He was talking. "Have you ever been in love, Raphael?" I asked. "Do you know how he feels?"
He sat up then, and looked down at me. The stillness broken, it was as if the world had been rocked by an earthquake. In the moonlight, I could see that his face was streaked with tears. He studied me, as if he were searching for something. "No," he breathed, his voice barely audible.
I stared into his eyes as the moonlight reflected off the water and cast shadows over us. I could get lost in those eyes... "I've never been in love..." he whispered.
I rose to meet him, and my free hand went to his shoulder as our lips touched. He helped me up, his strong arm circling my waist as his tongue slipped into my mouth. I melted into him, letting him hold me as we kissed deeply. With hardly any effort, he pulled me onto his lap. He held me with both arms now, still locked in the passionate kiss. I felt warmth radiate through me as his tongue slowly and methodically circled mine, probing at the very fiber of my being. I rested my palms on his shoulders as he closed the kiss and pulled away slightly. I felt lightheaded, staring deep into his eyes. He searched my soul as he slipped his fingers underneath my shirt. I felt his hands on my skin and breathed deep, feeling the drugging effects.
Holy crap! What the hell was I doing?
"No," I gasped, jerking away. "No, don't."
I scrambled to back away from him, and he let me go. What the hell had just happened? How had it happened? That was out of the clear blue! And suddenly, I couldn't deny my attraction to him. Damn him!
"This..." I struggled, panic creeping over me. "This is too fast!"
I expected him to argue, to try and persuade me. I expected him to throw last night's events in my face. I'd already given him an invitation, as far as he was concerned. But this was different. This time, I felt something. It wasn't just a matter of taking advantage of his drunkenness, trying to get into his psyche. This time was real; and it scared me.
He didn't fight. I let me retreat and didn't say a word. I crawled off his lap and sat in the sand. When I turned to look at him, he was sitting with his legs crossed, leaning back on his arms. He stared out at the water as if nothing had happened between us. I was glad. I didn't need those emotions right now. What the hell just happened? I screamed at myself. And how could you allow it?
LEONARDO:
Madonna didn't know how to get back to the surface. So when she stumbled out of the lair, refusing to speak to me, I knew I had to follow her. I chose to remain at a distance as she ran blindly. Within an hour, she'd gotten herself totally lost. She leaned against the wall of the sewer and cried. I watched her for a moment before I made my presence known. She turned and looked at me, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't look at all surprised to see me.
I stepped in front of her and took her hands. She looked away. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I was still not sure what I felt, or what I was going to do about it. I was confused, and more than anything I needed some advice. She was probably the only one who could give it.
"So am I," she answered. "But this is the way it has to be."
I studied her carefully, shocked. "What is?" I asked. Suddenly, I knew what she was going to say. Somehow, I knew. Dread crept over me, wrapping deathly cold fingers around my heart.
There was a long silence. Finally, she looked back at me. "This never should've happened," she informed me. "We shouldn't be together."
I said nothing. There was nothing for me to say. I stared at her, dumbfounded and having difficulty in breathing. "He's right, Leo. You've been dishonest with them and I've been dishonest with you." Her voice was cold. "And now I want you to take me home, Leo," she demanded. "And leave."
I swallowed hard and dropped her hands, gasping for breath as I tried to appear calm. She couldn't do this to me... but she was doing it. God, no. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to pull myself together. When I opened my eyes again, she was standing before me with her hands on her hips. I breathed deep, and nodded slowly. I wouldn't argue with her. I still wasn't sure if I had a right to. Instead, I turned and led the way through the darkness.
KATARINA:
"So how did you... find me?" Raphael asked as we walked along the railroad tracks. The sun was on the horizon, rays of light shooting through the early morning clouds.
"I followed you."
"I thought you weren't coming back."
I shrugged. "I brought Madonna down. To see Leo."
"And then you followed me," he repeated, almost as if he didn't believe me. "How did you keep up?"
I shrugged, digging my hands deeper into the pockets of my shorts. "I ran track and field when I was in school," I informed him. He nodded slowly. "To tell you the truth, you weren't that hard to keep up with. You're in real good shape, but you don't know how to run. Not long distances. You overexert yourself."
He glanced at me. "How long did you run track?" he asked.
I sighed. "I started in sixth grade. Kept with it until I graduated. I still run. It's one of the few escapes I have left."
"You've studied martial arts, too," he directed.
I nodded, remembering our sparring session. It seemed a lot longer than a week ago. "Yeah."
"When did you start that?"
"When I was three." He laughed quietly at that. "What?" I asked.
