[AliCe InChains]
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
[Desecrate Through Reverence]
Orihime roused herself from slumber slowly, leisurely arching her back as she yawned, groaning in slight relief as everything snapped into place. Groggily, she rubbed the sleep from her weary eyes, dragging a cold hand through her ginger colored hair. Her eyes lazed around the room, the clothes tornadodraped across the floor, the back of chairs, the dresser.
She was in bed, her covers pulled up uncharacteristically neatly, her sheets rumpled from sleep. She blinked, a hazy fog loosely binding her mind from fully rousing to consciousness. She tried to remember the frightening run through the alley, the hesitant explanations to her over protective landlord, fumbling with the key on the landing, kicking her shoes off by the door, the fuzzy bath slippers, eating chocolate covered popcorn in front of a Disney movie.
She couldn't.
She tried to remember dragging herself from the couch at 3 in the morning, bleary eyed, stumbling into bed, dreaming of green eyes and cold hands.
Not happening.
She didn't know if she was frightened. That last night had been a black one, one that even the light of her subconscious couldn't illuminate. She didn't really know if she should be anxious or rattled, but with all her might she tried to recall the inevitable, running through the alley, squealing like a little piggy all the way home - but she couldn't.Weird.
Orihime frowned, rubbing firmly on her temples like she'd seen Tatsuki do when she was in class and had forgotten to study the night before. But unlike when Tatsuki did it, no last minute snapshots of yesterday (or notebook pages in Tatsuki's case) came to mind. She had never been the type to really be wary of blackouts, and since she wasn't some meth-addicted drug junkie, she was sure at least she hadn't been running naked and covered in peanut butter through back alleys pumped up on liquid crack and high as a kite. She wasn't a drinker, so she knew at least that she hadn't been partying off her rocker in somebody's basement.
So… what had she been doing? Running home from school, cutting through the alley… and then?
Her hand pried at the covers, hastily throwing them back and off of her body. Her patterned pajama shorts and tank met her roving eyes. It wasn't that big of a deal, honestly. She'd made it home alive, her bag was on the floor by her bed (so she hadn't been mugged) and it felt like she still had both of her kidneys, so there were no worries there. Sighing abruptly, she hurled herself out of bed, grinning as she made a perfect landing on top of her fuzzy bedroom slippers. Bowing briefly to the invisible crowd and pausing to blow kisses, she slid them on, shuffling leisurely to her bathroom.
She stared into her bathroom mirror, wincing briefly at the bags underneath her eyes and the bird's nest on top of her head. She might as well call Tweety and tell him she had space for rent! Grimacing, she hurriedly ran a hand through it, wincing as it snagged. Ugh! She had to fix this pronto, she couldn't let him see her looking like some grocery cart pushing hobo who lived under bridges-
Him.
For a moment, she almost seriously considered slamming her head into the bathroom mirror repeatedly, but just managed to withhold the urge. Yesterday really happened. It hadn't been some hazy delusion imagined during a time of extreme boredom in her economics class, it actually factually for sure happened.At the back room of the nurse's there. Right there in that room, without thinking twice, without holding back, she'd gotten up, ran across that room and…
She nearly stumbled into bath tub recalling the way those cold lips had felt against hers. She hurried to rip her eyes away from the mirror, not really wanting to see the lovesick look in her eyes, already feeling the warmth in her cheeks. She shook her head hastily, even though the feeling of that cold beneath her fingertips didn't dissipate. And she could still remember that moment, that sickeningly satisfying moment, when for one instant, her insides had surely liquefied into goo as her body had melded with his. She didn't need a dime store romance novel with some overly muscled man wearing extensions on the front to tell her how that felt. She didn't need a mother or a father to sit her down and give her 'the talk' to let her know that surely such a thing wasn't socially accepted, much less approved of. It probably wouldn't do her any good anyway.
Orihime might've been soft hearted and kind, okay yeah, maybe sometimes she got overly excited about trivial things, and even she could admit her overly active imagination and innocent forwardness were probably going to be the death of her one of these days. But there was one easily overlooked thing about her - she was as stubborn as a donkey when it came to certain things. And those things were her crazy food concoctions, her friends, her late night movie marathons, her secret stuffed animal collection, and her feelings for a particularly evasive green eyed, black haired dragon.
Not for the first time, and surely not the last, she stared intensely into the porcelain bowl of the sink and thought harder than she ever had before.
She was almost clueless when it came to love. She knew about 'female pheromones' and 'womanly wiles' but she'd be darned if she knew how to use either one of them. She'd seen girls at school put them to work, arch the back, thrust the chest forward, pout the lips - but somehow imagining herself coming at him like that horrified her to death. She could just see him now! Those green eyes wouldn't look at her twice, and she'd be trash before she even had time to start batting her eyelashes.
This 'wooing' stuff was harder than she thought.
She nearly groaned aloud in frustration, resisting the urge to go fight her bed pillows. How could you move someone immovable? How did you make someone feel who claimed he couldn't? How did you make someone love you when he was so disinterested? How, how, how, how, how?
