Chapter 7: Turning Saints into the Sea

I suppose I dozed off because the next time I woke up was about nine o'clock in the morning. The only thing bothering me was that I was in my pajamas and my make up was gone. Either Schuldich had come in and put me to bed, or I had done it with my mind while I was asleep, which wouldn't have been the first time. The first thing I thought of when I woke up was the Weiss member meeting me that day at stop 5… and I tingled all over. I would get ready as fast as I possibly could. So I took off my clothes and walked into the shower, running the hot water before getting in.

In the middle of shampooing my hair, Schuldich walked in, smiling broadly. "Where were you yesterday, Chibi?" he asked over the splash of the shower. I looked at him from behind the shower curtain and cautiously called back, "Exploring."

Really, I wanted to know whether or not he was reading my mind, becoming more paranoid about that matter as the silence between us began to settle in. If he found out, he would tell Crawford, and Crawdad could be as bad as my dad at times, especially when Weiss was involved. Trying as hard as I could to keep my mind off of Siberian and our date (that word makes me feel awkward because dating is a very light way of putting things), I rubbed the shampoo suds out of my brown hair, smoothing conditioner in to make my hair extra soft.

Finally, Schuldich said, "Well, that sounds fun! I'm sorry you had to see…Bradley and I… when we were-"

"STOP!" I yelled louder than I had meant to. Never again did I want to hear a single word about what had happened the night before. EVER. To my surprise, Schuldich started laughing and chuckled out, "Alright Chibi, I guess it was pretty bad. Doing anything today?"

My tongue swelled as I heard his question, and I quickly stopped my washing, the shower pelting the back of my neck and the water flowing down my body. Very slowly and cautiously I muttered, "I'm just going out to the island where they make the glass. That's all."

Schuldich giggled and sighed, "That sounds good. Farfarello is going to walk around a bit today to look for a good restaurant for dinner. Bradley and I are walking about St. Mark's Square. We'll meet at the hotel around seven and leave at eight to find the restaurant. It's going to be a late night, so don't make yourself sick with cigarettes. Alright?"

Happily, I agreed and he left me to dry myself. I had never worried about my appearance so much before than that morning in front of the mirror. I was too skinny, my skin was too fair, my hair was too stringy, and my butt was too flat. Slowly and painstakingly, I figured out how to look my best with mascara, eye shadow, lipstick, eyeliner, white powder, and hairspray. With all this makeup, the outfit I chose had to be perfect. That given, I finally decided on some black (and rather tight from the knee up) pants, a black-silk Chinese sleeves shirt under an unbuttoned black ¾ length sleeve shirt, and my usual jacket and boots. My attire ordered and my fags, pills and wallet stuck in my pockets, I looked at the clock and rushed out of the hotel, grabbing a single piece of toast for breakfast and dashing to Stop 5.

Before I got to the stop, I swallowed three pills to calm my nerves and quickly puffed through a cigarette, chewing and swallowing a piece of mint gum to cover the nicotine smell, which I'm sure a soccer player wouldn't appreciate. By the time I reached the stop, Siberian was already there and looking as if it were no big deal that he was meeting me. I had seen enough romance movies to know that he was playing it cool, but it still took my breath away how the wind caught his hair and sent it flitting this way and that as I very shyly walked over to him. I would have followed him anywhere he led me at that point, as long as he was there with me.

Then, as he looked up to see me about three meters away, walking to him, my eyes touched his and my knees almost buckled under my heart. I nearly stumbled the rest of the way as he straightened up and smiled, saying, "Good morning, Nagi."

I gulped and mumbled, "Good morning, Siberian." If that salutation was the same under different circumstances; oh, my imagination ran away so quickly. That was one of the five most nervous moments in my life, all of which have been around him. Under that Venetian summer sky, I knew nothing about what I was doing. Lucky for me, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Laughing, the handsome Weiss member said, "Go ahead and call me Ken, Siberian sounds evil." I smiled meekly and nodded, not uttering another word until I had to for fear of saying the wrong thing.

