II. Kiss the Rain
Your broken whispers,
Love, I wanted to swallow,
Snatch away with my lips,
Until You remembered
How it felt to be
Kissed by the rain.
Two months later: November
Some would want to say the rest was history.
But it wasn't.
The path they took wasn't predictable; it wasn't this void of faceless happiness that people would generally like to associate. They crashed, they rose, they bled, they laughed.
Rumors flew on the nature of their relationship; Van Fanel, the hot, bad-boy everyone would like to believe, was attached to that plain, normal, Kanzaki girl like a magnet.
But it wasn't until a dilemma arose in their lives did they change truly.
It was the day Hitomi Kanzaki was asked out.
Van, Van, Van—who was he to her?
Ah, the one she could say stupid things to and who would laugh at those comments, which oddly had never been hurtful, who'd prick her, make her mad one moment, the next make her laugh until she was sure her jaw would split, who'd challenge, support her.
But they had never paid attention, never cared to define how they were related.
It just was.
He could fall with her, talk to her in four in the morning, recite bits of poetry that he'd composed as she eased a headache due to an argument with his father, and with her magical fingers she would weave through his locks as he rested his head on her lap.
Amano. The name itself would be enough for Van to grow fangs.
He felt jealousy. Beastly. Protective, possessive, like he'd never felt before. He had never been the one to share.
But there was this anxiousness in her voice as she told him.
She'd accepted, his offer, Amano's offer. He'd closed his eyes, as one would to some external pain.
"Van, are you listening?"
"Yeah, go on," he encouraged.
"I mean," she groped for the right words, "I kind of liked him a few grades ago, and he's good looking and all, but," she was vulnerable, he could predict, as that particular catch came into her voice, "I feel like he'd leave me, when he finds out the real me, you know?"
"No, I don't," he looked at her with candor, "you've got more personality than all the girls I've known and as for your intelligence, your IQ is superior to Amano's."
She made a face, "And my looks are oh-so-appealing."
"Oh yeah, if they ever have a Hag Contest, I'll nominate you."
She slapped his arm, not enjoying his sarcasm at such a dire moment. It wasn't that Van'd indicated ever that he found her extremely appealing—ah, the occasional jab at her innocence (which was not lack of knowledge, just lack of firsthand knowledge), but nothing out of the ordinary. After all, he'd also stated that she wasn't his type. A dampening admission, if truth be told, from such a good-looking person.
He bit out, "Honestly speaking, princess, pretty-boy-Amano doesn't deserve you."
"Van—"
He silenced her with a hug. She smelled him, relishing in his fragrance and let her body get accustomed to the planes of his own.
It had seemed for so many years that all she'd been doing was trying to fit here, trying to fit there. She had tried to fit in during the initial years of high school, but she couldn't adapt to the cruelty of people, to the artificial cares of others, to the useless life most lead.
This…this was where she fit.
And yet it was odd; there were moments when they seemed so close, and others where the mere distance of a centimeter was a gaping rift. His behavior was erratic, more especially his physical actions. But he knew her, had watched her for months, afraid to get close to her with her invisible barrier. But now…
He held her for a very long time and if he had been told to remain this way until his jealousy subsided—then he wouldn't have ever let go for all eternities to come.
She stood outside the cinema, rubbing her hands across her arms to bring some warmth. Amano had still not shown up. Right, counting to ten minutes. Don't show up then, and I'll leave.
She wanted to believe he hadn't stood her up. Desperately, making up reasons for possible interruptions in his plan. He had seemed sweet and had had a bad break up with his girlfriend two weeks ago.
One and two, and three…
OOO
"Celena!" Ah, Celena Schezar was the quintessential good-girl, angelic in appearance with gently waving flaxen hair, and whose friendship he had developed during the year in which she'd lost her mother.
"Van!" the pale blond hugged him closely, "Goosh, why haven't I seen you lately?"
"Ohh yeah," he rolled his eyes, "Like Ms. Valedictorian would have time for humble ol' me."
"What are you doing here at the grocery store of all places?"
"Hungry." She laughed at his answer. "I came to grab some chocolate cake."
"Hmm, you all right?" there seemed to be a bit of tension in his face. "Any problems with 'Tomi?"