She had to remind herself that if she'd just been a good girl and gone with Plan B, if she'd just held tight to that strawberry from her youth, if she'd just went back to that moonlit night when she thought she'd known what love was- then this right now would not have been happening. The cute orange haired kids (instead of the mutant dragon human hybrids), the cute little house (instead of the evil lair on a mountain peak) fighting her way through Sunday shopping crowds (instead of miasma and fire). A picture perfect life if there ever had been one.
She bit her lip, and not for the first time, wondered why she preferred the road less traveled. Maybe if his back hadn't been so straight. Maybe if his eyes hadn't been so cold. Maybe if his frown didn't seem so permanent. Maybe if he smiled, made merry, been open-; instead of that impassive face, that frigid demeanor, the rare unexpected moments of speech – scathing with the biting edge of truth. , maybe, maybe.
…maybe she was just sick in the head. It was perfectly plausible, all things considered. How many times had Tatsuki told her so? She'd lost count ages ago. Maybe she was the one messed up, for wanting someone so desperately, for wanting someone so much her chest ached and her blood sang at the thought of him, for wanting someone so much she was willing to do anything, everything, if only to get those eyes to look at her with anything but disinterest.
She didn't want to see him. She hoped she did. She didn't know what to say to him. She considered saying the unsayable. She was going to run like hell when he came down the hall. She was going to run like hell right into his arms. This entire situation in which she now found herself was really quite impossible. Thinking about this so fiercely wasn't going to resolve it any faster, or change the fact that even if he made every possible attempt to avoid her, her Ulqui-radar would zone in on him as long as he was anywhere within a five mile radius.
Her head spun with speculations, with ideas. She was going to be late if she kept pondering the imponderable and seriously considered doing the undoable. It was better to be busy, better to be rushed- hurry hurry,Orihime, don't want to be late!-) instead of fretting and worrying. She hastily pulled the tank over her head, looking up briefly to grin at her reflection in the mirror…
…and the smile froze on her face as grey eyes feasted on the sight of the spotted bruises marring the pale flesh of her chest. Time caught up with her, those forgotten blurred images of some far off night roaring to the surface.
Those spindly roving hands, a putrid scent rank with what she imagined hell smelled like, the black pits of those eyes bursting with madness, her own horrified visage reflected in their depths. The sickening heat of that tongue burning a trail down the column of her neck, the iron strength holding her hostage, the muffled sobs, the grinning moon, the haunting voice, the dark laughter.
She leaned forward and vomited unmercifully into the sink.
Growling under her breath, she tapped her feet impatiently, resisting the urge to ram her fist into the nearest living thing, her eyes boring holes into the empty chair across the room.
Orihime hadn't come to school.
By all appearances, taking in at a glance the vicious snarl that seemed permanently etched into the lines of her face, the barely contained rage wafting from her small body in such waves that it could have set the room ablaze, the way she ground her palms together and clenched her teeth, you would have thought her murderously angry. Tatsuki was anything but. She was instead, worried. When it came to Orihime, it seemed worrying was all she did. She worried if Orihime made it home safely, worried if she was being felt up on the bus by some old pervert, worried if she was being harassed by some faceless asshole, worried if she'd wandered somewhere strange and was being held against her will. She thought that perhaps when they all made it to college, she would finally be able to loosen the death grip her consciousness always seemed to have on Orihime's safety. But instead, it had only gone into hyper drive.
She tried to tell herself that it was only because she was such a damn good friend, that she only had Orihime's best wishes at heart, because she had never loved anyone as fiercely as she did that grey eyed girl with the kind smile. Something could be said for history, when she had been the rough, wild hearted girl whom none other would call friend, and Orihime had been the social butterfly who had first reached a hand out to her. Something could be said for history, especially when she'd been the one fighting off the perverts, the sickos, the assholes that had harassed her friend insistently since she'd hit puberty.
She'd liked to believe that using those fists clutched so insistently beneath her chin, she had denied rapists, stalkers, pedophiles and who knew what the hell else. After all the bloody knuckles, the scratches, the band aids and Neosporin, the bruised knees and broken bones, maybe she just felt obligated. It began to take on an everyday monotony that she didn't seem to mind, a normalcy that she welcomed.
After all, who else knew the confines of that ginger haired girl so well? Who else knew that she was a closest romantic, a semi-realistic air head, an avid day dreamer and that half of the nonsense she spouted was more than just ponies and rainbows? She had to force herself sometimes, to remember that Orihime wasn't that precious little girl anymore that she had loved so wholeheartedly, missing her two front teeth with that warmth in her cheeks and that wide smile on her face. She had to force herself to remember that the little girl from days gone by was a big kid now, hell they were legally considered adults now! And she still wanted to tuck the stray hairs behind her ears, still wanted to fix her collar, still wanted to straighten her wrinkled sleeves and show her how to properly tuck her shirts.
And it seemed like she had all the time in the world then to watch over that flower until it bloomed, to water it and tend to it, to put it in the sun where it could grow and live-, and a part of her hated that she'd missed it when it bloomed, that somehow despite her constant care…
She knew a portion of her anger was simply because she didn't know when the change had begun. And a part of her was mad at herself for not noticing when it had. She remembered those late night conversations, that breathless voice telling her vividly, in a random otherworldly way that would have been nonsense to anyone else but was always clear to her, that she was in love.
