Two Little Girls
Part II
A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)
Disclaimer : Characters & story - BePapas and Saito. Lyrics - Ani DiFranco.
Summary : The honeymoon is over. Shiori erupts in a jealous rage and Juri battles with the vicious cycle..again.
Author's Note : I look back on these old chapters with a sense of love and loathing. Much in the way Juri views Shiori from time to time, I'm sure. Oh well, I can only accept them for who they are and try better when I pick up from the end. Let me know what you're thinking.
----------
Life with Takasuki Shiori had never been easy, but in the beginning of our romantic involvement things were unsettlingly perfect. I say this because I had been conditioned to expect only the worst to come from the best of things. Out relationship was so fragile. Well, it makes sense, really. We had a very unstable foundation of betrayal and inferiority. But this Shiori before me.. this Shiori tangled in my bed.. I wanted to believe she had grown up. I wanted to believe she had changed. I just wanted to believe. So that all my dreams would come true.
The most beautiful sight was her in her the morning. She had this sleepy smile and her hair would be a little off with plumb strands poking out in wiry bits. She would crawl out of the bed, taking the sheets with her, and wrapping herself in the ebony silk while she walked to the bathroom or the kitchen. She always looked so small and I wanted nothing more than to hold her and protect her because she fit so well in my arms. I would put my faith into the way she looked at those moments; so human and so real. That was the Shiori I loved. The Shiori I cherished.
Yet, we still had our moments of uncertainty. She questioned me and I questioned her twice as much. Once I was running late from a photo shoot, but she couldn't get in touch with me. My cell phone rang to voice mail because my batteries were dead. No one answered the studio line because they were closed for the day. I didn't even think of calling, so when I came home I wasn't suspecting the welcoming that greeted me.
As soon as I unlocked the door I could feel that something was off. The air seemed too thick and heavy. A rather warm spring was flaring into a scorching summer and even though it was evening it felt hot in the apartment. I checked the thermostat as soon as I walked in and found that the air conditioning hadn't been turned on. Before I had a chance to adjust it I felt a presence near me. Turning I met her hard gaze and a shudder ran through me. She looked as she did that day.. the day she revealed my locket and stole my soul to use in the arena. As heartless as that day.
"Where have you been."
It wasn't a question, it was a demand. I tried my hardest to play it all off as if it didn't matter as much as it seemed to matter for her. I dropped my bag by the door and peeled off my cardigan, shrugging lightly but apologetically.
"The shoot ran over. Helen had a problem with the wardrobe. I'm sorry.. I should of ca--"
"Who's Helen."
The distance in her voice startled me and I stood motionless and silent a moment before stepping forward to move past her into the living room area.
"The wardrobe designer. You've met her before, Shiori."
I always said her name when I felt I was explaining something she should already know. Unfortunately, she understood this.
"Don't treat me like a child!"
She attempted to push me, but it was weak and unbalanced, so she ended up falling against me instead. She quickly collected herself and stormed away in the opposite direction. I grabbed for her arm and she tried to jerk away, but I'm much stronger than her and it only helped to pull her back.
"I'm sorry. But there's no reason for you to be acting this way, Shiori."
"Let go."
"It was just a shoot.. I don't always come out of them on time."
"Let go of me."
"Shiori! I'm only an hour late."
"Let go!"
She finally managed to rip her arm from my hand but immediately threw herself at me. Shivering in the warm air she pulled my tank top off over my head and pressed herself as tightly against my chest as she could. So tightly it almost hurt. But I didn't protest, I only held her. I protected her as I'd vowed to do unspokenly somewhere in the course of our relationship. We made love that night and for the first time it felt rushed and frighteningly urgent. We were sweating profusely in the muggy air of the apartment and our breathing quickly became broken and almost feral with guttural moans. I felt far away from her no matter how close she was.
-----
Two little girls growing out of their training bras
This little girl breaks furniture, this little girl breaks laws
Two girls together, just a little less alone
This little girl cries wee wee wee all the way home
Verse II : White Powder
-----
Life went on, though. At first we ignored these feverish encounters where it seemed we were both possessed by our doubts. We would force ourselves to overlook them and look only at the good. Because honestly, there was a lot of good. For the first time since childhood I could laugh. Openly and earnestly. She had this way of making everything about life exciting. She could turn the mundane into extraordinary. Dinner became the definition of romance, sleeping became meditation, shopping could be a quest. She enjoyed choosing my clothes for my shoots. She always put me in dark colors, and though I never would have chosen them myself, my photographers always commended the decision. Drastic compared to my ivory skin and tangerine curls.
