She Goes Her Way
'Way of difference'
Eriol & Tomoyo
I'll love you all my life, she tells him. There ought to be tears streaming down her face but there aren't any. Her eyes are shining, though. He cherishes that.
His shoulders hurt from sitting so still. The muscles in his arms are rigid, but he refuses to move. Because if he moves a muscle he's going to move them all. He's going to move to stop her. And he doesn't want to stop her. He really, really doesn't want to stop her. He grits his teeth to prove it to himself.
The things he thought she'd never know about him were the things she'd always understood. And she understands this stoic silence even as she goes about the room taking what's hers. She fills up the silence with empty chatter, then she gives up. The silence is filled by the storm outside. Come now, she says. Don't be like this.
I'm not being like anything.
You're being a pain, and dramatic besides. Her voice retains the humor, but her face does not. She looks at him, says his name. He does not look up. She says it again. And one more time, just to be sure. He's frozen, she's riveted. His pretty blue eyes have clouded over with an emotion she refuses to understand. His face is obscured by shadow. Outside the rain patters insistently against the glass. Outside the winds are trying to make the trees bend. Outside the storm is beating down the flowers they'd so painstakingly taken care of this year.
There's the blare of a car horn. I'm going, she says needlessly. I'm going now. Eriol.
His hands clench further, his knuckles turn white.
The doorknob is cold when she grips it. She turns to look one last time, remembering. I'll love you all my life, she says. It was the last thing he heard before the world was again covered in darkness.