Tatsuki hadn't let it bother her, not even for a moment.
Orihime was young and impressionable. She'd expected a knight in shining armor to come swoop her off of her feet any day now, and Tatsuki's primary concern had been that it had happened so soon. A moonlit confession? Orihime had probably rambled incessantly about anything and everything. That orange haired prince knew her, but he didn't necessarily speak her language. It had probably been nothing but gibberish to him. He was no one to be bothered with. She'd known Ichigo for a long time, much longer than Orihime, and him being such a good natured asshole she was sure his type was beyond doe eyed girls with big hearts and even bigger dreams.
So she hadn't batted an eye really. She'd been properly amused at Orihime's ramblings, been properly enthusiastic even though she was sure pigs would fly before that self righteous idiot would begin to love her back. But suddenly- and she didn't know when it happened –Orihime had changed. And she couldn't pinpoint when it started or how it even began.
All she knew was that suddenly-Orihime didn't seem like Orihime anymore.
It was slight, simple things, her deciding to move into another apartment instead of living on campus. The way she would suddenly dive and duck through hallways, peering anxiously around corners when she was sure no one was watching. The way her eyes would sometimes zero in on someone in the crowd, some nameless being that Tatsuki could never quite find. She did a lot of sighing under her breath these days, her eyes often zoned in onto the sky through classroom windows, her mind wandering god knew where. If you asked her, she would smile and reply as usual without a care in the world. But it was there, even though she thought no one noticed, but she did.
She could see that strange something in the depths of those grey orbs, a strange something that could have belonged to anyone else but Orihime. And she wasn't a friggen psychologist, she couldn't read minds or foretell the future, but if she hadn't known any better… she would think Orihime was sick. The stupidest kind of sick there was. The most improbable, unrealistic garbage plague that had swept through girls like some incurable disease in her high school days. The kind of sick that made her want to turn her head and retch into the nearest garbage can.
Lovesick.
But thinking about the undeserving asshole who occupied so much of Orihime's thoughts was pissing her off.
Yesterday, accidentally, Orihime had let slip a few things that apparently had been happening in her free time. She had been stalking someone? Well no shit, Orihime was anything but subtle when she went into ninja mode. But that other stuff? If she'd never thought she'd have to worry about her friend's chastity and innocence, she had better fucking start. Going into some random guy's house? Oh and let's not forget the part where she was chained to his fucking ceiling. What kind of sick, sick bastard? What kind of closet pervert!
She'd wanted to believe the mystery man had been Ichigo after all, right up until the end.
But that was only a portion of why she felt so stupid, so angry, so annoyed. Deep down in the heart of her, she'd never really believed Orihime would ever take anyone seriously, despite how much she had professed to 'love' Ichigo. She had never really worried, because Orihime's naiveté and air headedness was both a blessing and a curse. She figured they would be together for awhile yet, men might have admired her body but if they couldn't fully comprehend her strangeness then Tatsuki could do her duty and properly scare them off.
Tatsuki had always told herself she'd be able to weed out the bad guys, that she would be able to make sure Orihime wound up happy and loved in the end by someone who would worship her in a way she herself never could.
But she didn't know how to handle this.
The nameless being that Orihime was so fixated with, to the point where she would even do all of those things for… Tatsuki didn't know who he was, what manner of man he was. Orihime was so innocent, so good natured, easily deluded and deceived. And when she loved, if nothing else, it was always heartfelt and pure. To think that love had been directed to a guy like Ichigo hadn't been that difficult to accept. But to think of that sweet love being directed to anyone who was not worthy, to anyone who had never known the pain of being her friend, of the bloody knuckles and band aids, her bizarre food and ramblings. That was what was really pushing her to the boiling point.
Orihime had never been one for secrets or deceit. She couldn't hold water, much less something of such vital significance.
But yesterday…for the first time in a long time, Orihime hadn't been that grinning girl she'd always known. She'd been someone else. With her guarded words and downcast eyes, looking like the kicked puppy on the curb. She hadn't said any names, hadn't even said anything else.
But when Tatsuki stormed off yesterday, her inner world in turmoil at this new information, she did indeed have business to handle. She was going to find out who this bastard was, come hell or high water, whichever came first. And she was going to make him wish Orihime had never liked him. Because even now, years later, she was the one who hadn't changed. She was the one who didn't want Orihime to change. Because it was still stupid and the world was still unfair, despite the fact that she'd go to war for that ginger haired girl, catch a bullet, leap a building, flip a car, whatever she had to do.
Despite the fact that she had been the one who had loved her first.
"What should we do?"
"Nothing. This is not something we can handle. That brief display was as good a reading on their location as I could get. Even if they are in this area, if they've remained hidden in this world for such a long period of time, they probably change hunting grounds periodically. However, the longer they stay, the faster their powers will diminish without the proper level of soul quality. To put it into perspective, mortal souls are nowhere near as powerful and sustaining as hollow ones. Why they continue to stay here I cannot begin to understand, but as long as they do they will not be anywhere near as powerful as their original forms were. However, even with that slight handicap, they are still a hundred times more powerful than you."