"I, well, no." He shrugged as they walked to the bakery section. "The problem is me."
"You?"
He admitted reluctantly, "I'm suffering from a severe case of chronic jealousy, to put it as medically as possible." He grinned; Celena was going to take Pre-Med.
"Why?"
"She's going out with Amano," he tried to tone down the bitterness.
"She's going out with him?!"
"Yeah." He muttered darkly, "I swear, if he's touching her at this moment, I'll chop his hands off." He tried to reason why Amano wouldn't have a right to touch her; touch was inevitable. Oh yeah, there was just one reason.
Only Van could touch her…in the way she deserved to be, sweetly, self-lessly, lovingly.
"At this moment?" her eyes turned to saucers.
"Very tempting, but no. I'll have to wait until I spot him touching her—pathetic that we can't kill before proven guil—" he spoke referring to the hand-chopping, but he was interrupted.
"I'm talking about whether they're out this moment, you idiot!" there was panic in her voice.
"Yes," the word came out like the hiss of an angry cobra that'd been reminded of a pain.
"Van," she whirled around, pinning him with her intense cerulean eyes, "Amano is not with Hitomi at this moment."
"What do you mean?" He paled.
"I got a ring from Yukari just an hour ago…he's supposed to come over to her house in the next hour and she was apparently very excited."
"Fuck!" Like a primal storm that changed its course, he turned around and made a dash for the exit.
"Where are you going, Van?!" she yelled out.
"To get her and cut his damn throat!"
A silence stole in the grocery store and Celena ignored them, "Hurry, Van."
OOO
A throb was locked in her throat.
A third of an hour; that had been twenty minutes, or twelve hundred seconds that she'd waited past the time of the show.
He hadn't shown up and she didn't expect him.
There would be no future dates, she was sure, with him. One of Yukari's friends had stalked up to her, showcasing their expensive outfits, to casually mention that Kari had wanted to tell Hitomi to not show up for the movie; she was sure that Amano would break up with her anyway, after spending the afternoon with herself.
And of-course, her friend had forgotten to inform her, till just now while she strutted with her boyfriend.
Perhaps it wouldn't have hurt her as much if she hadn't found out why he didn't appear for the date, but this knowledge, this awareness, allowed a sob to gather.
It seemed like it had rained all this month. It was, again, and she was glad, hoping it would somehow cleanse her. Oh, she should've listened to Van! How could she face him after her battered pride and tell him, admit to him that he had been right all along? She owed him an apology. She had accused him of judging others too heavily by their past actions and Amano's hadn't been very favorable, boasting break-ups at an average of two and a half weeks.
But, this was, by the far the shortest date. Hah, she thought sarcastically, this wasn't even a date.
She swallowed and when she blinked…only one image appeared.
Raven hair, the slow smile of an angel, the steady, strong enclosing arms holding her firmly in place, soothing her, caressing her.
The glossy hills in her eyes appeared once more and for just that second, she thought that the figure before her was conjured out of her mind, a watery mirage, once touched, that would lose shape.
He was silent, rain drops falling from his hair in shiny, glassy droplets.
They continued walking towards each other and paused as they stood a foot apart.
She touched his jacket and in that brief second when she met his eyes, he grabbed her hand and hauled her into his arms. He was there, he was real, no dream, no illusion once touched that would melt.
There was an eerie silence; no cars could be spotted for miles.
"I'm sorry, Hitomi," he whispered softly.
A half-laugh and half-cry choked her voice, "The apology is misplaced. It's my fault." She wrapped her hands around his waist, absorbing his heat, trying to share the solid, unyielding strength that he emanated.
"I should've stopped you." His eyes darkened, "Better yet, I should've killed Amano."
She chuckled slightly, "Both of those are wrong thoughts."
"Of-course, they are," a tentative smile pulled his lips, "I should kill Amano now."
"You will do no such thing."
Oh yes, some distant corner in her mind screamed that she was crazy to be standing here in Van's arms when the world was shadowed in a curtain of gray gloom.
But nothing could be as crazy as this…
…pulling away, he caressed the water out of her face, his eyes so soft, so meaningful that they shone like a dark red-velvet, and his fingertips were like beams of melted, hot malleable gold around her eyebrows, a whisper of a promise across her lips.
