Disclaimer: I don't own Shiznat. Only the story and the other crap you'll read here.
A/N: I am re-posting my stories because I deleted them all. I deleted them because I got mad. I got mad...well, no point telling it again. Anyway, I am not trying to get more reviews because as much as I appreciate them I don't mind not getting one anymore. I am over it. I already have friends here that support and understand me regardless of what I do. I am simply back to share my stories. If it displeases and annoys you in any way...well, that's sad to hear but I won't apologize. As far as I'm concern, I've done nothing wrong...after all I, as the writer, have the prerogative over my stories. Also if you're greatly inconvenienced by my actions, then you always have the option of removing this from alert/favorite/stalker list. I am not great of a writer and I am sure there are other fics that are more worthy of your time. Nonetheless, thank you for taking your time in reading this story.
To the avid supporters of TMYN (esp a hysterical Fractured guy *lol*), I can only thank you all so very much for your patience, but all I could offer for now are the old chapters and my word that I will try. I am not making promises. I know that even my friends would burn me alive if I promise and don't deliver.
FYI: Alternate POV's between Shizuru and Natsuki. It was experimental at first but I got used to writing Shizuru with a song so I continued. It's funny that many liked it and some even suggested songs (thanks, they're noted for future chaps). Anyway, Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones inspired me to write this chapter though I have to say, I liked Siobhan Magnus' version better :)
Now that the explanations are out of the way. Read and enjoy~
Paint It Black
"I love you dammit! I'm not—"
I love you.
'The brat actually said those words to me.' I said to myself as I returned to the driver's seat. After all, the exchange must be made or else all that I've done will be for nothing. I won't allow it to happen. It's for her after all.
Love.
Yes, the word sounds vaguely familiar.
I love you.
A long time ago I used to say those words to someone dear to me—so long that I no longer know what it actually meant. Now, they're simply empty words that are not worth pondering about. A phrase which can be utilized when one is to seduce a mafia leader or lure a greedy politician away from his bodyguards–nothing more, nothing less.
Yes. I have a job to accomplish. Besides, the brat only said that to spite, to manipulate and eventually fool my otherwise distracted mind.
Focus.
Focus is what I need. I always have it though for the past few hours I seem to get tangle up with the most bizarre scenarios. It must be because I'm close to finding a clue. Yes, that must be it. The mere idea of having even the slightest information regarding her makes me undeniably excited inside.
Finally after all these years I will see her again. The person who saved me from darkness, the person whom I indebted everything I am today will be with me again. Family, friend, partner, and lover–she's all that to me and I cannot lose her—she's all that I have. When I'm not around her my life is incomplete, empty and broken. Cliché to hear I know although with our history it is justifiable.
My childhood is all blotchy and I could only remember the time wherein a person saved me from those men in black suits who were surrounding me. The unknown men kept on apologizing to me for a lot of things I cannot recall. Then they said I'm in danger and that I have to go with them calmly. I don't understand what they were saying at all though I can remember seeing a large raging fire within a distance, and having blood dripping from my head and tainting my kimono.
I'm bleeding?
I touched my head gently and as I retract my hand I find that it is covered with blood and wounds.
What is going on?
The bald man who was holding me so gently like a fragile ornament tried to appease my increasing resistance. I'm extremely lost at that time and I felt I'm a cornered animal so I tried to fight harder but to no avail, the man is just too strong for a teenager. He won't let me go even with my constant begging and instead he kept on pleading that I cooperate for they're going to protect me.
"Protect from whom?" I asked while yanking my little hands back and forth.
"Ojou-sama." He whispered with reverence.
"Ojou-sama?" I looked around to see if he's talking to someone and found none but me. His dark eyes were casted downwards seemingly not wanting to make contact with mine. How eerie I thought.
"Trust no one." He said with caution, as if he knows more than what he is letting on, so I urged him to explain with a nudged on his rib. But before he could utter a response he fell backwards and I was dragged down with him.
Everything happened so fast that I did not realize the arm around me has gone limp. I turned around to see a single bullet hole in his forehead. In normal cases, a person or a kid like me should be terrified but I was not. Even more so I was impressed on how clean the shot was; there's only minimal blood gushing out of the wound indicating a professional work.