"Don't give me that shit! You saw the bodies didn't you? Didn't you? How the hell can you expect me to just be satisfied with that? We both know they're out there, so why the hell can't we hunt the bastards down? If we all work together, it shouldn't be a problem!"
"Time has taught you nothing, you idiot! We're in a delicate situation with Soul Society as it is, and you want to bring even more negativity towards us? We should wait to receive further orders, instead of rushing in blindly. Be patient. This is the way things are. It hasn't hit you close to home yet."
"That's bullshit! Are you still going to spout that crap when it does?"
"Hpmh. If it does…then I won't hold you back anymore. But until then, Ichigo. Wait until then."
"Orihime Inoue, a doctor is free to see you now."
She gulped audibly under her breath, sucking in air with ragged intakes as she entered the imposing office. She didn't really have anything against hospitals, especially not this one in particular, but the cold cleanliness of the room made her feel remarkably awkward. She hesitated to even sit on the raised platform that served as the bed, wrinkling her nose at that stupid white crinkly paper they always laid down on these things. It smelled like medicine and mothballs, dish detergent and bleach. It was such a strange assortment of smells, that if she could have, it would have been nice to be able to take her nose off for a moment. The first time someone had 'taken her nose' she could remember the horrified screams that had rushed, unabated from her body. It had been such a simple thing; he hadn't really taken her nose but he might as well have for all the good it did her! It had taken a good thorough shake to thoroughly convince her that her nose was in fact still there. She wiggled it briefly; one could never be too sure sometimes.
Swinging her legs, and playing with her fingers in her lap, she let her eyes run around the clean white lines of the spotless floor and ceiling. She wondered what everyone else was doing right now. Tatsuki was surely going to kill her at the next given opportunity, considering how generally upset she had seemed after yesterday. The wild haired girl had never been one for subtle, meditative anger, being far more prone to explosive rages that could scorch anyone within her vicinity. But somehow, the way the girl had stormed off grumbling, had left a startling deep impression on her that she wouldn't soon forget.
Somehow, someway…she felt like she'd betrayed her.
But how? What was such a small thing, such a trivial thing when it came to lifelong friends? Orihime knew very well that she had a tendency to underestimate the severity of her problems, and even though it hadn't seemed so awful to her, somehow her secret had struck Tatsuki as nothing short of a cruel blow. And maybe that's what it had been. Wasn't that what she deserved, rightfully deserved, for being so selfish? What had ever led her to think she could truly keep this one thing, this love, all to herself? She wondered if it was wrong, if it was betrayal, deceit, treachery…to, if only for a moment, wish that she could keep this feeling forever. She didn't want to share it. And maybe she didn't want to share it because she knew with a swift bitterness, that this love would be the one and only thing none of them would understand. She didn't think it was wrong, she didn't want to believe that could be anything but right, but maybe for them…it was only…the foolish ramblings of a trifling girl.
"Mrs.?"
Immediately she snapped to attention, shaking the tension from her palms, hastily throwing away the intense stare for a more inviting one as she hurriedly tucked her head in respect, grinning good naturedly.
"Yes! Hello doctor, pleased to meet you! My name is Orihime, and I just have a few con-"
She looked up, and when the deep amber of those narrowed eyes met hers from behind those wired frames, she froze. The vivid, altogether unforgettable, pink tint to the hair, smoothly combed back now. Unabashedly, her wide eyes stared into the impassiveness of his, and he didn't need to be a mind reader to see the message in their depths. 'Don't I know who you are?' There was a moment of brief, intense silence as the confusion and silent questions murmuring within the depths of her eyes only grew.
If he'd believed in fate like humans did, as stupid an idea as that was, then surely there was no better example at this. He smiled warmly at her face, still blatantly open, and honest. If that smile could have been anything else, it would have surely been bitter with the irony of this. He didn't need to read charts, skim notes to know what it was she came here to ask. And she didn't need to say anything, didn't need to do anymore than this, for the memories to slowly return of their own accord. It was a dangerous line this mortal tread, made ultimately more precarious because she still had no idea how close to the edge she clumsily balanced. He could have thrown his head back and laughed, wild uncontrollable laughter that he knew very well would have sent her scurrying from the room. This girl! This stupid little girl! And then the desire was strong and growing stronger, to smile at her with that barely contained madness in the depth of his eyes, because the hilarity of this was mind boggling. So this was it then! This was the 'dreaded hand of fate' mortals whispered warily of under their breath that marked the unfortunate ones, the ones doomed to suffer. Then how fate must despise her! Not once, not twice, but thrice now! Thrice and still, still! She wouldn't have been able to spot the monster in her midst even if he had been two headed with wings!
"Greetings, Mrs. Orihime. I am Dr. Granz."
She reeled back at the name, and he could feel her resolve wavering, could sense the doubt, read it in the hesitant glances she rose to meet his. For a moment she blinked at him carefully, and then stretched out her hand to meet his. He met her halfway, clasping her hand in his and shaking firmly. Her hand was small, and altogether warm, and he was almost surprised he had even noticed that much, considering the usual shiver of revulsion and brief excitement whenever he shook the hands of his patients.