All the jaded judgment in his eyes, the cynical curl of his lips—disappeared.
He kissed her.
The world could've crashed, been shredded into tiny atomic particles; the ground could've sunk, the skies could've grazed the seas, the volcanoes could've erupted hot lava…
…but still, she would've never released him.
She was like the a spring flower twisting, aching for the sacred sunlight that so rarely breached the dullness of winter, a fish on land, grasping the bits of oxygen from the puddle.
She ached from his tenderness, his lips so attentively blossoming over hers, so persistent in its courting that she would've stumbled if he hadn't held her molded to his own body with an arm across her back. She tasted like sunshine, sweet and warm; an oasis to a man who'd only lived through frigid winters.
Van Fanel had kissed many girls and many times but nothing ever was like this.
She was selfless in her giving, letting her palms travel across his neck, to his cheekbones, tangling her fingers in his locks, massaging his scalp, making no demands.
And it was that very statement, or lack thereof, that drove him wild. He wanted to make her moan in delight, shriek, touch her where nobody had ever dared, take her to a place so high that he'd never want to come back.
He kissed her jaw, gliding over to her cheek, flicking his tongue at her ear, sending an electric thrill. "I'd wanted to do that ever since I touched you in the closet."
"You said," she hissed with surprise as he pressed a kiss on her neck, "I wasn't your type."
"I was right," he breathed raggedly, "you're not." His lips trailed feathery soft across her neck slowly, leisurely, his touch venerating. "That's why I can't damn well get enough of you."
The rain gentled as if sweeping across the world with careful strokes of an artist's brush, a splatter here, and a streak there until the portrait resembled a collage of fallen, liquid stars that kissed mortals.
OOO
December 24th
Some part of her pondered that God had been too kind to her. She wasn't used to this kind of happiness, this general joy for being just alive, for being able to see his face, and that certain odd smile and the bewitching image of eyes—a heated volcano—right before he kissed her.
No doubt, if he'd kissed her like that before her original date with Amano, she wouldn't have ever considered going out with the former.
That very kiss, it wasn't a purely physical act. It was his lips that didn't speak, but showed, ever so carefully, until she'd turn into cinders, just what he felt. But…
…a thought still nagged her. There were times when he'd touched her lips with such a violent need that it had shaken her, that he'd fought to control himself. She just wasn't sure how much Van Fanel controlled himself and was oddly curious to what would occur if that control snapped.
Christmas cheer trailed everywhere she went and the radio shelled out the lilting notes of "Silent Night" while her mother hummed and cooked.
Her bags were packed, with changes of clothes for tonight and tomorrow. It had taken a considerable amount of time to convince her mother to spend the Christmas over at Celena's house. She snorted; Mom dearest would probably need an analytical, FBI profile check on Celena before she'd allow her daughter to spend time with her. Apparently, the fact that Celena was the Student Body President and the Valedictorian somehow aided in coating a much deserved shiny, untarnished reputation for her friend.
Her mother pursed her lips as she turned around to watch her daughter, "You know, I still wish you weren't going."
"I know," she rolled her eyes and groaned. "But it's only for a couple of days…and Celena and I have so many plans." She begged, "Please, Mom? Smile or I'll stay."
A reluctant smile tilted her lips, "Alright," she hugged her daughter, "give me a call once you get there."
"Yeah, sure." There was a honk and Hitomi squealed, "It's her! I gotta run!"
"Take care."
"'Kay, love you, bye Mom!"
OOO
"How are things with Van?" Celena asked good-naturedly.
"Couldn't have been better," she had a secret smile that Celena could relate to, "You sure you don't mind dropping at Van's for a few minutes?"
"I don't." She laughed, checking her side-view mirrors as she switched into the left lane, "But, if Van found out I denied you a ride to his house, that boy would remember it till his dying day and not forgive me." She looked at her green-eyed friend for a moment, almost seriously, "He's got a nasty habit on holding onto grudges."
"As in how?"
"Well," she bit a smile, her eyes softening ever so slightly as she mentioned her boyfriend's nickname, "Dilan hasn't been forgiven for spiking Van's drink when they were eleven during his mother's Garden Club meeting."
Hitomi laughed, "Well, was it that bad?"