Then I remembered my current situation and I immediately removed the dead guy's restricting arms. I am about to get up when I heard footsteps coming in my direction. I tried to get up and run away when a smooth voice held me frozen.
"Not so fast, Ojou-sama." No, it's not smooth but more so silky in my ears. The footsteps are getting louder and I'm having mixed emotions as to what I should do.
Flee or stay?
"Ojou-sama again?" I noted the way they have been addressing me. I cannot remember any details before this very moment, and I'm getting dizzier by the minute. I gingerly touched my forehead and assumed that the blood is really the liquid I'm feeling gushing steadily like a stream.
"Hold on," she swiftly carried my weight as I stumbled forward when I admitted myself in an upright position. I did not deny her advances to lift my weakening body. As I was about to lose consciousness, I managed to asked her. "Who are you?"
With a tight smile she said, "Sakura Filch at your service Crimson Ojou-sama."
I threw a puny gaze at her deep blue eyes in attempt to scrutinize her angelic face before I passed out.
A deafening honk of a car brought me back to reality. The Italian man in his expensive Armani suit and equally luxurious fancy car—a red 2010 Ferrari California—started to sprout endless invectives in his native language, which I understood naturally, once we halted by the stop light. My 'borrowed' car is a lovely black Mercedes-Benz SL550 Roadster. So beautiful that I thought of keeping it still I decided against it, a lot of reasons but primarily because I might get caught. Anyway, when he realized that I'm ignoring him he honk some more which irritated me to no end. I persevered on not to get carried away with my urge to kill for I know I'm going to be late if I give the crazy Italian some attention. The said man was pissed when I did not even roll down my tinted windows. He thought that maybe I don't understand him so he utilized English which I may say is very poor. The one sided quarrel was like this.
"You third class driver! Don't you know how to drive?"
"You dimwit! Show me your ugly face!"
"You almost hit me by the curve! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"
'The go light sure is taking its time.'
I thought it will end if I ignore the seriously demented man but no, instead of cursing on his own, he stepped out of his car and knocked vehemently in my window.
I rolled my eyes literally. His persistence, I'm sure, have earned him a couple of whips and whacks in his home country.
"Get out of there! And show your putrid face! What are you an ugly duckling hiding in a fancy car? I bet you don't even own that car! Bah! Filth!"
Ara? Ugly duckling now am I? I've been called the devil, monster, destroyer, and so forth but I've never before taken for a fairy tale character. It must be nice living in the child's land—only having once upon a time and the very promising happy ending. Too bad it's not the same in real life and especially this life.
I was about to floor the gas pedal when I saw the green light flashed but then I heard a disturbing noise from the back of my car—okay, 'borrowed car don't be so technical now. So I was saying, I heard it and apparently the crazy man did so he started walking towards the rear of my 'borrowed' car which isn't good. Well for obvious reason, my package and garbage are both in there and I'm quite sure another body won't fit in there anymore, it was a miracle I was able to fit the girl in there, plus it would take time which I don't have as a luxury.
Running over this guy would be efficient but it'll get me into more trouble I'm sure. All streets in this city have surveillance camera and before I could finish the deal, there'll be a dozen of incompetent policemen tailing my behind—okay, not my behind but the car's, you get it, right? Also if he lives after being ran down by a putrid person I'm betting a hundred bucks he'll spend every penny he has just so he could track me down. Again, having someone tailing my behind is not good. So I stayed still and weighed my options.
Bah!
Why did it have to be this way? Everything was going smoothly until I met that demented rich girl back in the club. Since I met her every single thing went south including my emotions. It went downwards to nowhere and I can't seem to find it anymore.
Gah!
I am going crazy over this job. Yes, a job. This is a job. I should chant this over and over again. This is only a job. No need for me to get attach to it or whatsoever. Finish and forget about it as always. Finish and get over...
Damn it!