Together we got on the bus-boat and sat on one of the back-most seats. There were many other tourists on the boat, most of which were those stereotypical fat American tourists with cameras around their necks, unsightly shorts, and Hawaiian shirts, talking too loudly for comfort. Sad, but true, even though they weren't as bad as German tourists, and some American's weren't that bad, just most of them were.

As the boat bobbed up and down on the sea, passing other ships on the water, I felt so funny sitting there next to Ken Hikada. He was completely untouched by makeup or touch-ups, his body was what he constantly looked after, and he was wearing a nice thin sweater and long shorts with perfectly tied tennis shoes. Siberian was the complete opposite of what I was… and it puzzled me what he could see in me that was attractive. Whatever it was he saw, it made him circle his arm around my waist to place his hand on my hip, which made me feel secure on the choppy water, so it couldn't be that bad.

We got off on the right bank of the island, all paved and covered with glass shops and delis and towering buildings. A few large bridges connected the two banks, and past the main avenue of shops and stores were the tall houses of the locals. The famous glass was displayed in ever shop window, molded into countless shapes and crafts. The skill work was magnificent and unparalleled by anything I had ever seen before. Each glass piece seemed to have a little bit of the history of Venice expertly woven into its very structure. I had to stop and look in the windows of the shops we passed, because everything was so beautiful.

Some time during our walk down the main street, Siberian's large and strong hand touched mine gently, and I looked to my feet, embarrassed for blushing at such a small little touch. His fingers weaved through mine and squeezed my hand tightly, while my eyes strayed up to his face. Siberian was looking straight ahead, the sunlight reflecting off of the river and twinkling in his eyes. Slowly, I squeezed his hand back and we kept walking.

Along the way, we stopped in one of the larger glass shops. There were tiny figures of animals, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, candy figures, and dishes. Bright colors danced across the walls and on the filled shelves, the glass alive with the sunlight shining through the window. Everything looked too delicate to breathe on, and made me feel a bit uneasy. Luckily enough, I didn't need my hands. Siberian was talking in Italian with the shopkeeper; he seemed to be fluent in Italian, stumbling over only a few words, and laughing with the old man behind the counter. In front of me was a glass figure of a rose, in bright green and red. I reached out with my mind's hands and lifted the little figure up to rise in front of my face, my arms still gently at my side, but something had changed. The two other men in the shop had stopped talking and were looking at me. Slightly startled by the sudden silence I looked at them, the glass figure never moving from where I held it. The man behind the counter had his eyes wider than most dinner plates were, and Siberian was looking at me with some wonder I used to think was shock. Then, they both began laughing. Not directly at me but not with me, more about me. My cheeks turned a deeper red than I wanted, because it shouldn't bother me, but having every person I've ever met either glare at me or laugh at me, it bothered me coming from Ken… the brown-haired rival I had adored with every part of my body and mind, inside and out, and I was risking tons just being seen with him, let alone on a date.

Then, he just smiled at me and the man yelled something in Italian that made Siberian nod vigorously, saying, "Si, si Señore." I dumbly stared at him, not understanding what their private joke was. We quickly left after I set the rose back down and we continued walking along the stone path beside the waterway. Chuckling a bit, he said, "I bet you're wondering about in there, huh?"

Simply nodding, I averted my eyes from his gaze. It made me burn when our eyes met; so much so that my heart hurt. Talking with him was all right, but I found his lips much more fulfilling when they were on mine. So, I took to looking at our reflections in the river we were walking so close to. Still in that state of merriment, he chimed out, "We were just talking about little miracles, like the fine craftsmanship of the glass, and then we look over to you and we see you levitating the rose in mid air and he asked if you were my little miracle. So, I said yes."

As he finished talking I felt about twenty things at once, the most were guilt from thinking that he was making fun of me, and an unending appetite for his thoughtful words. I wanted a pill really badly but I didn't want to ruin this moment, so I just put the feeling on hold, and it seemed to go away as we kept exploring the little island and talking, stopping in a deli for a lunch of some small sandwiches. During that lunch we wandered away from the main street to wind through alleyways and reach a small square infested with pigeons that flocked away form us as we sat down on a bench.

