First off, I'm considering rewriting my last chapter, simply because I – like Mjolnir.G – felt it was too rushed, and I really don't think I properly showed the emotions like I wanted to. I'm confident that some parts were good, but others were definitely 'off' to me.
So, maybe once I'm done, I'll probably rewrite it, and replace the existing one with my new one. That's all.
Update: By the way, I almost FREAKED out. Okay, so I started this story in school a few days back, and today, when I was looking for my USB plug with the info saved on it, I couldn't find it. Luckily, I found it, but I was ready to cry.
For those of you who thought I was done, I'm not! I might have a chapter or two left, depending on how much I write at this moment. I'm still iffy about how to bring this story to a close, but I know how I'm finishing it. So … yeah!
Note: It's in Matt's POV, for those of you who are slow, and can't see the obvious.
Chapter 22
Much Needed Realization
'It's so cold. So … empty. Why does it feel so lonely? There's so much here, so much space taken up by objects, and yet there is … so much … nothingness. Why does it no longer feel crowded and cramped? Why does it feel like I have nothing at all anymore? Why do I feel like nothing?
'Am I always going to be this confused? Asking so many questions that have so few answers? Will my mind forever be stuck in this limbo, always wondering, never understanding?
'Why do I feel so numb?
'Why did she leave?
'Why did it hurt so much? Why does it hurt so much? Why won't it all just go away?
'I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Ever since I saw her … saw her smile, her eyes, heard her voice … touched her skin. Ever since those few seconds, minutes, hours, days, I have been so utterly confused. But why, why now? Why is it that my brain shuts down every time I see her? Why does my body go into overdrive every second I think about her? What is it about her that does this to me?
'I know the answer.
'At least, I like to think I do.
'I love her.
'And now she's gone.
'God damn it! Why did you have to leave me? Why did you spend the entire month making me smile, teaching me to love again, and then just get up and leave like it meant nothing to you? Did it mean anything at all to you? Or did you just use me for a good fuck? Was that why you never told me you were a virgin? Was that why you always wore such revealing clothes? Was that why you smiled at me like I was the only person you saw in a crowd?
'For fuck's sake, you confuse me.
'How can you act like it was nothing? Like it meant nothing to you? How could you not cry when I've cried oceans for you? How could you just walk away, without a second glance, and leave me here … alone? Do you even regret it? Do you even feel pain? Or are you just some siren … some succubus … using me and then leaving me for dead?
'I thought you loved me.
'You told me you loved me.
'But you didn't on that last day.
'You didn't even whisper it to me when you left. You didn't say it back when I confessed my feelings. You just stood there, smiling that bittersweet smile, and said goodbye. You didn't even say 'See you later;' you said 'goodbye'
'Does that mean you're never going to try and see me again? Does it mean that you really don't care – that you'll never care – and that you don't even want to see me again? Is that why you said goodbye?
'Are you afraid? Afraid like I was? Were you afraid that you could possibly love something in the world? Or did someone tell you that could never love?
'Did somebody hurt you once, a long time ago? Did they plant that seed of fear inside of you? Did they water the seed, let it bloom into hemlock, watch is poison your body and soul? Did they take the flower, crush it and stamp on it, and feed it to you? Did they hurt you, push you to the ground, and tell you that nobody could possibly ever love you? Did they hit you and curse at you?
'Is that why you're so afraid? Are you afraid that I will hurt you?
'Are you afraid that I won't love you?
'Or are you afraid that I do love you? But that I will love you the same way he did?
'Who is it? Who hurt you? Was it him; that stupid American jerk? Is that why you're so afraid of me? Is it because we look alike? Would you be afraid if Tai loved you? What if Izzy loved you? What if Jou still loved you? Would you be afraid of them? Or are you just scared because I look like him? Because I have blue eyes, I have blond hair, and I just remind you of him?
'I shouldn't.
'I'm not like him.
'I'm not Michael.
'And you should know that.
'It hurts to think that you believe I might hurt you. It tears my heart out. You hurt me, Mimi; you really cut me deep this time. Why did you have to use the sharpest knife in the drawer? Or did you actually use the bluntest blade? To be honest, I think that it was as blunt as a butter knife, and as rusty as ancient metal; it hurt too much for it to be sharp, sterile and precise. You cut out my heart, and took it with you.