The annoying Italian is now cupping his hand over the trunk while leaning his big ears on it! The damsel in distress I've just kidnapped must have been exhausted from shouting eons ago and all I could hear from my seat are hiccups. Still it's a sound that may alarm the pesky Italian and it'll bring more trouble so I did the next thing I thought would salvage the situation. And no, before you get on the edge of your seat and demand for flying bullets it won't happen. I'm going to be late, remember? That's why I opted to turn on the drama station in the radio. Yes, a luxury car such as this hosts a drama station. Don't believe me? Be my guest and buy or borrow one for yourself.
Anyway, luckily, the station I tuned in was already in 'drama mode' and I heard a lot of wailing and crying in Spanish. Coincidence or not this same radio soap opera is the same one who killed, figuratively, the Italian rave a few years back. From what I've heard at least a quarter of Italians hated this drama. Well even if I'm not Italian, from what I've heard so far, I hate it too. So much drama, I'd say.
Before the overly curious Italian man get any further ideas I rolled down my window and asked in my very polite voice, "What seems to be the problem, sir?"
Hearing my question he immediately walked in my direction and stooped below to see me clearly. His disgruntled expression is enough to say he is pissed with my nonchalance but his inability to strike another vindictive comment tells me he is a gentleman in front of a lady. Be my guest, all men tend to become a humble bee in front of a sweet sunflower or ripen fruit or whatever you green thumbed creatures call it.
"Mademoiselle," he started to say. Really people in this side of town can be so kind when they feign to try. "Have I seen you before?" He continued so sweetly.
Hand me a bucket to puke into, will you?
"Please," I waved my hand as if to swat a fly. "I've heard that a dozen times."
"I bet you do, mademoiselle, I bet you do...and even with that mask hiding your beauty I can't help but be mesmerized." He continued praising a stranger whom he thinks he could pick up easily.
You're barking the wrong tree.
"I'm sorry," I changed my accent and acted as a helpless Latina even though I don't look like one—not even the slightest.
My charm must have been effective for he advanced a bit further, and with a toothy smile he said, "Are you perhaps new in the city? Would you give me the honor of being your tour guide?"
Okay, this is getting out of hand. Therefore I utilized my last resort in times like this which is to agitate a pretending fellow like him. I need him to self-destruct on his own, that way it'll give me a ticket to speed away without a scratch.
"Yes, I'm new...only for a few days. I'm a bit homesick and I only find comfort when listening to the radio—"
That's when he noticed the drama playing in the background. "Is that Casablanca?" He asked irritatingly. "That bitch of an actress who said Italians..."
As he goes on to rave his views on Spanish dramas, I took a glimpse of a couple of hulky guys whom I think are natives of the said language.
Guess what I'm out of here in no time.
"Hey! Help me this guy is harassing me." I said in Spanish which surprised the Italian even more so than the two large guys nearby.
"Is he?"
"What do you want with the lady?"
Both guys are talking in their native language which confused the jerk even further. One little push and I know there will be an amusing brawl in front of me which will be my cue to escape. I tell you, I'm so sly I could feel horns sprouting on top of my head.
Still in Spanish I reiterated, "Yes, he is harassing me because I like Casablanca."
I know everyone who speaks the language have heard of the drama but I'm not entirely sure if everyone likes it. It is a drama after all, although I have this feeling these two men are fans.
My feeling was proven true when the hulkier of the two became aggressive and took the Italian man off the ground by his collar. The man from Italy is neither small nor thin and it is such a feat to see a small but muscular guy taking on a bigger opponent. In his back I could see the other guy is clenching his fists and cracking his neck sideways as if preparing to wrestle.
Hah. I really am the devil.
The Italian guy, even with his robust build, is all talk. He squealed like a baby as he said, "Heeyy! Let's talk about this. I mean no disrespect to the lady and—"
"He said Spanish is crap," I cut off, intending to dig the offending and obstructing foreigner a bigger grave. Wanting nothing more but to see a death fight I added, "Then he said everyone who can speak the language could go eat—"
But I never got to finish my lie as the owner of the expensive car next to mine met the hood of his car...literally. The impact made a huge indention to the said part of the car and for a second I felt bad for the car. What? You expect me to feel sorry for the guy who could possibly ruin my job? I think he is lucky he's only receiving my indirect wrath. If he did receive my personal vengeance, the indention on his car would be the least of his worries. In fact, I assure you, he wouldn't mind letting me blow up his car to save his miserable life when I get my hands on him.