There were ancient buildings covered with clotheslines, and even older trees sprouting up from the pavement and towering above us. The sunlight seemed lazier there, much unlike Japan, where it go lost behind the tall office buildings and cell phone-dominated atmosphere. Here was just history, a place frozen in time, which seemed to creep by slowly and gently, like the way Siberian's soft hand strayed from mine to my hip. On that bench, we just sat and ate, but eons of conversation seemed to pass between our silences. Three times I looked over at him to see his eyes fly from where they were watching me, the way a guardian angel would watch a small child; the way no one had watched me before.

Previously I said that the only friends I had were my drugs, but that wasn't exactly true. Schwarz was my family, and my friends. Schwarz was everything I had. Schuldich was my confidant and always used to look out for me, or at least what he knew about. No one could help me with my drug problems; and then there was Siberian, who was as good as a drug, if not better, and kept my urges away. It was such a nice feeling, to be rid of my dependency on those little pills, that I wanted him with me, around me, taking care of me, forever.

We finished lunch rather quickly and kept walking, but something in the back of my mind was worrying me. Something inside my mind. As we reached the waterway I knew what it was: Schuldich was standing beside my reflection in the water, staring at me in shock. He knew. He knew where I was and whom I was with and what I was anticipating and hoping for so much that day. Yet this startled me so much that I slipped on a puddle on the pavement and fell sideways into the water with all of my clothes and makeup on, and I could feel Siberian's hand jerk away from my body. However deep I fell into the water was hard to say because the next moment I felt someone dive in next to grab me by my small shoulders, pushing me up to the surface.

Groping against the slippery seaweed adorned wall to the main street, I gasped desperately for air, partially form nearly drowning (I have no idea how to swim) and mostly from wanting to yell to Schuldich my excuse for being with Siberian, but what good would it do? He would see through it now that he knew, and I felt like stuffing all of those pills into my mouth and just swallowing them all away… swallowing myself away. And what trouble was I getting Siberian into now? I had known this to be a bad idea from the beginning but once again I had proven myself to be that little brat Crawford was always reminding me that I was. Maybe if I hadn't kissed him then this would never have happened…

I felt a wet hand grip my shoulder, squelching water out from my shirt, and I looked back to see Siberian also hanging onto the wall, leaning his head against the edge of the street. He looked winded and shaken, but all right, and his hair stuck to his wet face, covering one eye entirely. Slightly worried, Siberian's warm brown eyes gazed me over, and he asked, "You alright Nagi-chan? I think maybe you should walk on the inside of the street more." Soon, he smiled brightly when I failed to answer, and we climbed out onto the sun-warmed pavement.

Most of the locals and some other tourists had climbed out to look at us, wondering what all the commotion was about and whispering to their friends about what had occurred. An old woman with a very strict maternal face came over and began yelling something in Italian at Siberian, never taking a breath. The way words just flew out of her mouth and how he winced as she scolded him was just as thought she had found his hands in the kitchen cookie jar before dinner. I sat on the ground, squeezing all the water I could out of my jacket and pants. All of my pills were there, but my cigs were ruined, and my lighter was missing.

As the woman continued to reprimand Siberian, a younger and more beautiful woman not much older than I was walked up holding a towel, catching the arm of her mama (as she called her) and saying a few things to her, then turning to Siberian and asking him a few things, which he of course answered as courteously as he could. There was something about the way she stood, with her hips leaned to one side towards him, the way she talked, in the thickest Italian accent I had ever heard, and the way she fluttered her eyelashes at him that made me want to crack her neck. I knew exactly what she was doing and how easy it was for a beautiful woman like her with soft olive skin and thick lush curls to take away Siberian from a dirty little punk like me… So, as she handed him the towel and tugged at his wrist gently, saying a few carefully pronounced sentences while playfully lifting an eyebrow, I stood up and swiftly disappeared down an alleyway about a quarter of a mile until I was thoroughly lost and just leaned against one wall, feeling alone.

