The Taste Of Ink
MysticShadowWanderer
Disclaimer: Desperate panicked calls (The wind can't hear me) Muffled weak and small (The sand can't hear me) Pleading, groping hands (The truth can't hear me) Bleeding in the sand (Your heart can't hear me)
Chapter Eight: Still I can see it coming
Tilling my own grave to keep me level. Living each day in the shadows of monotony, waiting until it's my turn to die. Die to do what? To come back again? I don't believe in Hell, I really don't, and I'm fairly certain that I'm correct. There's too much incongruence in holy texts to believe any of that shit, so I think I'm on to something here. What other people put their faith in doesn't really make any difference to me. They're dumbfucks anyhow.
Where am I? At work. Again. "At work" meaning that state of being at work, not actually in the office. It's four o' clock in the fucking morning, and I'm really starting to get tired of all of this. How am I going to make my case? No damn clue. The only thing I can think of is for her to plead insanity, and though someone of her intelligence is likely to be an excellent actress, there isn't a chance in hell that anyone is going to believe that Kamiya Kaoru is crazy.
With that resounding disconcertion, I begin to rhythmically bang my head against the table, the sound of which actually is more resounding than anything else. The surprising part is that it doesn't really hurt, it just feels numb, like everything else. Slamming my head down a bit more forcefully, I become determined to at least make it painful. A good dose of reality would be nice right about now.
As I raise my head to crack it down on the marble tabletop again, a pair of strong but gentle hands grasp me, one on each side of my face. Now that the regularity of my self-inflicted torture is broken, a splitting headache ravages my skull. I don't think I've ever felt more like a dumbass in my life. Soft fingers trail down my forehead, and I blink when the sensation stings.
"You're bleeding," she says so quietly that I have to strain to hear her. "How hard were you hitting your head?"
I shrug. "I don't know." It's nice to be able to feel something for once; it's been a long time. What I'm feeling right now is the light sweeping of her slender fingers around my injured skin. Her hands are cool against my feverish skin. I'm not sure why it's feverish, maybe lack of sleep is really getting to me, but it feels good, calming even.
Kaoru looks at me pointedly, her eyes plainly asking what I want her to do.
"Clean it for me." She nods, of course, ever willing to help, but when she moves away to get first aid supplies, I grab her by the wrist and pull her closer.
Her eyes are no longer asking any definite question, just expressing overall curiosity as I take her chin in one hand. She isn't expectant, she isn't afraid, and she isn't moving away, but I can tell that she is unsure of what's going to happen. Gently, giving her the chance to escape, I tug on her chin, laying her lips against my torn forehead. Now she understands. I expect her to be shocked or disgusted, but she simply does as I ask, flicking her tongue out to lick the wound clean. Not a word is spoken, and I let my eyes fall closed to savor the feeling of her tongue on my burning skin, something akin to crushed velvet slid over fingers that have been rubbed raw for one reason or another. I know that this really doesn't constitute "cleaning," because the human mouth is a disgusting place, but I don't really care. This just feels good, though I'm not sure why.
I don't want a relationship with her. I don't. It would only cause more trouble than it could ever possibly be worth. I don't want a woman, and I don't need people around me. But for the moment, this is okay, as deranged as it seems.
She went out shopping this afternoon, returning with bags full of books, music, movies, and clothes. I take no pleasure in shopping for recreation, it just reinforces the horrifically materialistic nature of today's society, so I left her to her own devices while I continued to work on her case. It's frustrating how little there is for me to work off here. Lying, while not unusual to encounter in the practice of law, is something that I find too risky to take part in. Besides, while the world is so very dishonest with itself and others, I prefer to speak the truth or nothing at all. I only lie when I have to.
I'm lying on my bed when Kaoru knocks on my door. What am I doing? Nothing other than staring at the ceiling, of course.
"It's open, come in." This had better be good.
The door opens slowly, as if she's nervous about coming in my room. For the love of death, it's not as if I'm going to rape her! The very thought is disgusting, actually. Such forced contact is revolting to me.
"I bought you some things," she says quietly, staring at her feet and shifting the bag she's holding from hand to hand, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.
I raise an eyebrow curiously. This is odd, to say the least. Sitting up, I motion for her to take a seat next to me on the bed, which she accepts. In any case, she's not nervous anymore, though I'm not sure why she was in the first place. It doesn't really matter.