"Eh," she winked, "Did I mention the proportion of the alcohol to the drink was three to one?"
"Van didn't do something stupid, did he?"
She snorted, "I think that was my introduction to being exposed to questionable material that my mother had hoped to blind and deafen me from until I was safely married."
"What was it?" she asked incredulously.
"The most disgusting version of 'Mary Had A Little Lamb,' though," she giggled, "out of the poor boy's mouth, it sounded like 'Mary Had A Little Womb.'"
They were still shaking in laughter as they stumbled onto his doorstep. Hitomi dutifully rang the bell and waited for the footsteps. The house was devoid of any decorations; no holiday cheer lingered in its stern, barren beauty.
The humor melted from her lips as she faced the hardened face of Van Fanel. He was cool, and indifferent, no traces of even a slight smile, his face seeming to be pinched. "Oh…hi, Van. Your dad not around? We didn't see his car."
He smiled icily, "My dad works very hard, you should know that by now." He leaned across his door, "He's attending to an urgent case. Won't be back until a couple of days later."
"No way!" Hitomi said in outrage as Van lead them inside.
He shrugged, "It doesn't matter."
"So, you're alone?" Celena asked with worried curiosity.
"Quit looking at me as if I'm an alien!" He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants, "This isn't the first time I'm spending it alone."
"It's not 'it'! This is Christmas! I'm not going to leave you by yourself," Hitomi said defiantly. She wrapped her hands around her chest, "It's just not right."
"Hitomi could always stay," the words came slowly, reflectively from Celena's lips.
"Absolutely not!" Van dismissed the idea immediately. Did Celena know the danger—two days and one night with Hitomi. It was unthinkable!
Very much thinkable, his sarcastic mind said gleefully. Hitomi raised her voice innocently daring Van to object, "I think I will."
He apparently did.
The girl had surely lost her mind, Van was certain. "You're crazy!"
"Oh come on, guys! Dilly and I've spent days together!" Celena cut the tension as the couple frowned at each other.
"Uh-huh," he rolled his eyes, "school trips don't count. I mean," he made a helpless gesture, "You had different bedrooms!"
Her lips parted and she said sassily, "And who said Hitomi would share your bedroom?"
In all this, a laugh was building in Hitomi's throat. "Van," she chided, "you worry too much."
"Hmm, so is it clear?" Celena asked alertly.
"Yes, but we have think of how to manage your parents and mine."
Van looked at the two scheming girls and this desire to bang his head on the wall came so fiercely that he reminisced the days of kindergarten where boys would hit their heads to have their own way.
"Well, we can always try something a bit…daring," Celena winked wickedly.
"What?"
"You call your mom, tell her you're at my place—and I'll tell my dad you came with the flu?"
"Perfect, Celena! Just brilliant!" Van mouthed darkly. "And what will you say when they meet each other sometime…and eh, Hitomi's mom thanks him for accommodating her into your home?"
"Well," Celena chewed on her lips, "There's not a great probability of that." Looking at Van, she knew he was adamant and didn't believe her.
"You could always tell the truth," Hitomi added with an edge of nervousness.
There was a silence. Ahh, the dangers of silence Van knew about…it was in silence that your world changed; silence was the trumpet of Fate that humans had become deaf to.
Celena breathed deeply, "So, I got it. 'Tomi, you tell your mom you're staying at my place and you've reached etc. My dad's pretty cool about all this: I'll tell him you're at Van's keeping him company for Christmas and not to tell your mom that you weren't with us…with a guarantee," she glared at Van, "that nothing horrible happens to Hitomi."
Van scowled, growling with outrage, and yet with—offense, perhaps? "I would never hurt her!"
"I never said you would," Celena rolled her eyes and gave Hitomi a sideways stare, "That's why my brother Allen never feels guilty he's not there. There's always Van for a good equivalent of a sibling fight."
"So it's settled?" Hitomi arched a brow at the dark haired figure. Not waiting for an answer, Hitomi gave Celena a hug, "Thanks a lot, I can never make it up to you. And loads of thanks to your dad too!"
"Yeah, no problem girl," Celena grinned, "Though I'm sure my poor dad will need some bribery before he can smile about this subject. Hmm, a certain enticement pertaining to cooking should seal the deal."