'Do you think you'll ever say you're sorry?
'Or are you just going to bask in the glory of wounding a poor, defenseless soldier?
'I just wanted to love you. Is that too much to ask? I just wanted the opportunity to hold you in my arms, to tell you everything will be okay, to say that I love you. Is it really too much?
'Do you even understand what I'm trying to say? What I'm trying to tell you. What I want to tell you. Do you even know what I am telling you? Or will you just sit there, with that smile on your face, pretending that everything is all right? Are you always going to be able to pull off that 'look', the act of ignorance, or do you think that one day, you'll be able to admit to yourself that maybe some things aren't as they seem? That maybe you do have it in your heart to love someone, and that person you love won't dare hurt you?
'Of course not, that's impossible.
'You could never love someone like me.
'Isn't that why you left me?
'Isn't that why you only said 'goodbye'?
'Isn't that why you took back your words?
'Isn't that why it hurts so much to love you?
'Will you ever love me?
'I know that I will always love you.
'Please come back to me … show me your smile, show me your eyes, let me see inside of you, let me teach you, touch you, hold you, and love you. Let me show you the light in the world that I once thought was nonexistent. Let me teach you what I was taught. Let me show you how to love, just like how my friends taught me to love. Just like how you taught me to love.
'Please, Mimi.
'Come back to me.
'Make me whole again.
'Put my heart back where it belongs.
'Or at least seal the wound so it doesn't bleed anymore.
'Mimi, I love you.
'Don't you understand?
'You're my second half, my soul mate …'
'I can't live without you, Mimi.
'Please, tell me you can't live without me.
'Please tell me you love me.
'Please, come back and tell me you'll marry me.
'I know it seems rushed, I know we've only been in this 'state' for a month, but a month is more than enough time for me to realize how I feel. But it's been more than a month; it's been years. Years of friendship, happiness, love, tenderness, and joy, and they were the best years of my life. Can you come back and help me add to those years? Can you come back and help me make more beautiful memories? Or are you just going to sit there and watch, and let those memories fade into darkness?
'Please say you love me.
'Please come back.
'I need you, Mimi Tachikawa.
'I can't live without you, Mimi Tachikawa.
'I love you, Mimi Tachikawa.
'Come back and marry me.
'Please.
'Come back, and just tell me that you love me.
'I'm begging you.
'I love you.'
(Third Person POV)
He just stood there, in the backstore, sweeping the same spot, wiping it with the broom as though the dirt would never come off. As though it would never be clean.
He felt like the very floor he stood on; he felt stepped on, crushed, used, and dirty.
So he stood there and swept.
As he swept, he let the melancholic, despairing emotions consume his very being. He let them eat at him, taking chunks of his soul, tearing them into pieces; leaving only jagged, useless remains. He did not fight back. He did not deserve to fight back. He did not have the strength to fight back.
He was being watched…
(Character Focus Switch)
"He looks so … sad."
"That's an understatement. He looks downright depressed."
"He looks like a drowned rat."
"Takeru, he doesn't look dirty, just … really, really, really darn sad."
"I think you could add a few more 'really's."
"Oh, shut up Tai."
"I'm being serious, Kari. I mean, just look at him! All sad and sweeping; he looks like Cinderella when she was told she couldn't go to the ball or whatever."
"I'm surprised you got the story right."
"Thanks a whole bunch, Izzy."
"You're welcome."
"Meanie."
"Okay, stop the childish arguments, and get started on fixing this problem." Jou turned his head to face the remaining six DigiDestined. "You guys say that this started not long before Mimi left?"
Sora nodded, turning away from the thick, plastic, swinging doors, leading the group to the dairy section. "Yeah, about a couple of days before she left, he started acting a little sad, a little pensive, and every time we asked him what was wrong, he didn't say much."
"All right, and now he's like this?"
"Yeah, it's been a few weeks now, too," piped in Kari. "I'm willing to bet anything that it's just going to get worse; Valentine's Day is next week."