But then again, by the time they reached him, if they didn't have a foot in the grave, he made sure they did by the time they left. The almost tangible nature of her health and happiness instead made him hastily withdraw. If he could have washed his hands of her, he would have. With those wide grey eyes tinged with that wavering innocence, the slightness of her form, the rounded curve to her limbs. And ah- the warmth of her skin. He could easily imagine her split in two, pinned to a countertop, pried open like a perfect specimen just waiting to be studied and documented. The madness could creep upon him so steadily sometimes, it could take him by surprise.
He had to be careful with her. Nnoitra easily succumbed to this. He was nowhere near foolish enough to do the same.
He stepped back, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, smiling at her in what he hoped to be a comforting manner. It was a hard act to pull off considering his nature, but he had adapted surprisingly well. Many a man, woman and child had been lulled into a false sense of security by the honey in that smile. He expected no less from her. She was only a mortal, a little fool with a marvelous running streak of luck. But an idiot's good fortune could only last so long. He wondered if Zonmari would ever get his wish. It would be quite the interesting bet, surely one worth bringing forward. And at this rate, she would be dead within the week.
"Well Mrs. Orihime? How can I help you today?"
The girl lowered her gaze immediately, letting it fall to the hands in her lap with a sudden shyness, the simplicity of the action almost sickening. For a brief moment, he fiercely regretted the fact that Nnoitra had not been successful in raping her senseless. But that was only the tentative murmur of madness, and was merely halfway seriously considered before the thought was easily discarded.
He could almost taste her discomfort, as she ran her tongue over her lips and the heat colored her face. He not only could almost taste it, he reveled in it. Surely one like her, living a life so movie perfect, so idolized and adored, was not used to such feelings of discomfort. When one was always associated with perfection, it was only natural to be wary of the slightest chance of being tainted with filth. And Nnoitra was lower than that, nothing but scum, a parasite.
"I um….….think that I…that last night I was..um…r-r-r" she fumbled almost adorably over the words, if he was one to be moved by such things. As it was however…
"Raped? De-virginized? Deflowered? Lost your innocence, popped your cherry - isn't that how the kids are saying it these days?"
And he honestly could have laughed in her face then, seeing how quickly her entire face darkened from the heat of her embarrassment. He looked at her; and she didn't even dare to meet his eyes! Maybe this had been it then, maybe this had been what had struck Grimmjow so. It was quite rare to find a mortal so tortuously fun to tease. And she was biting her lip as if she wished she was anywhere but here, her hands latched onto the fabric of her jeans as if she was just about to tear twin holes in them. Compared to the other loose women that had said the same words in his presence, it was almost refreshing. The grey orbs rose to meet his, and miraculously, the fear of the truth was not in them, but a sudden pressing curiosity. The absurdity left her lips so quickly, even she seemed stunned.
"….are you a witch?" He could have laughed.
"No. I'm just a doctor." And a soul eating monster spawn straight out of hell. "Trust me Mrs. Inoue, I've been at this for quite a while, I know the signs."
"So…was I?" The anxiety was back in her posture, the tremble in her didn't meet his eyes. For a brief moment one more, he regretted that she had not been. Grimmjow be damned. If she were dead and broken, he would not have to clean up behind such idiots.
"Nope! You're a lucky girl Mrs. Inoue! If you had been, you would have displayed an entirely different array of symptoms. It says here that you can only recall flashes of detail, the fact that it only goes to a certain point is more than proof enough that either at this point, whether you realize it or not, you must have either escaped or been rescued. However the fact that you made it safe and sound to your own home is more than proof enough. You must understand, sometimes when you…how do you say…"
"Fall into the haze?" Such a thing seemed familiar to her, by how easily she could put the feeling into her own words.
"Alright…well, when you 'fall into the haze' to a certain point, even though your mind may seem temporarily inactive, you instinctively realize that your body is in danger, and that your present self is not effectively emotional stable enough to protect yourself. I suppose you could liken it to suddenly bringing forward an alternate persona that is way more equipped to handle the situation. In cases where a patient is under extreme mental duress, such things can happen. Rare, but likely. Besides, if you had been, I assure you that you would be in a staggeringly enormous amount of pain. I dare say you wouldn't have even been able to make it here." Considering Nnoitra, anyway. Half of what he'd just told her might have very well have been the blackest of lies, but she was simple enough. Her face was so eager, so open, she would have accepted anything.
"However… tell me what you do remember- even though you don't remember much, the slightest thing could help me help you… you understand, of course?"
His smile was sickeningly sweet as she nodded hastily, and told him.
Damn kids, making all that damn noise all the damn time! If she'd been at least seven years younger, without this damn back problem, she'd roll up there and fuck them all over! Blasting their so-called 'techno' this fucking early in the afternoon! Why the hell weren't they at school? And what kind of fucking school is missing four kids- the skinny jean wearing, guyliner kind- and is just like 'fuck it, let's leave them out in the community to harass the elderly?'
