Sorry I haven't updated! I had a play at the school and the last three or four weeks have been HELL! Ugh, I am so tired of acting right now it's not even funny! And just now my computer decides to be a butt, so I have to use Word to upload instead of converting the stupid page to HTML! pulls out hair
Anyway.
Tenika Dargan – Thanks! And I know what you mean; I'm one of those people!
don't know - That is a wonderful idea and I never thought of it…go figure, ne? Thanks!
ssjmystic2000 – Eep! Sorry, here's your update, even though it's quite a bit later than intended…
Thanks for reading, everyone!
Two months later, I got up at six-thirty instead of seven after a night of almost no sleep. I was so excited I almost didn't brush my incredibly long hair. I ran out of the temple and to the barn, surprising 2K and Tomahawk, but they whinnied anyway.
"Shush!" I giggled, leading Tomahawk out of his stall and tying him up in the aisle. I brushed him quickly, then brought my saddle out of the tack room. He whickered at it and began prancing. "Hold still," I scolded with a huge smile, putting on the blanket before the black western gaming saddle. I tightened his cinch, then climbed on. With a soft, irritated groan, I slid off to lower my stirrups. After that, I put on his bridle and led him outside to an outdoor arena. I tightened his cinch again, then had to jump onto him, for he tried to run off. "No."
He reared, and I leaned forward, standing in my stirrups.
"Tomahawk!" I slapped his neck when he landed, then forced him to walk and trot in figure eights for five minutes. He was angry, chomping his bit and tossing his head the entire time. Finally, I stopped him, kissed loudly, and leaned forward.
He hopped slightly, then took off so hard I almost got whiplash.
This was what I'd been missing.
Tomahawk was an ex-racehorse, and his speed...by everything holy, he was faster than any horse I'd ever seen, besides the racing thoroughbreds - even though all my friends knew he could give them a run for their money.
I tied his reins around the saddle horn and held my arms out straight as the almost-pony ran like hell was on his heels. I clicked to him, and he went faster. I let a moment pass, then clicked again. He went faster. I paused, then clicked. It was like changing gears - he went faster. I let it go at that; the last thing I needed was for him to founder. After a minute of the extreme sprint, I felt him slow slightly to a still-mad dash. I closed my eyes, keeping my arms out to practice my balance. I slid my feet out of my stirrups, gripping tightly with my knees and thighs. This...is heaven.
This was what I lived for; this heart-pounding exhilaration, breath-ripping freedom.
We ran for a long time. I eventually put my feet into my stirrups and untied my reins. Mom had often said and I'd noticed that, once given the opportunity, he'd never stop running. He was sweating, foaming at the mouth, and heaving for breath, but still he fought me when I tried to make him stop. He slammed his dished head from side to side, lunged forward, and shot left to right in protest. His bit was harsh, however, and I eventually had him settled into his beautiful prancing gait. He arched his neck, chomped his bit, and flagged his tail as he delicately pranced along, waiting to be let go again. I had no such intention, however, and let him prance himself out. When he gave up, he slid into a walk, and I walked him back to the barn.
After I'd untacked him, I was turning on the hose when a familiar voice assailed me. "He's amazing."
"I know," I said quietly, turning on the water. "Easy," I told him as I splashed water on Tomahawk's ankles. He snorted, stepping away from the water and beginning to dance. I sighed.
"Does he always run like that?"
"Whenever I let him. I've never had such a large place to run him before, so that's certainly the longest we've ever ran so fast." As I talked, I walked, chasing the tied gelding as my patience would allow.
"You weren't holding on."
"No. I don't like to."
"He was rearing before."
"I trust him."
"You don't trust the boys." I paused, looking over at Shizuru, who was leaning cigarette-less against a stall door. Her brown eyes watched me calmly, curiously. My breath hitched, and I went back to rinsing off Tomahawk. I was about to say something when she beat me to it. "Why?"
"I don't...know anything about them. I don't know what they want to do with me, why I'm still here. They won't tell me who or what I am or if I'm anything at all. This is all like some weird dream that I never wake up from. If I didn't see them practice from time to time, I'd think all the crap I'm fed isn't real." I walked forward and squeegeed some water off of Tomahawk with my hand, standing on tip-toe to touch behind his ears. He was still hot. I lowered the hose to his legs and small chest.
"They probably don't know either."
"Genkai does. I know she does. Sometimes, when we train...she looks at me in a certain way. As if she's measuring my progress and comparing it to something. But..." my voice trailed off, and I didn't try to chase after it.
"But?"
Why did I feel like I could talk to Shizuru like this? I looked at her. She reminded me of someone, but who? My memory bank brought up and image of an older, dear friend of mine that had passed away only a year prior to our moving to Japan. My throat burned momentarily, the first hint of my crying, and I beat it away by accidentally spraying myself with the hose. "Never mind."