It was stupid to give up so easily, but if he could be so easily swayed then I should be able to as well. If Siberian wanted a female Italian virgin then let him… if I wasn't good enough then I wasn't good enough. Never before had I been so incredibly jealous that I had taken it out on myself as the one who deserved the pain, but now I did. So I stood with my forehead and palms and whole body crumbling against the ancient wall as a puddle formed around my feet from my soggy clothes and even soggier disposition. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't crying, I just felt like a puddle was all. I knew I was being dramatic and stupid, but maybe just everything I had gone through just came out in that small moment of rejection. But even that didn't last for long as I felt another strong hand grip my trembling shoulder.

By now I knew Siberian's touch to the test, and his hand was always warm against my skin. All thoughts seemed to leave my mind as I turned around, with a feeling of triumph that I had won something over someone else (not to mention a gorgeous Italian girl).

"Hey, where'd you go off to?" he asked happily as I leaned back against the wall as I had done the last time we had met. Clearing my throat a bit I looked to the ground and muttered, "Just to see if… if there was any place to get something to dry off with… or something…"

Siberian chuckled a bit and ruffled my wet hair, little droplets spattering everywhere. It was different than how Schuldich or Farfarello did. Schuldich was always too messy when he ruffled my hair and Farfarello was really forceful; but Siberian (I'm always going to think of him as Siberian, I'm sure)… he was tender… so much so that it was more of a caress than a ruffle. Then he said, "You scared me when you fell in so suddenly. Are you always this jumpy?"

Only when I'm shoveling down pills and right next to the person I'm head over heels for. Instead of saying that, however, I blurted out something that my subconscious was screaming at the top of its lungs. "What do you feel around me?"

The brown eyes strained a bit, searching for something in the wall directly above me. I couldn't help but stare at him with unwavering anticipation of what he was going to say, until a minute passed and my eyes hit the ground. If he hadn't spoken up soon I would have had too. "Well," he said, still searching for how to word his next comment. Then a smile returned and I could feel his eyes gazing down at my trembling lips. "It's hard to explain… but the best way to put it would be that I feel lucky, and…nervous" (at this he blushed a little bit but I blushed more) "and I feel… well, I feel alive… and…"

This last comment made me look up, my cheeks burning the droplets of water off. He was looking down at me with another caring look on his face that seemed to warm my veins and under my skin. I was sure that my makeup was blotchy and runny, that my shirt was hanging off my shoulders, and that my shoes were retaining more water that most girls on their menstrual cycle do, but the way his warming and gentle brown eyes looked into my own, I could swear that I felt… wanted. Another blurt came out and I asked hopefully, "Love?"

Siberian bent down so that the sides of our noses caressed each other's, and that his lips ghosted over mine like a shadow of a dream. My whole body quaked from shivers of that feeling of pure ecstasy, though it was not a kiss, but it made my blood pulse ten times quicker through my body. Almost teasingly, Siberian breathed against my trembling lips, which were now trembling with a craving, "Yes, Love."

As the day before, his lips took mine, but today they were hungrier and my longing for him came out through my desperate lip caresses. His hands were gripping the small of my back to his chest, our wet shirts squishing against each other, and his legs pressed against the wall I was leaning on, parting my legs on either side of his. I thought I would melt into his body as I wrapped my arm around his neck, feeling the heat form his skin through my sopping sleeve. With my other hand, I couldn't help but place the very fingertips of my hands on his drop-covered cheek that moved with his mouth, closing my eyes after seeing him close his.

A few moments into the sweet kiss, I could feel his tongue lick against my lips, so I parted my lips like the naïve little virgin I was, with, sadly, no idea what he was doing, and felt his warm powerful tongue penetrate my mouth. Siberian's tongue in my own mouth, our bodies physically joined for the first time as our spit warped together as my own tongue responded; it made me think the most erotic thoughts I had ever thought before throughout my entire life. Passion overtook my mind, which was twisted with drugs and smoke and a gift as a curse, and I pulled him closer to me, my tongue traveling into his mouth and dancing against his. Deep in my soul, I wanted him.