We began growing up, and we were doing it together. New York City was our home now and it showed in the ways we had changed. I looked more and more like an International model every day. The standoffish, cool, sleek demeanor only penetrable by her. While she became the ideal New Yorker. She dressed the part and acted it. Sometimes when I'd meet her at the coffee shop down our block or at Times Square, I would notice this aura about her. Untouchable, almost. At times it was unnerving because it reminded me of the way things were in high school, but for three months, when I came to meet this statuesque beauty she would throw her arms around me and kiss both cheeks amorously.
She was so proud of me then. I would take her to countless parties just because I knew she loved them. I was always bored out of my mind, but it would be worth it to watch her stare at the studios, homes, and apartments we would frequent with a wide-eyed admiration. I'll admit I was acting selfishly to a degree, though. I adored the way those eyes would turn to me with the same amount of appreciation. She knew it was thanks to me that she was here, and she seemed content and gracious at first. But it's not like I wanted her to feel she owed me. That kind of thing was simply a perk, and I only enjoyed them because of her.
But after the few months she became insistent on finding a niche for herself. At first she wanted a job, but finding one was such a hassle, and it really was futile. I had more money than the two of us needed. The countless interviews that she oddly ended up turning away before they could even accept her. Maybe I should have noticed her restlessness then. She wasn't content with anything given to her. She insisted on making things difficult.
For simple pleasure she started going out almost every night. At first I would go with her and we'd have entire expeditions throughout the city. Discovering little cafes, restaurants, stores, and clubs. I wasn't very interested in any of the clubs. The noisy, smelly girth of the atmosphere inside each one was the same and only seemed to suffocate me. She, on the other hand, seemed naturally drawn to them.
When I would go with her it would be like living in a play. We had the stereotypical night; dinner, independent film, club. She always dressed in dramatic colored clothing that stuck to her body, accentuating every small curve. She loved to dance, and she was good at it. People would frequently part as if the Red Sea just to watch her graceful moves. When she'd pull me on with her it was like - as cliche as it does sound - making love on the dance floor. She wasn't shy to touch, she wasn't ashamed to claim me - all of me - as her own. I can't say I protested much.
But that would be it. Those days, once we came home it was all over. She might smile slightly as she drank a final glass of wine and then curl herself into the ebony sheets until she appeared to be inside a cocoon and I couldn't even tell where she was amongst the mass of silk. I would lay on my back and stare at our bare white ceiling, thinking. Always thinking. She became confusing. Sometimes at night a wandering hand would pull her body against me, as if against her conscious will, because she was never there when I woke up.
I somewhat grew tired of the charades, and just skipped going out with her some nights. I would take in late hours at the studio. Even agreed to some overseas shoots. I never took them at that time, but she knew I could leave at any time if I felt like I needed to. God, I don't know how to explain everything that happened then. I'm trying to tell it in sequence, but I'm sure it was an overwhelming combination of doubts.
She started coming home later and later, and smelling of beer, not the fine liquor's I was so accustomed to her drinking. Beer just seemed beneath her. It wasn't that bubbly, laughing drunk of wine and gin. This was the dark, annoying.. loud drunk of cheap booze. If I asked her where she'd been, she'd ask why I cared. If I asked if she wanted coffee, she'd tell me to go to Hell. I know she didn't mean any of it at the time, but every drunken word stems from truth. From real bitterness. I should have noticed then.
I would hold her hair, which was growing more everyday, back behind her head as she would throw up in the early morning. The sweat clung to her pale forehead, and she would often cry as the rank smell creeped throughout the bathroom and embedded itself on our clothes. As I washed her face of the sweat and tears, she'd promise herself and me not to do this anymore. It was too miserable, too stupid (she'd say this with an humorously honest roll of her eyes), and too expensive. Yet, we'd convene the next morning - same place, same time, same reason. I was so blind.