Spilling the contents of the bag onto the bed, I'm surprised to find books and CDs. No one has ever dared buy me anything like this before (even though I don't receive very many gifts in the first place), presumably because they don't know what I like. I've made sure in life that I don't let anyone know who I am or what I like, and this girl has the audacity to buy me things that are rather personal. I glare at her, but she does nothing more than stare me in the eyes. Bravery is not something she lacks. Common sense, however, I'm beginning to wonder about.
"Get out," is all I say. "Just... get out."
With a sound of discontentment and disapproval, she storms out of the room and slams the door. Alright then. That was strange. All around, it was just... strange.
Finally, I decide to look at what she bought me. Picking up a book, I read the title with surprise. Very interesting; the girl has taste. Beyond Good and Evil, and I see, as well, On the Genealogy of Morals. Nietzsche. I think I see some Faulkner in the mix, along with a few other existentialist writers. Fascinating that she would think of this for me. True, I've read most of these books already (as I've stated repeatedly, I have no life), but maybe she knows me better than I thought. That's disturbing. Hopefully, she's just an overzealous psychology and philosophy student, as the last thing I want to happen is for her to know who I really am.
Her choices in music for me are worrying, as well. I don't really listen to music often, so I haven't heard of these bands, or groups, or people, or whatever they are, but reading the titles is enough to make me wonder just how well she knows my true nature. I rip the plastic off one CD and pull the lyrics out of the jewel case. Delerium, the group's called; the disc is entitled "Karma." I'm not sure what to think, I'm really not. One group of words from a song called "Duende" catches my eye.
The disc is quickly slipped into my stereo. This may just be worth listening to.
"Razor fingers cling.... the wind can't hear me... Piercing demons sing... the sand can't hear me... Twisting hollow Hell... the truth can't hear me."
The truth can't hear me. And that's the crux of it, isn't it? I want so badly for the world to realize what they're doing to themselves, yet it's impossible. Truth itself is so shrouded in darkness and twisted fantasy that it no longer knows what's real and what's illusion. Even the truth is a lie.
A/N: If you couldn't tell, I love Delerium, and "Duende" is one of my favorite songs. I also love Nietzsche's and Faulkner's works, and existentialism is important to me. If you're anyone, I suggest you get Delerium's CD "Karma," and if you're intelligent, I suggest you read Nietzsche and Faulkner. If you're stupid, don't bother, you'd be lost after the first sentences. Not that I'm calling any of you stupid. How am I supposed to know, anyway, ne?
Other references:
"Tilling my own grave to keep me level" - A Perfect Circle, "Weak and Powerless"
I like music. Anyone that knows me would say I'm obsessive. But you can get a lot of good ideas from lyrics, if you know what to listen to. Rap and pop and all that shit, of course not, but if you find some good rock bands, alternative artists, and cultural music, you can learn a lot. I recently bought a CD called Celtic Spirit which simply kicks ass, and it proves that music doesn't have to have understandable lyrics (I don't know Gaelic...YET! ) or any lyrics at all to be inspirational. I only wish I didn't have to use the lyrics themselves to get my point across. But, as I know that almost no one is going to look up the things I've referenced, and this is a rant fic, I basically said "screw subtlety, I'm just going to spell it all out." Yeah, I'll shut up now. Get "Karma."
Yeep! I guess I won't shut up now. I've gotten (a lot) more reviews than I originally expected (I'm really grateful, by the way), and I wanted to take a moment to stop and answer some questions. I can't answer all of them, or address everyone, because I don't have access to my reviews (I DO have to sneak on to get this to you people, you know), so I'm just going to answer what I remember. I'm probably missing a lot of stuff, so I'll go back and read through my reviews and see if I can't respond better in the next chapter.
Here goes nothing...
No, I'm not a goth or something. I don't like to be labeled, and I'm not really anything. If I HAD to have a label, most people would say "artist" or "poet."
I'm not overly fond of Blink, although I like their new songs (I like more serious music than their usual), but The Used (obviously) kick ass and I'm a huge fan of Taking Back Sunday. Sadly, I missed that concert.
HCT, I'm glad I could keep your attention
Whoever it was that said that reality is pain, you're absolutely right. Also... how can I be offended by the truth? That would make me a hypocrite and I'd have to hate myself even more than I already do.
Erm... I can't think of anything else off the top of my head, so if I missed someone's important question, just... yell at me... or kick me in the head... or something...