Somehow, our dance slowed and our mouths parted again as we both panted from the heat poured onto our damp bodies. Siberian was looking at me in such a way that my hand instinctively traveled to the back of his neck, curling some of his wet hair about one of my fingers, and I whispered, "Touch me." This was all manifested from some feeling I still don't know all the renditions of that came from deep inside my soul, but that was what I wanted. I wanted him to touch me. On every single part of me I wanted his powerful and calloused hands to glide. My skin was calling out for his lips to travel the curves and dips of my skinny too-girly body.

Soon enough, his lips were against mine again, massaging back and forth against each other and warming the blood passing through to go pumping back to our hearts. One of Siberian's firm hands drifted under my shirt and rubbed my damp back, exploring every contour present, while its brother moved to the clasps of my shirt. Our lips blended and parted to have our tongues rub each other again as Siberian's smooth fingers undid the first fasten on my shirt. My fingertips moved from his gentle cheek to his chest, feeling the stiff muscles through the soaked t-shirt as the second fasten on my shirt was undone. My mind was a blur of every warm color I could think of, his face, and this entire scene, as if I could see it from outside my body. Our tongues returned to our mouths as Siberian began gently and innocently kissing me again, stopping after the fourth button of my shirt. The caress of his legs between my own made my stomach knot in such complicated lumps that it felt as if I had forgotten to take any drugs that day, or how I get when I stop smoking for a while, only this was better. This was delicious.

Schuldich had never told me about this, or Farfarello, or Crawford, but I knew it was in every person's life. Maybe not exactly to the extent I was feeling then, but that need to have someone paying such close and intimate attention to you was coded deep into every living organisms brain, mostly humans. By then, my soul was so shaken if I had loved Siberian any more I think it would've collapsed.

That was when his lips strayed from mine and kissed along my jaw and further, turning down, gently touching my neck. I couldn't stop myself from shuddering under his caress, and a soft, tiny moan came out of my throat and I leaned my head back against the ancient Italian wall. Deep inside my soul I could feel something longing for more of whatever he was doing to me. His soft wet hair sifted through my fingers as he began to suck on the skin at the bottom of my neck, issuing another lungful moan from my throat. Such a warm mouth lustfully sucking my throat, and such luscious feelings appearing in my shivering chest, and such a wonder as the breath from his nose swirling past my dripping hair would've driven a lesser telekinetic mad. Our bodies were so close and warm though we both were soaking wet, and his tongue licked my neck, touching every nerve that was connected to my heart. I panted against his ear, rubbing my legs against the back of his own, and I gripped him to keep from slipping to the ground in ecstasy.

Then I said the one thing I never thought I would've in my entire life in a situation like that. "St-stop," I moaned, biting my lip closed for silence. Then, louder, I said, "Please stop, Siberian… I think Schuldich knows."

He stopped immediately, and so did the feeling of absolute passion dripping from my every appendage. Why did I do it? Because I was worried, for his life and for mine, and making out is still very hard for me when I know something serious is going on. Brown eyes looked into mine very carefully and almost pleadingly. Then they turned dark and serious. "Schuldich knows? How?"

"I saw his reflection in the water," I admitted in shame, looking down where my feet would be if they were on the ground. "That's why I fell in… If he knows he'll tell Crawford and—"

I knew Siberian was talking from the way he was moving his mouth and looking determinedly at me, but it wasn't his voice I heard. From the depths of my mind, ringing in my ears, I heard Schuldich's German-accented smooth voice, and he said, No Chibi. Just go on. It's been a while since you've been happy, Nagi, and I want you happy. We can talk about it later… but don't worry about it now. And stop staring at him or he'll get self-conscious. And with that, his voice and presence disappeared completely from my mind. I closed my eyes as Ken finished what he was saying and repeated my name. "Not like this," I said and looked back into his eyes. "Never mind about Schwarz or Weiss or whatever for now… I just don't want it here, in an alleyway… with us soaking wet." What I really wanted was to pop about five pills in and swallow hard.

To my great astonishment, he smiled, and kissed my forehead tenderly. "You're certainly something, Naoe Nagi," he whispered as he held tighter to me in the alley. "You really are."