One night I got out of the studio earlier than I usually allowed myself to, but the recent morning sobs had made me feel guilty for leaving her alone to deal with everything that was apparently battling inside of her. It was Thursday, there was a club I knew she'd be at. Walking through the city that night, I felt the cool air around my legs curl up around my body and it felt like her until it reached my neck and it was suddenly hard to breathe. But.. I had just reached the club, and it was just the smoke of the people hanging around outside smoking. And she was one of them..
It was just strange seeing her with a cigarette. It wasn't really that big of a deal, it was just the way she handled it. She rolled it between her fingers gently and would run her teeth off the edge of it when she pulled it from her lips. It was so expertly done, every movement. Almost sensual. But I'd never seen her smoke. I didn't understand why I wouldn't have seen her since it looked like she had been smoking for awhile.
She was leaning against the wall, her short black boots tapping against the sidewalk as she laughed at some guy who was leaning closer to her every second. At that moment I stopped and watched. I know it sounds immature and paranoid, but I had to. This wasn't Shiori. This woman before me was not the woman I loved. Every movement was estranged. Finally, he pushed off from the wall to walk back inside. But not before cupping her cheek in one hand and kissing her on the side of her lips. Her eyes were open and she laughed halfway through the almost casual gesture. That wasn't what I noticed though.. I noticed him slip something into her furry black jacket pocket and as he removed his hand he gave her hip a tight squeeze before winking and walking inside.
I went home. The entire transaction had been too surreal. It was like watching some hooker get paid before being sent back onto the street. It just wasn't my Shiori. It seemed so natural to that girl by the club to be patted and kissed by some guy. So natural for her to smoke and tease and have this cruel look of mocked innocence in her violet eyes. As soon as I walked in the door I threw my keys on the side end table by the door. A seldom used commodity, that quickly lost its seldom use. The keys slid off of it.. and I don't know if it was my frustration or my jealousy, but I grabbed the keys and slammed them back onto the table. Going at that momentum they only slipped back off. My hand clenched and when it unclenched the table was five feet away from me, with the bottom drawer cracked open and some sand-like substance seeping out of it.
At first I couldn't believe I had broken the table, but that quickly became the least of my concerns. The little bit of white powder that began collecting from its hiding place onto the floor held my attention for several minutes until I got up the nerve to approach it. By then it had peaked off, this small pyramid of an illegal substance. I was a model, I knew what cocaine was, but I didn't want to believe it. I didn't touch the stuff. But how could she? I finally allowed myself to remember the glimmer of ivory in the tiny bag the guy slipped her.
When she finally came home, a little more sober than usual, she found me huddled by the broken table as I'd been hours before. Staring at the floor.. and then letting my cold gaze raise to her. She knew immediately, and immediately tried to play off the importance of the situation. She tossed her jacket onto the counter, and sniffed absently, pushing a strand of her wild hair behind her ear.
"What? Go ahead. Tell me how stupid I am."
I slowly stood up without a word and grabbed her jacket before she could stop me, and pulled out the new stash. I held in tightly in my hand as my knuckles matched the bag's contents. I threw it at her feet and dropped her jacket carelessly.
"I couldn't give a damn."
She tried to not let the shock and pain show, but it flickered for a moment across her features. It was the complete opposite of what I felt. I knew that and I think honestly she knew it, too. But.. that I could say that showed a change in something. I picked up my keys casually from the ground and walked past her without a glance, and out the door. I knew then, and I wished I didn't. Something always had to screw up. Where did I go wrong?
I walked for at least two hours that night. Thank god for all night coffee shops. I drank a latte and felt sick. Everything ached, especially my brain. When had it started? Why hadn't I noticed? Why would she do this? It seemed too senseless. So unlike her. But maybe even I wasn't myself here. How much had this real world changed us?
When I got home I wasn't surprised to not find her there, but I was surprised to find the note placed upon the table with a book supporting the faulty leg against the clean floor.
Dear Juri,
You must hate me for being like this. I can't take this world anymore. I can't hide from my dreams, from my past. And neither can you. I'm going back to the only place I remotely belonged in. Don't follow me; you shine here. You shine everywhere. You blind me with your light, Ouji-sama.