They laughed and soon, Celena grabbed her jacket and headed outside.
Hitomi went as well, and grabbed her bag as she waved at Celena.
"Come on, Van," Hitomi called cheerfully, "We've got to make this place look alive!"
"What?"
"We're going to decorate!"
OOO
If he saw another piece of red and green construction paper, he would very seriously—kill himself.
The change was dramatic, outstanding, and more of a workout than he'd ever get at a gym. A decorated tree graced the living room where the fire crackled and cheered cozily. He'd spent a good hour cutting the eight-foot thing from his backyard and dragging it into the room. They'd spent the whole day in the house, cleaning (he gagged), rummaging through the attic for lights and the rest—making paper decorations. There was a wreath on the front door, lights circling the tall columns outside, and inside—the place was lit, ready for a ball.
But evening had fell, and finally the vision in their head had also fallen into place. She had appeared downstairs, wearing white flannel PJs, looking like a contented kitten, with a vague smile on her face. His eyebrows flew in a teasing smile. "Virginal Mary, aren't you?"
She threw a couch cushion at him but he ducked. "Yes, you look like St. Nick yourself."
Going somewhere in the kitchen with a laugh, he brought back two mugs of hot chocolate and handed her one.
"Mmm, nice," Hitomi sipped gratefully and rested on the couch beside the fireplace.
He sat beside her, his look reflective and she silently admired his profile, the features that had a certain air she could never quite explain the quality of. "I sometimes wonder…where do you think we'll be next year now?"
"Together," Hitomi said decidedly. "Just because we're going to different colleges doesn't mean we can't meet for Christmas."
He looked at her without saying a word and as she leaned into him, he tucked his head over hers and gently patted her. "Hitomi?"
"Yes?"
The moment she looked up facing him, he bent down doing what he'd wanted to all day, every moment. He caught her lips with his own. Groaning, his hand stroked her neck, another massaged her hair.
She met his passion with her wandering hands meandering over his chest, his back. She gasped in shock yet hissing with pleasure.
His palms had cradled her breast, a thumb running over the soft fabric of her shirt. "Van." She heaved, her eyes a melting emerald that stared into his abysmal pools.
"I-I'm sorry," he spoke hoarsely. "I told Celena…"
She stopped the words in her throat. "What?"
He stood up, anger shaking his form, "I'm sorry Hitomi. I shouldn't have don—"
"Wait!" she grasped his arm and halted him. Her eyes captivated him, holding him, and slowly, she whispered, a breath of warm, humid air, "Tell me."
"Tell you what?" He backed away from her. "That every goddamn time I'm near you, I want to kiss you, touch you, be inside you? It's like I don't have control over myself anymore!"
Her face was very still, her voice was a caress like the wind brushing over a field of heather, "Have you ever been inside anyone, Van?"
"No."
She was shocked; there was no denying it. This cool, you-mess-with-me-I'll-kick-your-ass type of guy was a…virgin? But the truth was in his voice, the heated manner in which he gazed at her, in his inability to lie to her eyes.
"Van?" her voice was soft, weaved into a spell of this delicious world where only the two existed.
He forced himself to look at her, the light shining directly down, making her look startlingly like the damning angel that he'd always thought of her as.
"I trust you. Only you." A smile flirted on her lips, her eyes glittering. She took hold of the criminal hand that had so intimately touched her, tanned, and long-fingered, brushed a kiss upon its knuckles, and held it to the breast he'd so yearningly touched. "I'm yours."
"What're you saying?" he shook.
She smiled, "That I want to give you a gift—and get one in return."
He swore so swiftly and grabbed her so roughly that her breath had been squeezed out of her for a second. "What the hell are you doing, you little fool," the words were tortured; yet sweetly endearing.
"I'm offering you my virginity."
"You told me to remind you that your mind has probably degenerated for you to be making such a crazy proposal!"
She laughed, sighing in content, "My mind has never been sharper, Van Fanel!"
"Sure," he drawled in a voice that was achingly sarcastic, "and label me as the bad wolf the next morning."
She frowned and pulled away from him, "I swear, Fanel, I don't think you want me,"
At that, he laughed so sharply and his lips descended on hers fiercely, "Want you? I never wanted you," her eyes widened, "I need you." She gasped.