"Yeah, next Sunday to be precise," added Izzy. "So, Jou, you're the psychologist of the group, what do you suggest we do?"
Running a hand through his hair, the eldest of the group sighed heavily, glancing quickly in the direction of the doors leading to the backstore. "To be honest, I'm not sure; I'm not really a real psychologist, I just took a course on it last year because it was mandatory." Another heavy sigh escaped his lips and he turned to gaze at the milk products. "He just seems … heartbroken, and nobody knows how to really fix a broken heart. I mean I'm a doctor, what do you want me to do? I can't just pretend to operate and pretend to sew it back together. It just won't work like that."
"And he told me he wasn't going to go all emo."
"Emo?" Sora turned to Tai in confusion.
"Yeah, well, the day before Mimi left, he and I talked for a bit, and, well, it was more of a guy-style discussion, anyways. So, yeah, we talked, ate nachos and all, and he told me that he didn't want Mimi to leave and all that sad, puppy-love stuff. So, I just thought it was because he would be considered single again … until he said that he loved her."
"He WHAT?"
"Sora, calm down, as Harry Potter would say, 'don't get your knickers in a twist'. Or would that be Malfoy? I don't know. Anyways, yeah, he told me he loved Mimi. I wasn't sure at first; they've only been living together for a month, and sleeping together for a few weeks, so, I wasn't sure if it was really love-love, or just sex-love. You get my drift?"
A few of them nodded, while others, mainly Sora, scowled in Tai's direction.
"Tai, how could you – "
"I'm not done talking. Anyways, I told him not to get all emo on me, and cry and everything because that leads to crying during sex. So, he agreed that it wouldn't happen. But I'm willing to bet anything now that if he had sex, right now, at this very moment, he would cry."
"And why is that?" Takeru posed the question; having listened to Tai's every word.
"Because the person he would be having sex with would not be Mimi."
"Outstanding statement, Tai! Really, truly, amazing observation."
"Cut the sarcasm, Sora. I know you're pissed off that I didn't tell anyone, but I thought I would betray Matt by telling everyone about it." He turned to look at the expiration date on a small, bottle of Rolo Chocolate Milk. "Mmm, this would be good with some strawberry Pocky or Hello Panda."
"Tai, please focus on the main topic."
"Guys, move out of the way, be quiet, and hide!" frantically whispered Takeru, before shoving them down the isle, using the shelves as cover.
Sticking her head around the corner, Kari, followed by the rest of the group, watched as Matt exited the backstore, making his way to the Fruits and Vegetables section. Dark circles seemed permanently implanted under his eyes, and his shoulders slumped heavily, as though the entire weight of the world pressed upon them.
A woman stopped him to ask a question, and they saw him glumly, emotionlessly give her the response she wanted. When she smiled in response, thanking him, he simply nodded, and they saw the pure wanting in his eyes as he watched the woman's young son follow her.
"He really does look sad."
"Well, how about we stop making all these obvious observations and do something about?"
"Jou's right, we're getting nowhere by constantly reinstating the same things. We know what the problem is, we know the consequences, and what we need to do is figure out a way to solve it." Izzy turned to the group. "Any ideas?"
"We get him drunk?"
"Tai, that won't work. He'll just end up crying on our shoulders and puking his brains out."
"Thank you, Sora." Kari slapped at Takeru's hand as he went to reach for a box of chocolate chip cookies in the shelf beside them. "Takeru, pay attention, or I will start calling you T.K. again." She turned back to them. "I suggest we try and get Mimi to come back."
"Oh yeah, and how? Somebody please tell me they have the money to pay for the long-distance phone call and all." Sora sighed heavily. "It would be a miracle if she came back all of a sudden."
"But the only way we'll be able to get through to him is using her," Jou pointed out. "I mean, think about it. Ever since she left, he's been all, as Tai would say, emo. If we could get them to meet again, or even just talk on the phone or something, maybe he would get out of his state of mind." He sighed heavily. "Mimi's the only answer I have."
"Agreed."
"I concur."
"Izzy, that sounds so … fancy. Just say you agree." Tai turned to Jou and nodded. "I'm for it."
"Let's get them talking again."
"I'm with you guys."
Tai grinned. "Okay, since it was Jou's idea, he's paying for the phone bill."