Once again I got winded off in my own devious little land, good thing I was reeled back to reality when I heard one of my pawns say, "Hijo de puta, dejar a la señora en paz!"
I cannot help but chuckle. This is going to be so entertaining. It'll relieve some of the stress I've gained back in the club with the...
Ara...I almost forgot my job.
My little play has caused me exactly five more minutes off my scheduled time. These distractions are doing a fine job creating disaster to my promptness. This wouldn't do, things should go the way I intend it to be or be annihilated.
"Hey! Tell them I didn't harass you or anything! Please!" The 'toy' in this little game of mine is drenching in blood and I see several teeth missing.
I guess being late one more minute wouldn't hurt. So I produced some fake tears and told my 'saviors' that the guy was not only harassing me, a new señora in town, but also wanted to hurt me if I don't come with him. Comprehending the situation, the poor guy could only swear is succession as he sees two fists coming his way.
It would have been fun if I could join in but when I saw a bus coming in our lane I decided to step on the gas pedal while shouting my thanks to two gullible testosterone beings. It would be worse than a disaster if some civilian took a picture of the scene. It'll be the worst if I became associated in that particular crime even though I am really the mastermind. No one knows except for, of course, you and me. You wouldn't dare out me, right?
Right.
But as I hit eighty in the speedometer on a thirty five mile zone, all the negative intentions in me are emerging on its own. So what do I do to calm my nerves? I drive faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Just to clear my head.
After a minute or two, I calmed down a bit and saw no one on the streets. I began to be more aware of what I just did and what I'm supposed to do—deliver the package, retrieve my file, and leave at once.
'Stay with me!'
I remember the girl saying to me back then.
'Don't be ridiculous!'
Oh, that was my line...Err...Did I just hear the same conversation I had with my hostage in a radio drama? How much ironic would this day gonna be? I am not sure I find this a bit funny.
Not funny.
I turned off the damn radio. But the silence in the car—the girl is not making any noises either—is bugging me in a bad way so I took a random cd from the compartment. I didn't even bother looking at the title, I only need noise or any sound to interrupt my mind forming more incoherent ideas, memories, lies, crimes...everything.
I want peace of mind.
Another irony of life. Me? Wanting a peace of mind when all I do is disrupt harmony? I am destructive to others and to myself. I accept that, I really do. But sometimes even I could feel the burden, feel tired, and feel...hopeless.
Is this what am I going to do all my life?
Ara...
When did I start thinking such preposterous thoughts?
...
Since I met the brat. Her. The biggest fool I've made contact with. What do I even expect from a kid? I should know better. Being able to deal with various clients—usually adults, and most of them are either desperate or dying—I shouldn't expect a mere child to comprehend the situation she is in.
Hah. I talk as if I'm that old. I'm in my mid twenties if you are curious. Not that it'll help you in your exams or extracurricular activities in school...just so you know. I'm sure a lot of you are nosy. Don't pretend to be not.
Who am I talking to? Who knows. I'm more, and more convinced I'm becoming mentally ill.
Anyway, so I played the cd and I almost swerved to the wrong side of the street when I heard the damn lyrics.
~I gotta take a little time.
~A little time to think things over.
Is the earth mocking me?
~I better read between the lines.
~In case I need it when I'm colder.
Where is that stupid remote?
~In my life, there's been heartache and pain.
~I don't know if I can face it again.
Someone will feel more than heartache and pain if I don't find the damn remote!
~Can't stop now, I've travelled so far.
~To change this lonely life.
Found it but dammit! It's not working! Is someone playing tricks on me? Am I being punked?
~I want to know what love is.
Is this a conspiracy?
~I want you to show—
I jabbed my hands onto the stereo furiously which made the song go into fast forward mode. When I stopped, it sang.
~I love you. Please say you love me too.
Please tell me I'm hearing things.
~These three words, they could change our lives forever.
The only three words I could think of was, 'Go fuck off!'