Her gnarled hand was flipping violently through the phonebook- where the fuck was the number for that no good truancy officer?-when the bell over the door rung quietly, but in her hyper-pissed old lady state, she lifted her head wearily, fire in her eyes. And by fire, she meant unfiltered rage. She'd missed her afternoon shows, her mid-morning nap, her midday bath soak, all because she had a few shithead tenants who didn't know how to shut the fuck up.
"Yeah, what the hell do you want?"
And they said her medication was going to keep her mellowed out all the damn time? As soon as she finished ass kicking via telephone, the very first thing she was going to do would be to drive her happy old ass down to the pharmacy and-
"Mrs. Mimi?"
She looked up again, her vision focusing immediately on that ginger hair and sweet face, the big grey orbs watery and wounded. She gaped at her favorite tenant, hurrying to soothe the younger girl before she could begin to feel offended, rambling sheepishly, while cursing to immediate death all of the fifteen year olds within the vicinity. Who just happened to live on the second floor.
"Oh I'm sorry darling! Those damn kids on the second floor are just being worse than usual and you know how I get when I miss my shows, and that's exactly what hap-"
"."
The firmness in that normally cheerful voice nearly stunned her into silence. She met the girl's eyes hastily- at first glance, nothing about her seemed amiss- her hair was properly combed and tucked, she looked adorable as usual, with those perfectly round, pinch-able cheeks. But then her sharp eyes lighted on the loose shoulders- no back pack. Her eyes strove downwards,the girl'shands were clinched into fists, but there was no satchel grasped in her palms. Shocked, she realized the young girl had not been to school yet. Orihime never missed a day of school…usually anyway.
But what struck her the most deeply, was when her eyes finally lighted on Orihime's face. Before, she'd thought those watery eyes had been so because she had unknowingly offended the girl. However, what she saw in them now was something else entirely. Her lips were set, but quivering with something that was not fear, and in the depths of those orbs- what was there? Mimi- as she called herself- had lived many years, and met many women. But what she saw in those eyes was something she hadn't seen in a very long time. If she had the words to describe it, she would have called it…
"Mrs. Mimi." The words came out suddenly, spurring her back to reality, to the television blaring in the back room, the fan swirling overhead, causing a gentle breeze to toy with the ginger colored strands of Orihime's hair.
"Something happened to me last night, and if you will- I need your help remembering just what."
And the smile was on her face before the girl was even done, the cackle high and loud and rasping in her throat as she tossed her head back and laughed. She laughed until her sides hurt, and Orihime, obviously miffed at such an unexpected reaction, flicked her on the forehead to help her focus. But the tears of mirth blinded her, and she chuckled again, knowing that Orihime was going to think her quite strange, and yet somehow the thought thrilled her. Strange, was she? Just some crazy old cat lady who ran a nursery home for big babies! And yet…this girl right here… standing right here! Orihime's slight arms were crossed, and even though she was still far too young and inexperienced to know how to burn a man's ego to dust with a glance, she was doing her damnedest to look as fierce as she knew how.
"Mrs. Mimi this is serious!"
She waved off the cry of complaint, still giggling under her breath as she murmured the young girl to come closer. She did so immediately, quickly- the poor thing really couldn't remember! So that's how it had been eh? She herself (in her youth) had gotten her share of quote-unquote- "destructonookie"- but hers had always been the room smashing kind, not exactly the memory erasing kind. But after only one night? She nearly laughed aloud again, as she told the girl about the shadowy figure that had held her in the night.
Orihime sucked in a breath quietly, perhaps even she was amazed. It was to be expected after all, the older woman noted with a smothered chuckle. The poor girl was young yet. She still had a ways to go.
She was waiting for him when he got back.
She knew very well that this was stupid, foolish, idiotic all of the above. Maybe he would make good on his promise this time. Maybe he would ignore her, openly disregard her, shun her, reject her. There didn't seem to be any possible way he could make her feel any lower than with that brand of quiet hatred, than in that brief moment when she had been nothing but trash to him. It seemed almost improbable to her, in this moment, that he could make her feel lower than she had in that moment, crying on her knees in that alley. She tried to tell herself to be strong, steadfast, to unleash her inner Tatsuki even, rage and storm and not take no for an answer! Maybe she could be Super Orihime, or even an Amazon Queen, a Warrior! Surely at such crucial moments, their hearts didn't pound like hers did, their throats weren't bone dry like hers was, and surely their hands and knees didn't tremble.
They were strong willed, unbreakable, invulnerable! Nothing could tear them down, they could not be mortally wounded with mere words and scathing remarks, they could not be deterred by cold eyes and open disinterest. They knew what they wanted and they got it, knew what they desired and they sought it, knew what must be said and then said it.
And in the deathly silence of the room, she heard the key being turned in the lock.