Your Shadow, Shiori
Part II
A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)
Disclaimer : Characters & story - BePapas and Saito. Lyrics - Ani DiFranco.
Summary : The honeymoon is over. Shiori erupts in a jealous rage and Juri battles with the vicious cycle..again.
Author's Note : I look back on these old chapters with a sense of love and loathing. Much in the way Juri views Shiori from time to time, I'm sure. Oh well, I can only accept them for who they are and try better when I pick up from the end. Let me know what you're thinking.
----------
Life with Takasuki Shiori had never been easy, but in the beginning of our romantic involvement things were unsettlingly perfect. I say this because I had been conditioned to expect only the worst to come from the best of things. Out relationship was so fragile. Well, it makes sense, really. We had a very unstable foundation of betrayal and inferiority. But this Shiori before me.. this Shiori tangled in my bed.. I wanted to believe she had grown up. I wanted to believe she had changed. I just wanted to believe. So that all my dreams would come true.
The most beautiful sight was her in her the morning. She had this sleepy smile and her hair would be a little off with plumb strands poking out in wiry bits. She would crawl out of the bed, taking the sheets with her, and wrapping herself in the ebony silk while she walked to the bathroom or the kitchen. She always looked so small and I wanted nothing more than to hold her and protect her because she fit so well in my arms. I would put my faith into the way she looked at those moments; so human and so real. That was the Shiori I loved. The Shiori I cherished.
Yet, we still had our moments of uncertainty. She questioned me and I questioned her twice as much. Once I was running late from a photo shoot, but she couldn't get in touch with me. My cell phone rang to voice mail because my batteries were dead. No one answered the studio line because they were closed for the day. I didn't even think of calling, so when I came home I wasn't suspecting the welcoming that greeted me.
As soon as I unlocked the door I could feel that something was off. The air seemed too thick and heavy. A rather warm spring was flaring into a scorching summer and even though it was evening it felt hot in the apartment. I checked the thermostat as soon as I walked in and found that the air conditioning hadn't been turned on. Before I had a chance to adjust it I felt a presence near me. Turning I met her hard gaze and a shudder ran through me. She looked as she did that day.. the day she revealed my locket and stole my soul to use in the arena. As heartless as that day.
"Where have you been."
It wasn't a question, it was a demand. I tried my hardest to play it all off as if it didn't matter as much as it seemed to matter for her. I dropped my bag by the door and peeled off my cardigan, shrugging lightly but apologetically.
"The shoot ran over. Helen had a problem with the wardrobe. I'm sorry.. I should of ca--"
"Who's Helen."
The distance in her voice startled me and I stood motionless and silent a moment before stepping forward to move past her into the living room area.
"The wardrobe designer. You've met her before, Shiori."
I always said her name when I felt I was explaining something she should already know. Unfortunately, she understood this.
"Don't treat me like a child!"
She attempted to push me, but it was weak and unbalanced, so she ended up falling against me instead. She quickly collected herself and stormed away in the opposite direction. I grabbed for her arm and she tried to jerk away, but I'm much stronger than her and it only helped to pull her back.
"I'm sorry. But there's no reason for you to be acting this way, Shiori."
"Let go."
"It was just a shoot.. I don't always come out of them on time."
"Let go of me."
"Shiori! I'm only an hour late."
"Let go!"
She finally managed to rip her arm from my hand but immediately threw herself at me. Shivering in the warm air she pulled my tank top off over my head and pressed herself as tightly against my chest as she could. So tightly it almost hurt. But I didn't protest, I only held her. I protected her as I'd vowed to do unspokenly somewhere in the course of our relationship. We made love that night and for the first time it felt rushed and frighteningly urgent. We were sweating profusely in the muggy air of the apartment and our breathing quickly became broken and almost feral with guttural moans. I felt far away from her no matter how close she was.
-----
Two little girls growing out of their training bras
This little girl breaks furniture, this little girl breaks laws
Two girls together, just a little less alone
This little girl cries wee wee wee all the way home
Verse II : White Powder
-----
Life went on, though. At first we ignored these feverish encounters where it seemed we were both possessed by our doubts. We would force ourselves to overlook them and look only at the good. Because honestly, there was a lot of good. For the first time since childhood I could laugh. Openly and earnestly. She had this way of making everything about life exciting. She could turn the mundane into extraordinary. Dinner became the definition of romance, sleeping became meditation, shopping could be a quest. She enjoyed choosing my clothes for my shoots. She always put me in dark colors, and though I never would have chosen them myself, my photographers always commended the decision. Drastic compared to my ivory skin and tangerine curls.