He sat down on the couch, a bottle of beer in his left hand, the remote in his right, and he reclined to the best of his ability on the seat, flipping on the television.
He was using TV as a means of distraction, a way to focus his thoughts on something, anything, other than the memories that swarmed around him every time he entered the apartment. Each time he glanced at the couch, his mind constantly gave him detailed pictures of her lying on the leather, asleep, wearing that small t-shirt, flashing him brief glimpses of her cute underwear. Every time he dared a glance towards the kitchen, he saw her smiling face as she cooked a meal, heard her sweet voice fill with laughter as she told him dinner was ready.
He had changed the bedspread on his bed, had changed the pillows, and removed as much as he could of all material in his room that reminded him of her. He did it only because it hurt him so much, and he had promised his friend that he wouldn't hurt.
But it was so hard not to hurt.
Taking a deep swig of his beer, he flipped through the channels, finding himself mesmerized by an American program, Entertainment Tonight.
Snickering, he watched as the woman on the television spoke about how Paris Hilton's latest attempt of a CD was a major flop, as well as how Lindsay Lohan had, once again, been admitted in a rehabilitation center.
He snorted loudly as he listened to the woman describe how Lindsay's manager said that it would, hopefully, be the last time she would enter rehab. "That girl thinks drugs are candy. She's probably going to die soon of an overdose or something."
Sipping his beer, he watched as the 'newswoman' continued to give details about bands and other American celebrities. Britney Spears finally got her kids back, and her hair had grown out nicely. Carmen Electra was finally engaged to someone who didn't seem like a cheating bastard. And a Playboy model's house was broken into.
"WHAT?"
He jerked forward violently, nearly throwing the bottle at the television as they went to a break.
"Whose house was it? Tell me! TELL ME!" He nearly crawled to the television as images of a broken and battered Mimi filled his mind, fueling his distraught state, as he feared for the worst. "Oh my Kami, please don't let it be her house … please let her be okay."
Everything around him had stopped the moment the words had been uttered from the woman's mouth. He heard nothing but the televised woman's voice speak, and felt nothing but all-consuming fear. Please, let her be all right.
"And we're back. It has been one hectic, terrifying week for Playboy as they heard the news about a break-in at one of their most prestigious model's home. On Sunday, Mimi Tachikawa, who goes under the name of Mitzi, came home to find her door open, and immediately called the police." A picture of Mimi's smiling face filled the television.
His reaction was instantaneous. He lurched forward, his body tightening with fear as he listened to the report, focusing all his attention on the words spoken. Relief swarmed his very body as the reporter told the viewer about Mimi's smart decision, and he felt a few tears leak from their ducts as he thanked Kami. He did not know what he would have done if Mimi had been harmed; he probably would have flown out, even if she had gotten a little bruise.
He loved her.
Love did that to people.
Love made them crazy.
His body tightened anew when the picture filled the screen, but this time, it was not fear, but sheer, absolute need as he focused on the woman before him. Her heels made her appear taller, and her lean body was covered in a beautiful, burgundy, Chanel dress. The front swept low, accenting her cleavage, while the straps were thin, showing her smooth, pale shoulders. Her neck was exposed; hair swept up in an elegant, yet sensually messy bob, and he couldn't help but remember how soft it felt in his fingertips.
He wanted to strip the dress off of her body, to touch the creamy swell of her breasts with his mouth, to tease her into arousal with his fingertips, to bring her to a climax with his mouth, hands, and erection. He wanted her. No, edit that. He needed her.
"When the police arrived on scene, Mimi was outside by her car, waiting patiently. Upon searching the home, they found that the home had been turned upside down, and, when they finally reached the master bedroom, they found the culprit. 22 year old, Michael Williams, had broken into the house in a drunken state, and had attempted to destroy many of her belongings in supposed fits of rage. The police found a gun in his possession, and a letter, the content of which has not been revealed to the public.
"Upon asking Mimi how she knew this man, she simply stated that he had been part of a relationship-gone-wrong, and had refused to answer anymore questions about him.
"Hugh Hefner has currently offered her a room in the Playboy Mansion until she can collect all her belongings and find a new home.