She nearly screamed, a mix of frustration, anticipation, fear, eagerness, desire, stupidity. If she could have ran through brick walls, like a cartoon character, than surely she would have ran through his, leaving behind nothing but the imprint of her flailing body as she burst straight through all the apartments on the floor. She could have even shot up through the ceiling, straight to the moon, holding on to the crescent for dear life, heart pounding and teeth chattering away. Right here, right now in this very moment, her heart was going to mercifully explode in her chest and she would drop dead as a door nail on his floor. She resisted the urge to wring her hands until they were bone white from the effort, resisted the urge to gnaw her lips and nails to ragged shreds, pull her hair until she was bald, pace ruts into the floor…
And the door slowly opened.
And right then, right there, right there in that moment she shot up so quick from the couch her head spun and it took every ounce of will power she had in her frame to force herself to sit back down. To force herself to not get up and run to him, to run to him and kiss him and hug him and love him and to not curse him and beat him and hate him. She could easily imagine herself, throwing her body at his feet, groveling and begging and… she sat on her hands to stop them from pulling the stuffing out of the couch at the thought of latching onto him and never letting go. The room spun and spun because stupid she'd forgotten how to even breathe and the room was all swirls and white and him and- and he was in the room.
He was in the room.
The pressure of the room surely dipped, and she could feel the cold, the ice cold of winter welcoming to the burning blood in her veins as those cold eyes slowly took her in. Those eyes strode over her as if she had merely been a stain on his couch, merely been a hole in the wall, a spot on the floor. And she ground her lips together to halt the vomiting flow of words itching to burst out of her, ground her palms to dust beneath her to cease the tingling in her fingertips. And there it was again, that strange, bizarre, tangible something hovering between them, as her eyes zeroed in on his. She didn't blink, didn't look away- she'd be darned if in that moment she could. She felt rooted to this very spot, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, pinned by that frigid gaze, struck deaf, dumb and stupid. Within the confines of this charged bubble of theirs, time was of no consequence. She stared at him until her eyes began to water, until they brimmed and spilled over, hot leaden tears drifting down her cheeks.
He had not moved until then, had been as still as death as their eyes had clashed in that endless moment. But at the appearance of those sudden tears, he seemed to rouse himself from the depths of whatever it was that had occupied him, and he strode past her, and in that horrible moment she knew whatever ground she had gained had briefly been lost.
"Leave,Onna."
Reality awoke before her mind did, slapping her out of that stupor only he could incite. Hastily she leaped up from the couch, nearly stumbling over her own two feet, feeling the horrified look on her face as she fiercely rubbed at her eyes with her shirt sleeves. He was disgusted by weakness. And tears surely counted, no matter how unbidden and uncalled for, to him they would only be further evidence stacked against her, just another reason to add to his mile long list of reasons for why she was stupid for pursuing this, for pursuing him.
She ground her hands into fists, feeling the curved outlines of her nails biting viciously into her palms. For a moment, she nearly hurled herself at him, nearly tackled him to the floor, turn him over, turn him around, if only he would look at her again!
"No! That's not what I came to do! I-"
"Onna." And there was an unusual chill to his voice, a barely contained threat underlining his words, that made a shiver race up and down the length of her spine. He didn't like to repeat himself.
Stumbling, she pulled back, her trembling lips pressed into an unmercifully straight line to stop the anxiety from allowing her to gnaw them to shreds. She sucked in a shallow breath and closed her eyes briefly. She didn't want to see his face when she took the plunge and said the words.
"…you saved me."
She hardly dared to breathe and it was best to handle him when she was drifting, when she thought of nonsensical things like what she wanted for lunch and what everyone else was doing… by now surely they were all making merry, it was Thursday, Karaoke Thursday right? After classes they were probably in the arcade, renting out a room, belting out cracked high notes and listening to each other's tone deaf attempts at musical talent.
"Nonsense."
And he couldn't let her have a moment, couldn't let her drift and stay in the haze not even for a moment. Of course, why would he? He wasn't one to comfort her, to make her feel safe and protected and… he was just who he was, this cold, hard hearted being who no doubt thought less than nothing of her so called love. It was a struggle to remind herself of yesterday, of her bravery, her boldness and that fleeting moment of triumph when she'd known he'd been aware of her to some degree. It was easier to remember that other feeling, that sweet tenderness she'd felt for him in that moment when she'd wound her arms around him. Like hugging an ice cube, a snowman, and all she wanted to do was watch him melt, and melt with him, together into a puddle of liquid goop. She felt some of her tension fade away, the tremble in those hands no longer from anxiety and frustration, but once more warm at the thought of holding him.
She couldn't be afraid of him. Yes, maybe he was the bad guy, the super villain in disguise, the big bad wolf, the dragon… but he could only huff and puff for so long. She might not have been confident in much, but she was confident in this. She wouldn't give up. One step at a time, she'd conquer him, show him, prove it to him. Her feelings weren't so trivial, so false, so empty.
She breathed in slowly, trying to calm herself, working her way up to the moment where she hesitantly opened her eyes, meeting the emptiness in those emerald depths through her lashes.