We began growing up, and we were doing it together. New York City was our home now and it showed in the ways we had changed. I looked more and more like an International model every day. The standoffish, cool, sleek demeanor only penetrable by her. While she became the ideal New Yorker. She dressed the part and acted it. Sometimes when I'd meet her at the coffee shop down our block or at Times Square, I would notice this aura about her. Untouchable, almost. At times it was unnerving because it reminded me of the way things were in high school, but for three months, when I came to meet this statuesque beauty she would throw her arms around me and kiss both cheeks amorously.
She was so proud of me then. I would take her to countless parties just because I knew she loved them. I was always bored out of my mind, but it would be worth it to watch her stare at the studios, homes, and apartments we would frequent with a wide-eyed admiration. I'll admit I was acting selfishly to a degree, though. I adored the way those eyes would turn to me with the same amount of appreciation. She knew it was thanks to me that she was here, and she seemed content and gracious at first. But it's not like I wanted her to feel she owed me. That kind of thing was simply a perk, and I only enjoyed them because of her.
But after the few months she became insistent on finding a niche for herself. At first she wanted a job, but finding one was such a hassle, and it really was futile. I had more money than the two of us needed. The countless interviews that she oddly ended up turning away before they could even accept her. Maybe I should have noticed her restlessness then. She wasn't content with anything given to her. She insisted on making things difficult.
For simple pleasure she started going out almost every night. At first I would go with her and we'd have entire expeditions throughout the city. Discovering little cafes, restaurants, stores, and clubs. I wasn't very interested in any of the clubs. The noisy, smelly girth of the atmosphere inside each one was the same and only seemed to suffocate me. She, on the other hand, seemed naturally drawn to them.
When I would go with her it would be like living in a play. We had the stereotypical night; dinner, independent film, club. She always dressed in dramatic colored clothing that stuck to her body, accentuating every small curve. She loved to dance, and she was good at it. People would frequently part as if the Red Sea just to watch her graceful moves. When she'd pull me on with her it was like - as cliche as it does sound - making love on the dance floor. She wasn't shy to touch, she wasn't ashamed to claim me - all of me - as her own. I can't say I protested much.
But that would be it. Those days, once we came home it was all over. She might smile slightly as she drank a final glass of wine and then curl herself into the ebony sheets until she appeared to be inside a cocoon and I couldn't even tell where she was amongst the mass of silk. I would lay on my back and stare at our bare white ceiling, thinking. Always thinking. She became confusing. Sometimes at night a wandering hand would pull her body against me, as if against her conscious will, because she was never there when I woke up.
I somewhat grew tired of the charades, and just skipped going out with her some nights. I would take in late hours at the studio. Even agreed to some overseas shoots. I never took them at that time, but she knew I could leave at any time if I felt like I needed to. God, I don't know how to explain everything that happened then. I'm trying to tell it in sequence, but I'm sure it was an overwhelming combination of doubts.
She started coming home later and later, and smelling of beer, not the fine liquor's I was so accustomed to her drinking. Beer just seemed beneath her. It wasn't that bubbly, laughing drunk of wine and gin. This was the dark, annoying.. loud drunk of cheap booze. If I asked her where she'd been, she'd ask why I cared. If I asked if she wanted coffee, she'd tell me to go to Hell. I know she didn't mean any of it at the time, but every drunken word stems from truth. From real bitterness. I should have noticed then.
I would hold her hair, which was growing more everyday, back behind her head as she would throw up in the early morning. The sweat clung to her pale forehead, and she would often cry as the rank smell creeped throughout the bathroom and embedded itself on our clothes. As I washed her face of the sweat and tears, she'd promise herself and me not to do this anymore. It was too miserable, too stupid (she'd say this with an humorously honest roll of her eyes), and too expensive. Yet, we'd convene the next morning - same place, same time, same reason. I was so blind.