Slowly, he eased the coils of her braids until her hair flowed down to her back, his lips lingering on her neck, his fingers working on the front buttons, brushing, scalding, delicate skin…
OOO
January 1st
A sobbing voice, barely decipherable asked through the receiver, "Van?"
"Lia?" he jumped off of his bed, his body straightening, "What's wrong?" Damn his weakness, damn him for caring!
"V-Van, I can't take it anymore, I just can't!" Her voice was muffled, and he could imagine her: tall brunette, skinny as a rail, with dark eyes that seemed to be suffering all the time.
"Hold on, hold on! Don't you dare do anything drastic!" he stumbled in his room, reaching for the switch to turn on the light.
She gulped, "I miss you. You always made it," she sniffed, "somehow better."
He closed his eyes tightly and said through grit teeth, "Look Lia, I care for you as a friend—see, I'm finally happy with what I have—and you don't need me, you need help." Damn, he sounded so unsure even to himself.
"Damn you! Just say it to my face that you don't care!"
"Fuck this, Lia! How does it make it any better when you go slashing your wrists? Damnit, you're hurting yourself!"
Her voice was sing-song, a desperate croon, "I need you, Van. Make me stop, Van. Please, make me stop this!"
"What do you want from me?" he asked raggedly. "What can I do to make it better?"
"I promise I'll stop! Just come back. " Her voice was a desperate plea of a person on the brink of death voicing its last wish, "Come back to me, Van."
"Lia, where are you?"
"So much blood, Van…too much blood."
She had hung up.
"Shit!" the curse exploded on his lips when he realized what had happened.
OOO
January 6th
"You all right?" he asked gently, yet he seemed strained, a mere line for a smile. She had been taken into the hospital for 24 hour observation after he'd hurriedly banged on her door and alerted her mother to find Lia on the bed with blood surrounding her.
"Yeah," she leaned into an embrace. "I've missed you so much, Van." He tensed, holding her carefully, and yet with this closeness only grew this detachment, this quarantined feeling that kept spreading. She pouted prettily, "Won't you kiss me?"
He hesitated for a moment, watching her delicate face, the dark eyes that looked ravenous for affection. He brushed his lips over her forehead. "Take care, Lia."
Vaguely, he heard her adieu.
She still hadn't returned. Hitomi.
Her family had whisked her away to a myriad of aunt and uncle's places and she had barely contacted him.
She was to attend school any day, any moment.
A fire blazed through him, missing her laughter, her sight, her smell, her warmth…her skin. A sudden shiver ran through him, and as he turned around…
There she was.
Her mouth was slightly agape as when one tried to form words that were silent, her eyes huge, unblinking. He realized that he was alone and Lia had left for her class.
The warning bell rung.
A wind howled, abrasive in its force, making the naked trees shudder.
He walked towards her, a hand in his pocket, his deep eyes set only on her.
"Hitomi."
"Van," her lips quivered.
"I—"
"No! Don't!" She silenced him with her fingertips on his lips, then hastily recovered them, as if being burned, "You," her eyes shone so brilliantly like green fire that they could've been blinding, "you could've waited to tell me! You could've waited for a few days, Van!" Her eyes, they weren't accusing, they weren't even pleading…they were disappointed, the anger that came from hurt.
"What you heard was wrong!" He already knew of the rumors.
Her eyes challenged, "So, you're not dating her?"
"I, yes, I am—but it's different." The doctors had suggested that his positive influence on Lia was good, and perhaps with a good amount of time, she would release the depression and eventually give up cutting herself.
Her chest heaved, and he remembered her, the skin he had caressed, "Is it any different when you kiss her, make her laugh, walk her to class—touch her—from me? Maybe I wasn't good enough." Her voice was rife with pain, "I-I," she shook as if she were a fragile branch trying to fight away the ripping wind, "I thought you were someone else, Van." The look that she gave him was piercing, poignant with its sting. It had taken all the control she had possessed to not let a tear slip from her eyes as Milan revealed the gruesome details of Van kissing and making out with Lia, and the fact that Van had charged into a girl's bathroom—bold as you please—scaring away the other girl that had been in there—who swore he grabbed Lia into his arms, and nothing more had to be said to be assumed.