He shook his head. "That's familiar," he informed me. "That was about when we started, too. Always thought it was a little... early."
I kicked a rock down the path, watching it skip over the wood and bleached stones. "Did your parents teach you?" he asked. "Or did you go to a class?"
I was silent for a moment, considering my answer. "Both," I finally replied.
"You still talk to your parents?"
I sighed. "I talk to my father. When he wants something from me. My mother's dead."
"You sound kind of cynical," he observed.
"Yeah, well. If your father had been like mine, you'd be cynical too."
"Why?"
I shook my head. "My dad never really gave a damn about me," I mumbled. "He did whatever he could do to get rid of me. Kind of puts a strain on the relationship, ya know?"
"How did your mom die?" he asked.
"That's a long story."
He nodded slowly. "Well, I guess that's one thing we have in common then," he mumbled. "I never had a mother. Of course, I think it probably would've driven me nuts. Having Splinter worry about me was bad enough."
I forced a smile and we walked in silence for a few minutes. "I don't think I have a father, either," I admitted. "I never really felt like I knew him when I was growing up. Never spent time with him. He was never there for me. Really, I spent most of my time with Madonna and her father."
"I thought you said she was your sister," he reminded me.
"Half-sister," I corrected. "We had the same mother, different fathers."
"She still talk to her father?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. She doesn't talk about him. I haven't heard anything about him in years."
He studied me for a moment. "You're not curious?"
"Why should I be?"
"Well, you grew up with the guy."
I smiled faintly. "Just because I grew up around him doesn't mean I liked him. I tried my best to avoid him. After my mother died, I stopped talking to him. Madonna did too, although they had issues long before that."
He was quiet for a moment. "You two don't look much alike," he finally concluded.
I smiled. "Yeah, funny, isn't it? She looks just like our mom. Not a touch of her father in her. I look more like my dad."
We were quiet for a few more steps. "So what happened to your mom?" he finally asked. "Since she keeps coming into the conversation."
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "I haven't seen her in years. One day she just... disappeared."
"And you think she's dead?"
"Yes."
"Any theories?"
I glanced at him. "In honesty, I think Madonna's father killed her."
He cast a questioning glance in my direction. "Why do you think that?"
"I think she found out about... things he didn't want her to know."
"Like what?"
I considered telling him, but decided it wasn't my place to talk about the abuse Madonna went through. "Just... issues between him and Madonna."
"He molested her?"
I stared at him shocked that he could read my mind so clearly. "I didn't say that!" I stammered.
He shrugged. "I've seen it before, Kat. It's nothing new."
For a moment, I said nothing. "Yes," I finally answered. "He did."
"He ever touch you?"
I was surprised by the directness of his question. I glanced at him and saw him staring down at the tracks. He was acting as if he'd just asked me about the weather again. "My father would have killed him," I determined after considering the thought.
"Well, I suppose that's one thing to his credit."
"What is?" I questioned.
"You father didn't want to see you hurt, if nothing else."
"Yeah," I agreed quietly.
Then I turned my eyes back to the tracks in front of us. "You think he actually would've killed your mother?" Raphael asked after another long silence.
I nodded. "Yes. I do. He... isn't shy about killing."
He was quiet. I stared down at the ground, matching our steps, and felt him take my hand. I glanced up at him, but he stared straight ahead, seemingly unfazed by the action. I looked back down at the tracks and felt the nervous tension subside.
"You know, Kat," he mumbled, "we've kissed and touched and came about two inches from home plate..." I felt his eyes on me and tensed all over again. "And I still don't know what to say to you."
I smiled at his confusion. "Well, then, don't say anything."
"I still feel like I've gotta ask permission to hold your hand."
I stopped walking. He stopped next to me and we turned to face each other. It was time to set this straight, and lay down some ground rules. "I like you Raph," I mumbled. "But I don't want to fall in love with you."
"I like you too," he admitted. "But I know that you're no different from the rest of them."
I stared at him, stunned into silence by his accusation. How could he say that? He didn't know me! But I felt the air squeezed from my lungs as I realized how right he was. No different from all the other women who had hurt him. But in a way, I knew he was wrong. I was different. I was worse.
RAPHAEL:
I stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It wasn't surprising. I'd spent the whole day in bed, with nowhere else to go. I didn't want to talk to anyone, especially Leonardo, so I stayed secluded. So now, at 4:30 in the morning, I was wide awake. I stood up.
The lair was silent. I slipped out unnoticed, grabbing my hat and trenchcoat. At this time of night, I could walk around pretty freely in the city. Nobody was awake enough to notice. The streets of New York City were never really bare, but at this hour, nobody really cared who they were passing. I made my way to the surface and walked along the sidewalks without a destination. When I stopped, I was surprised to find myself standing in front of Kat's apartment complex.
