1Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation, no siree Bob.
Shatter CH 3. Eiri POV.
"Tristesse." It was a deep, gravelly voice, highly undistinguished. It could have belonged to any man in Paris. But she knew the way he said her name. She knew it was him. Jean-Claude. She did not greet him, she did not look at him. "I have so longed to see you."
She did not want to remember him. But remember she did. No matter how hard she tried, she could not forget the few short hours in that dark room, where he was hers and she was his, and they pretended they were in love. But he did not have to know that.
"I don't remember you," she told him coolly. She was skilled in this practice of hers, lying to men. With just the right purse of her lips, the right flutter of her eyelashes, she could make them believe they never meant anything to her. And she'd become so good at it, she could make herself believe it too.
Any other man would have been fooled.
Any other man but Jean-Claude.
She sat in silence, waiting to feel the presence behind her vanish. It did not. "Yes, you do, Tristesse. I know you do."
She felt herself flinch. Why was he so persistent? Anyone else would've given up by now. Was it possible that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him? It wasn't, was it?
"I do not want to remember you," she said, standing up and smoothing her skirt with her hands. She walked away from the bistro, leaving Jean-Claude, her mocha cappuccino, and her heart behind.
-
I lean back in my chair, reading over what I've just written, checking for spelling errors and overall crappiness.
No mistakes, but boy, is it crappy.
Maybe I'm just not cut out for this whole novelist thing. I never was. Those eight top-ten bestsellers, those were just flukes.
I mean, really. They sucked.
Having been hit with the major realization that I am not, in fact, as I've always believed myself to be, a passable novelist, I feel a severe headache coming on.
Rubbing my temples with two fingers each, I stand up and drag myself to the kitchen for some Aspirin.
As I'm washing the extra-strength pills (you need them when you live with Shuichi) down with some beer, my eyes drift to the hyperactive neon green of the microwave clock. 1:12 AM, it reads.
Shuichi said he'd be home by eleven.
-
"Hello?" I'm greeted by a tired and extremely grumpy Nakano.
It's not like I want to talk to him either. He can at least humor me.
"Have you seen Shuichi?" I ask, straight to the point. No need to waste more time talking to idiots than I already do.
"No...isn't he home with you?" Even through his yawn, I can tell that Nakano is concerned. And angry.
I also have a strange feeling he's not wearing pants.
"No. He went to a meeting with some new producer. Weren't you there?" God. Obviously, if he was home with me, I wouldn't have phoned.
"I...no...meeting? We don't have any meetings scheduled until...uh...not today." He yawns again.
What the hell? He is a member of Shuichi's stupid band, isn't he? Wouldn't he know about this?
Unless...
Unless Shuichi lied to me.
But he wouldn't do that, would he?
No. No, he wouldn't.
I think.
"Okay," I say, my forehead throbbing already. God. "Tell me if you see him. And put some pants on, Nakano."
I hang up.
I need some more Aspirin, and a lot more beer.
-
I'm woken from a pleasant, heavily-medicated slumber by the electronic shriek of my phone.
I roll over to face my alarm clock. 4:32 AM. If this is a telemarketer, so help me–
"Hey. I've found Shuichi."
-
Nakano Hiroshi is absolutely horrific at giving directions. After about an hour of confused, aimless driving, I encounter a sign that informs me that I'll soon be leaving Tokyo.
Well then.
I head to the nearest gas station, and pick up some cigarettes and a box of strawberry Pocky. I don't even think about buying it anymore, just like you don't have to think about tying your shoes, or using toilet paper. You just do it.
I also ask for directions, something I hate doing, but I'm tired and desperate. The straggly-bearded guy behind the counter is actually helpful, and I learn that Nakano's house is actually only about ten minutes away from mine.
I am going to strangle him.
-
Shuichi looks like he just got run over.
Except that he's not bleeding, or injured in any way.
But I can tell by the way he's jutting out his bottom lip, the way he's furrowing his eyebrows, the way his cheeks are still wet from crying, that he's downright miserable.
Lying in the fetal position on Nakano's couch, curled up so tiny and helpless under the blanket he's clutching so desperately, he looks so small that I'm scared the sofa might swallow him if I look away.
"He doesn't want to see you," Nakano says, his voice low, I guess so he that he won't wake Shuichi. "I told him you called and he completely freaked out, started screaming about how he could never see you again." He yawns. Again. "Just go home."
"Only if I can take him with me," I say, pulling out and lighting my fourth cigarette this hour.
"No," he says harshly. It's hard to look intimidating in flannel pajama bottoms, but he's pulling it off. "Let me talk to him first. I think most of all," –another yawn– "he needs time alone. Away from you."
No. This can't be right. Shuichi always wants to be with me. Always.
He's told me so many times before.
Shuichi hates to be alone.
I look down at the broken, sleeping boy on the couch, just to make sure he hasn't disappeared completely. I silently pray to whatever deity there may be in this world that his eyelids will flutter open, he'll throw himself into my arms, and we'll go back home right now, fall asleep, and forget this whole thing.
He doesn't. And I'm still standing in the middle of Nakano's stupid living room, chewing my cigarette, too tired to argue.
Without another word, I walk out to my car. As I strap myself in, I notice a bright pink box of candy that somehow found its way onto my passenger seat.
I throw it out the window.
-
A/N: You know, for my Eiri narrative, I study my science teacher. He reminds me so much of Eiri. Is that weird? -nervous laugh- He gives me lots of great ideas though, for the violent, sarcastic kinds of things Eiri would say.
Bethy-mew! Thank youuuu so very much for reviewing! I'm so glad you're enjoying The Shatter. -flings hearts at you-
As for everyone else, I really hope you'll take the half a minute or so it takes to review. I'd really like to know what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong, ways I can make this story better, stuff like that! I'd love some constructive criticism! Of course, a little ego-stroking isn't bad either. ;D
Thanks so much for reading! Till next time, Shu-chan :D