One night I got out of the studio earlier than I usually allowed myself to, but the recent morning sobs had made me feel guilty for leaving her alone to deal with everything that was apparently battling inside of her. It was Thursday, there was a club I knew she'd be at. Walking through the city that night, I felt the cool air around my legs curl up around my body and it felt like her until it reached my neck and it was suddenly hard to breathe. But.. I had just reached the club, and it was just the smoke of the people hanging around outside smoking. And she was one of them..
It was just strange seeing her with a cigarette. It wasn't really that big of a deal, it was just the way she handled it. She rolled it between her fingers gently and would run her teeth off the edge of it when she pulled it from her lips. It was so expertly done, every movement. Almost sensual. But I'd never seen her smoke. I didn't understand why I wouldn't have seen her since it looked like she had been smoking for awhile.
She was leaning against the wall, her short black boots tapping against the sidewalk as she laughed at some guy who was leaning closer to her every second. At that moment I stopped and watched. I know it sounds immature and paranoid, but I had to. This wasn't Shiori. This woman before me was not the woman I loved. Every movement was estranged. Finally, he pushed off from the wall to walk back inside. But not before cupping her cheek in one hand and kissing her on the side of her lips. Her eyes were open and she laughed halfway through the almost casual gesture. That wasn't what I noticed though.. I noticed him slip something into her furry black jacket pocket and as he removed his hand he gave her hip a tight squeeze before winking and walking inside.
I went home. The entire transaction had been too surreal. It was like watching some hooker get paid before being sent back onto the street. It just wasn't my Shiori. It seemed so natural to that girl by the club to be patted and kissed by some guy. So natural for her to smoke and tease and have this cruel look of mocked innocence in her violet eyes. As soon as I walked in the door I threw my keys on the side end table by the door. A seldom used commodity, that quickly lost its seldom use. The keys slid off of it.. and I don't know if it was my frustration or my jealousy, but I grabbed the keys and slammed them back onto the table. Going at that momentum they only slipped back off. My hand clenched and when it unclenched the table was five feet away from me, with the bottom drawer cracked open and some sand-like substance seeping out of it.
At first I couldn't believe I had broken the table, but that quickly became the least of my concerns. The little bit of white powder that began collecting from its hiding place onto the floor held my attention for several minutes until I got up the nerve to approach it. By then it had peaked off, this small pyramid of an illegal substance. I was a model, I knew what cocaine was, but I didn't want to believe it. I didn't touch the stuff. But how could she? I finally allowed myself to remember the glimmer of ivory in the tiny bag the guy slipped her.
When she finally came home, a little more sober than usual, she found me huddled by the broken table as I'd been hours before. Staring at the floor.. and then letting my cold gaze raise to her. She knew immediately, and immediately tried to play off the importance of the situation. She tossed her jacket onto the counter, and sniffed absently, pushing a strand of her wild hair behind her ear.
"What? Go ahead. Tell me how stupid I am."
I slowly stood up without a word and grabbed her jacket before she could stop me, and pulled out the new stash. I held in tightly in my hand as my knuckles matched the bag's contents. I threw it at her feet and dropped her jacket carelessly.
"I couldn't give a damn."
She tried to not let the shock and pain show, but it flickered for a moment across her features. It was the complete opposite of what I felt. I knew that and I think honestly she knew it, too. But.. that I could say that showed a change in something. I picked up my keys casually from the ground and walked past her without a glance, and out the door. I knew then, and I wished I didn't. Something always had to screw up. Where did I go wrong?
I walked for at least two hours that night. Thank god for all night coffee shops. I drank a latte and felt sick. Everything ached, especially my brain. When had it started? Why hadn't I noticed? Why would she do this? It seemed too senseless. So unlike her. But maybe even I wasn't myself here. How much had this real world changed us?
When I got home I wasn't surprised to not find her there, but I was surprised to find the note placed upon the table with a book supporting the faulty leg against the clean floor.
Dear Juri,
You must hate me for being like this. I can't take this world anymore. I can't hide from my dreams, from my past. And neither can you. I'm going back to the only place I remotely belonged in. Don't follow me; you shine here. You shine everywhere. You blind me with your light, Ouji-sama.
Your Shadow, Shiori