I looked up at the building. I should go up there. And say what, Raph? I sighed. That you can't stop thinking about her? That you think you're in love with her? You're an idiot.
Yes, I was. I knew I was. An idiot. Alone and stubborn. And let's not forget insecure. God, Raphael, you're pathetic.
I slipped into the alley next to the building and leaned back against the brick wall. I was pathetic. I knew all about manipulating women. Hell, I knew how to manipulate anyone on the face of the earth. I knew I could get what I wanted from Kat. The problem was, I didn't know what the hell that was.
Right, Raph, manipulate her. Why don't you just sleep with her and get it over with?
No, I knew I didn't want that. Not just that, anyway. Well, what is it you want? You don't love her. You can't love her, you don't know how!
The thought struck me as I realized how right I was. I wanted to love her. I wanted to really be in love. For once. Forever.
I stared up at the wall behind me, and at the fire escape. I knew right where her apartment was. I could go up there right now. She'd be asleep, maybe dreaming. You can't manipulate her into loving you, jackass. The most you can do is get in her pants and hope you make an impression.
Shut the hell up! I yelled back. I'd had enough. I jumped up and grabbed the fire escape, pulling myself up easily.
This is stupid. It's not gonna work!
What's not gonna work? There's no plan, remember?
I hesitated. No plan. What would I say to her? I stopped and considered retreat. I decided against it and kept moving. I was surprised to see the living room light on. I slipped through the window silently and found myself face-to-face with Madonna.
She glared at me. "Get the hell out," she ordered, her voice cold.
"I didn't come to talk to you," I told her. "I said get out," she repeated.
"I need to see Kat."
"She's asleep. Leave."
"Wake her up," I demanded. I wasn't backing down.
"You. Leave. Katarina. Alone, you jackass," she shot, pacing each word. "And get the hell out of my apartment! Now, before I call the police."
The threat meant nothing to me, but the fact that she'd made it in the first place struck me. Fine. I'd just have to find another way in.
***
The cool breeze outside didn't deter her from leaving her window open. I slipped inside her room, past the thin, white curtains. She was asleep, her black hair fanned behind her. Her head was resting on her hands, her eyes closed and a faint smile on her lips. A blanket was pulled halfway up her arm, and her shoulder was bare. I wondered if she was naked under the blanket. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful.
I knelt on the floor next to her and brushed my fingers over the side of her face. She breathed in deeply and let the breath out with a soft moan as she stirred. I traced her lips and felt her come awake beneath my touch. "Raph?" she whispered as she came to.
Her eyes opened slowly and she smiled faintly. "Raph, what are you doing here?"
"I... wanted to talk to you," I mumbled.
"Why? Something wrong?"
"No, I..."
...have absolutely no idea what I'm going to say to you.
She smiled, reading my thoughts, and brushed my face with the backs of her fingers. "You shouldn't be here," she told me.
"I know," I answered.
She sat up slowly, clutching the blanket to her chest. I rose with her and sat on the edge of the bed. "You said, yesterday, that you didn't want to fall in love with me," I mumbled, staring into her eyes. "Why?"
A confused look crossed her face. "Why do you ask?"
"Why do you not want to answer?"
She tucked the blanket under her arms and rested her hands in her lap. "Raphael, I can't love you."
"Why?" I pleaded. "Tell me why."
"You don't need to know why," she sighed. "And I can't tell you."
I rested my hands over hers. "Kat, please..."
She sighed deeply and looked away. "I'm not who you think I am. Madonna and I... we're different."
"And I'm not?" I challenged.
She pulled her hands away, seeming a little irritated. "You wouldn't understand, okay? We come from a sick, twisted world and we can't spend our whole lives running from who we are."
"We," I repeated.
"Madonna and I."
"I don't want you to pretend to be something you're not," I whispered. "I want you to be yourself."
"Raphael, you don't know me," she snapped, an icy tone to her voice. "And if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you left now."
I stared at her, hurt and confused. Once again, she was angry at me and I had no idea where I'd gone wrong. "Kat, I..."
"Get out," she ordered. "And I want you to leave me alone." I stood up, still watching her. "You don't understand what I mean when I say I don't want to fall in love with you, so maybe you can understand a personalized restraining order."
I backed toward the window, realizing it was nothing I had done. She had done it. For once, I had not instigated the fight. Anger bit deep into my heart. I wasn't trying to hurt her, but she was making a direct attempt at hurting me. Without another word passing between us, I turned and left.