~And I promise you that we will be always be together.
This time, I found the next button, so with irritation I pushed it.
~If I should stay, I would only be in your way.
Another love song?
~So I'll go, but I know.
I think I've heard of this before...
~I'll think of you every step of the way.
...
~And I...will always love you.
I punched the next button in an instant.
~Ohh woaahh...Ohh woaahhh...Oh...woaahhh...
A lively song? Good.
~You know, you love me.
Fuck this! I punched the stereo again but instead of hitting the next button I hit the volume.
~I know you care.
Fucking care! I'll burn the owner of this car who happens to be residing at the trunk once I'm done with the job.
~Just shout whenever, and I'll be there.
Good. Found the next the button before one more word could be heard. The next song's intro is quite grim and I like it.
Better be with good lyrics too...or this time I'll be sure to suffocate anyone who'll say that freaking word again.
~I see a red door and I want it painted black.
Black huh? I'm more of a red though.
~No colors anymore I want them to turn black.
Is this song talking to me?
~I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes.
Not really... I was about find out the next song when I heard the next lines.
~I have to turn my head until my darkness goes.
~I see a line of cars and they're all painted black.
~With flowers and my love both never to come back.
The song goes straight back to me. In me.
~I see people turn their heads and quickly look away.
~Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day.
~I look inside myself and see my heart is black.
No shit... It really is...
~I see my red door and must have it painted black.
~Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts.
This is another type of irony. I can't believe a song which I can relate to actually exist.
~It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black.
And I wouldn't have mind listening to this song all day long. Not only it hit me home but it somehow composed my heart and soul which were blazing up and down a while ago. I would have listen to it more if not only I've seen the warehouse a few feet away.
Regrettably, I turned off the stereo without releasing the cd out. Once the song ceased, all the troubles came back into me. It is strange how a gloomy song could give tranquillity to my soul whereas silence could only aid me chaos.
I parked a couple of blocks away from the rendezvous. It wouldn't hurt to have an escape car when something goes wrong. Although, when I think about it, what could go wrong in this type of scenario?
Everything?
Yes, I cannot let my guard down.
I checked my watch again and saw that I'm a minute late. I've expected it to be ten minutes due to the delay back in the club and in the street but somehow, my eighty mile per hour increased to a hundred or so. Do not ask me why or I'll make you eat the curse worthy cd. Anyway, a minute late is still considered a late. So, I immediately stepped out of the car and made my way to the trunk. It is quite odd when I still didn't hear any sound or protest from the girl.
Has she suffocated? I hope not.
Has she fallen asleep? Unlikely to happen with a trunkmate like that.
Has she given up? Somehow I think that is not possible. This girl, in my opinion, is feisty and has something beneath her childish facet.
Ara...? Did I just contradict my previous statement that she's merely a child? Well... I have this gut feeling—an instinct if you may—that she is more than meets the eye, although for her own good, I hope she does not prove me right.
Gently I tapped the trunk to find out if there's any sign of life. It doesn't hurt to be cautious in this case as well.
Tap.
No response.
Tap. Tap.
Not even a sound.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Nothing.
"Miss Kuga," I said as I unlock the trunk and opened it slowly. "Are you—"
X
X
X
This is the only cliffhanger I purposely made. Many would shake their heads... We'll just have to agree to disagree, eh?
As always, thanks for reading. Till next time.
P.S.
I'm merely re-posting. No changes being made. The story content and side notes were taken from my ancient box (also known as laptop), complete with dust and spider webs. I haven't edited yet and for that I apologize.
Side Story
(Inside the office)
Waki: Where's Natsuki? I have to run thru with her the next chapter's...
Crimson: Not now. Bad timing.
Waki: Huh? Why?
Crimson: That *pointed across the room*
Natsuki: *mumbling* She got 17 and I got 7? 17? 7?
Crimson: What does she meant by 17? And 7?
Waki: *nervous* Reviews. You got 17 and she got 7.
Crimson: Oh.
Natsuki: *shouting*Why did I even have to be...such a perv? I'll kill you Waki!
Crimson: Where are you going?
Waki: *stealthy leaving* Err...Fresh air?