"Come on, Rebecca; tell me," she said lightly. It took me a second, but I started and stared at her in surprise. She smiled mischievously. "I took English for seven years."
I smiled. It had been so long since someone called me by my real name. My smile died. "It's like she's never satisfied. Whatever I'm supposed to be I'm not. I do what she tells me to do and do my best, but it never seems to be enough."
"You're good at reading people's body language, aren't you?"
"One of the best." She laughed. "It's true," I scolded lightly, turning off the hose and picking up a sweat scraper. I glanced at my watch. It was seven fifteen. "Crap," I muttered.
"Oh, yeah. I was supposed to tell you. We're all going into Tokyo today at nine. Genkai's got some meeting or another and refuses to leave us here alone."
The sweat scraper hit the ground, and I quickly picked it up. "I don't want to go."
"Nobody would recognize you."
"That's not why I care." My words were clipped, and I was getting a 'tone.' She didn't answer, and I continued to dry off Tomahawk. When I was slightly satisfied, I led him outside and tied him to his stall door so he could dry off in the sun. As I set about to cleaning his stall, Shizuru walked over to 2K and began petting her.
"She said you'd say that. She also said you're going. It's a part of your training. Obedience."
My grip on the pitchfork tightened, and I didn't reply. I always, always, always tried to get the last word in, so to show I wasn't beaten, but the words I wanted to say were to Genkai and not Shizuru. An ugly knot of anger made my stomach hurt, and my body was on auto-pilot as my mind screamed.
"Look, kid, it's no big deal. Just an hour or two," the beautician said, and I recognized the word 'kid' to be a type of reassurance.
I growled.
She waited around with me as I finished Tomahawk's stall, put more sawdust in, filled his water bucket, let 2K out, cleaned her stall, put more sawdust in, filled her water bucket, untied Tomahawk, fed them, and locked their stall doors. She walked with me back to temple, left me to sit on the couch as I stormed into the kitchen, wolfing down some breakfast.
I stalked up the stairs and resisted the urge to slam the door, locking it harshly instead. I threw my pillow across the room as hard as I could, and it landed perfectly in my closet. I threw some shirts, forced myself to calm down, and glanced at the clock. It was eight fifteen. I went into the bathroom. I washed my face and my bangs, then pulled on a pair of tight bell-bottom jeans that required either no underwear or a thong. I hated plumber's crack with a passion, so you won't have to guess which option I chose. Searching through my closet, I chose a pretty, form-fitting white top that said something about a 'paradise lounge' and had a picture of a coconut on it. I slapped on some deodorant, pulled on my purple-black Adidas tennis shoes, and went about putting on make-up for the first time in nearly nine months.
I chose my favorite blue eye shadow that would turn a beautiful electric purple after a couple of hours of wear. I put on some non-clumpy mascara that 'expanded and darkened' your lashes and black eyeliner along my bottom lids and was about to put on beige-cream concealer powder when I realized I was too dark for the color. I paused and blinked. Since when was I so tan? I leaned forward and 'huuumed' to myself, then shrugged and put on some 'strawberry-n-cream' lip gloss that looked beautiful but smelled and tasted like shit. I put on hoop earrings, then pulled the top layer of my hair back into a clip. I sniffed and shook my head, staring at myself in the mirror again. Going out in Tokyo dressed like this would be like a Japanese wearing a kimono on the streets of New York City. Like I care.
"Becca! We're leaving in five!" Yusuke yelled.
"Sure!" I called back, wrinkling my nose. I pulled out some perfume and squirted it on my neck. I inhaled deeply and allowed myself to close my eyes. This stuff was the best of the best. Thank goodness for Moonlight Path, I thought sarcastically. I sat on my bed and pouted until I got my final warning –
"Becca! Come on!" Kuwabara complained.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" I snapped, trotting to my door and fiddling with my bangs as I trotted down the stairs. I was cross-eyed trying to mess with them by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, but even with my attention diverted, I could feel them staring at me. And why not? Now they have a reason. I'd never dressed up or worn make-up around them; I looked very different.
Genkai, pretending to be unfazed by my appearance, handed us each the equivalent of forty American dollars in yen to spend if we so desired. Last minute news had told her we'd be in town for at least three hours. We headed towards the doors, and I balked an inch of stepping through them. I went into the Ningenkai everyday to take care of the horses, but today it felt different. I didn't want to go. I wasn't going through them to take care of the horses - I was going through them to go to the city. Hell no!
Yusuke, behind me, hadn't expected me to stop and ran into me, forcing me forward.
"Sorry," he said lightly, returning to his conversation with Kuwabara.
Every step I took I was fighting. I fought with myself, let my conscious attack its sides, while my doe-like eyes returned to normal and hardened. I was still fighting my inner battle when I heard the city noise. I scowled vehemently and would've turned around if Shizuru hadn't chosen that moment to start talking to me.
It'll get better, I promise; this part of the story just drags a bit. Feedback is welcome. Thanks a bunch!