"Michael is due for trial tomorrow, and, if convicted, will be sentenced for ten to fifteen years in jail for breaking and entering, intent of murder, and destruction of property.
"Sources say that Mimi was shaken, but, fortunately, unharmed, as she never entered her premises, and her lawyer says that she will take more precautions security-wise in the future."
His fist slammed against the table in sheer rage, shouting crude curses towards the television, mainly aimed towards the man that had made Mimi's life hell, and the woman who had let him do it.
"Fuck, Mimi! Why the fuck do you just fuck around like that? Fuck! He broke in because he knew where you lived! God damn it, you think life is perfect, that nothing bad can happen, don't you? You think that you can just waltz around, leave doors unlocked, and expect the world to just watch and not even try to touch! Fuck, Mimi, get some god damned brains!"
Heaving a heavy sigh, he ground his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut with the effort not to scream at the inanimate object before him. Instead, he cursed lowly to himself, shutting off the television, before making his way to the shower. He needed the feel of heat, humidity, and the warmth of water spraying against his body to calm himself. His muscles felt tense, bulged, and his stomach was lurching at random points in time from being clenched too tightly.
He needed to relax, needed to focus on something other than her and her life.
He stripped away his clothes, stripped away all thoughts of her from his mind, and began to cleanse his body in the hot spray of water from the showerhead. However, as he stood there, in the shower, trying to focus on something other than her, he not only began to cleanse himself physically, but psychologically.
If she wanted to stay in America and rough it out, so be it. It was her choice, and he had no say in the matter. She had already moved on, was going to photo shoots, doing covers of Cosmopolitan, Playboy and other female-oriented magazines, and she had a life. So did he; he had his friends, had his job, and had his band to focus on. They had been on hiatus for a while, but ever since he had received his new guitar, he had been creating new songs, writing down new lyrics, and calling up his members, planning on once again reuniting and performing in small venues like they used to.
Right now was the time for him to focus on his music; he had focused on her for weeks on end, cried about her, whispered her name when he felt alone in the dark, lustfully, personally released his passion with images of her in his mind, and he had done nothing that did not have a connection with her.
He wasn't sure what prompted these sudden thoughts, the sudden, new ideas that plagued his mind, but the realization came fast and strong, like hurricane winds, and consumed his entire being, leaving no leeway for thoughts of anything other than those forced upon him.
He had given up on life, given up on living, for one single person, and that had cost him dearly. He had stopped eating, had troubles sleeping, and had constantly cleaned and changed him apartment every chance he got. He had changed his entire way of living just because she had decided he wasn't worth her staying with him.
It was childish of him to dwell on the past, juvenile of him to cry useless tears of her, and was nothing short of pathetic of him to mope around the apartment glumly, constantly thinking of their memories. Those beautiful days and hours, the weeks and minutes, they were nothing but beautiful memories. Memories were times to look back upon and smile, they were used to make the present time more beautiful and joyful, and they were something of the past, not of the present, and were not created to completely affect the present state of a being.
He wanted to keep those memories beautiful, and wanted to keep them as such, memories, thoughts of the past. He wanted to make new memories, happier ones, and smiling, beautiful ones. He knew, then and there, that by dwelling on the past, he was going nowhere, making nothing but sad memories, giving himself depressing thoughts of how he had pathetically cried over something he could not change.
The only thing he could change at the moment was himself.
He was going to try and change.
For better or worse.
He was going to smile again.
He was going to laugh.
It had only been a few weeks.
Long, painful weeks since she had left.
But already, even though the wounds were still fresh and the blood still seeped through, he knew what he had to do.
As he stood there in the shower, cleaning his body and mind, he realized just what he needed to do.
He was going to try to do it.
No, he was going to do it.
He was going to let go of the past.
He was going to move on.
So, how was it? I hope that it isn't as rushed as the last chapter. Like I said, I'm still thinking about rewriting the previous one once I had completed this story.
It's almost done!! I think I only have a couple chapters left to write, and then, it will be done!!! I'm so exited to see all of your reactions to the end. I hope it's good.
Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Thanks once more for all the kind reviews.
Don't forget my review rule.
Ciao.