It was as if he had frozen to the spot, rooted. He was exhausted, and the moment seemed too surreal to be true, like a vague nightmare whose darkness would be extinguished once he awoke into the light—a nightmare he had no control over.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice coming out like a croak.
There was a saccharine smile on her face. He wanted to press a kiss onto so hard until she broke into a genuine one. "Everyone's decided to nominate you as the Prince Charming for superlatives." Her smile wobbled, and the next statement cut deep into him like a wound, "I was never a princess, yours or anyone's," she blinked away her tears rapidly and how he desired to steal her into his embrace and brush them away with kisses. She slumped as if tired, "Thank-you for being a friend." He was dumbstruck, couldn't say a word. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, "And don't worry," she met his eyes one last time—which he didn't realize at the time—and spoke brokenly as one would on the verge of tears, "I'm not pregnant."
Turning on her heels, she ran. And what could he do? Tell her he'd never cared for anyone so, that even if he dated Lia, it was she he thought of, that it was she who haunted him? She'd despise him, fight him away, his no-nonsense Hitomi would never believe such thoughts; she was too jaded to see the truth that came with a sparkle. Her kind of truth was dark; she would never believe him.
But he would always remember her; the small frame, the soft body, the cynicism, the self-depreciative humor, the kindness…
Soft, white dots besieged the air, waltzing in the wind; snow fell with passion to eventually cover the land in a virginal state of purity. Yet the lone figure of the boy-man stood there for a very long time in defiance to the light before him.
The tardy bell was shrill in its cry.
It was too late.
A/N: Another promised update.
All of you are obligated to pray/wish me luck for my midterms. :P I hope to make all As this year…and it's been going pretty well; last marking period: straight As in four AP classes. It's sort of a challenge for me, to do well in school and write. If I can't do great then I quit writing for a while…and (wink) you probably don't want that.
CONTINUE ONLY IF YOU WANT TO READ A RANT!
Ugh, I've gone into the full-blown teenage mood; arguments with mom. Is it the curse of approaching sixteen? --;; We had a huge argument couple of days ago, afterward I apologized to her, promised her that I'd do everything to make her happy, anything she wanted. But the problem is me, not her. I'm going through a" detoxification" process, eliminating all the negative thoughts, the dirt out of my soul. Hah!, my mother says she misses my sweetness; right, when I was sweet (ages ago), people would stomp all over me and I had that damningly bubbly nature that would forgive and forget. But is my mother aware of that? No, of-course not. As far she knew, her daughter was self-assured, confident, angelic, could face anything. I'm the ungrateful sort (seriously, all the latent, physical, family flaws/mutations are concentrated and apparent in me), too pessimistic most times when it concerns myself, insecure—quite different from what she thought I was…but now it's dripping into my conversations with her, becoming more and more transparent.
I don't know; you know it's scary, you think you know yourself and then one day you wake up to a totally different person who's a stranger? That's what happened. I used to shrug, laugh away the criticism and all along my mother thought I was never hurt, was always unfazed, so she'd never have to protect me, never re-assure me that I was alright, I was okay. I was sensitive, always; the sort to get hurt by the most inconsequential things, like the fact that not a single picture of mine sits on my mother's dresser, except one of my three older brothers in her arms—which I don't blame 'coz I wasn't born then. But all of this, it was building, slowly growing within me and I morphed into someone I'd only dreaded of becoming and I started despising myself.
Become understanding, people think it's okay to hurt you, become realistic, and people stay away from you. These days have been broody, just a critical, analysis of my life; and one realization that my brother was so kind to point out has left me staggering.
Gosh, I have to pull myself together…
On another note, as for my innocence, Spirit0; you judge it. I've never had anyone kiss my lips not even on my cheeks, I've never been to a teenagerish party, never gotten drunk (or will), never even seen anyone drunk in real life. I don't even let un-related guys hug me! My brothers don't date, won't ever date; same here. All my "experience" or rather, theoretical knowledge, is derived from romance novels, from conversations with friends who have been kissed and some not, from my imagination…and of-course, from other peoples and my dreams.
Horribly sorry for the rant…but I had to let it out. Damn, I'm weak. --;;
…review?
Please?