"I know that you were the one who took me home last night. And I remember… I mean there's still… I still have the marks. Last night, something… bad could have happened. And I think it was because of you that nothing did. "
There was no sudden movement, no intake of breath, not the slightest blink or twitch. Those broad shoulders still loose just so, those delicate hands still shoved into the depths of his pockets. He stared at her without the slightest qualm in his expression, as if this was all well and good and just like he'd expected, as if this tense conversation was all going according to his plan, marking off some mental checklist, staring at her as if were daring her to go off script. Those eyes told her they knew what she thought, knew what she believed, knew that her imagination was stretched to the limit, knew that some part of her had placed such hope in this that she would no doubt die if told otherwise. Her heart lurched to a stuttering halt. Because he was looking at her as if he wanted to break her.
"Do not be so presumptuous."
And there it was again- and if she listened carefully, she could hear the sound of her precious dream fantasy of dragons in shining armor crumbling to ash around her.
"Do not delude yourself with such ill formulated ideals. If you wish to thank anyone, it should be Grimmjow. He was the one who 'saved' you. I merely carried you to your quarters. That is all. It would be nothing short of foolishness to invest anything more in so simple an action."
Crumbling to ash, dust on the wind, and he ground the fleeting remains beneath his heel so there would be no chance of their resurrection, of their ever being reborn. What were they anyway? Her dreams, her ideals?Nothing to him. It was stupid to think she still hadn't learned that by now. How much more could she take before he shattered her completely? How much more?
She couldn't look away. Her vision wavered, and she barely managed to register the fact that her eyes were brimming once again with those pathetic tears he despised. She didn't brush them away this time, she wouldn't, couldn't cry, but she wanted him to see them. She felt remarkably empty, as if she'd been a glass full, now poured outwards onto a dry, parched land. She wondered if one day, that famine filled land would ever be covered in a field of flowers. She wondered if it would forever be this way, dry, dark, desolate. She wondered if she was stupid for wanting to still believe, even after all this.
"Thank you."
And she noticed it, because if there was nothing she could do to escape his notice, then there was nothing he could to escape hers. The words came to mind so simply, so easily, like a naturally drawn breath. And she knew, instinctively, that he wouldn't turn away again, not this time. And she saw it on his face, saw it in his eyes, the way those emerald eyes seemed to open briefly to take in all of her at once. She'd derailed him for a moment, thrown him off course, and just like yesterday she felt a brief triumph. As if she'd snatched his carefully cultivated lists of responses and reactions, and ripped it to shreds. It couldn't have been anyone else but him, no one else but her. This was close as she would ever get to surprising him. And that was enough.
If she had blinked, she would have missed it, how smoothly his eyes transitioned back to that liquid cold.
"Onna, I believe you misunderstood me."
"No." she stated quickly, a surprising firmness etched into the calm of her voice. He couldn't hurt her anymore. "You misunderstood me."
And it was back, the boldness, the momentary triumph singing in her veins. He wasn't so immovable, so unreachable, so bleak, so desolate, so cold. She could do it, could do it, she had the power to push him back, even though he could break her as easily as a porcelain doll. And as easily as she realized that he could break her down to less than nothing with just the power of words, she knew that she could push him to the point of feeling. And that was enough. Yesterday she'd done it, for one brief unforgettable moment, she thought she could have made him remember, could have made him understand.
She knew that what she was considering doing could very well be the death of her. But she was prepared, she wasn't afraid, not anymore. She wondered if she imagined the suddenly wary gleam in his eyes. For one brief maddening moment, she smiled blindingly wide into his face. Impossibly, he blinked. It was all she needed.
She ran past him as quick as she knew how, darting past him down the hall. She knew which door to push. She clambered down those steps into that pit of blackness, and this time the fear couldn't so much as touch her. She was scorching, she was burning, she was ablaze! She didn't need light, she was glowing all her own. She'd left the basement door open. It was merely a moment later that his shadow blocked the light, and she could clearly see his outline, the glimmer of those eyes against the light.
"Onna."
Too late.
She reached upward, satisfied with the metallic clink, the suddenly familiar feel of the cool metal cuff against the warmth of her flesh. The key was still jammed into the lock of the metal cuffs; he hadn't bothered to remove it, not since that time when he had freed her from her accidental bondage. But then, it had been nothing but her innocent fumbling that had led her to being strung up in his basement. But now? She clicked the lock into place, hastily pulling the key into her palm. And her eyes were ablaze with a fire he'd never seen, her back straight and her grin no longer sweet, but devilishly confident. And there was no fear of him, no anxiety, nothing but that fire in her veins. All she needed was an S on her chest to be super woman, super Orihime, a tiara to be the amazon queen, the rebellious princess. And the words were suddenly maddening easy to say, so maddeningly easy that it surprised her. What had held her back? What had stopped her before? With a relief she didn't know she could have felt, she hurled them at him rapid fire, like a well placed slap on the side of his face.
"Ulquiorra Cifer, I like you."
His eyes had noticeably widened, and she could have laughed for joy, could have grinned until she pulled a muscle from the effort. She saw it there, she could see it in him, and he was a big fat liar to say he couldn't feel, to say there was no possible way he could ever feel. What else could it be, in the sudden widening of his eyes, the sudden tenseness to his frown?
"I told you that was useless." There was an edge to the cold in his words.
"Well I think you had better tell me again. Because I like you, I really like you, and if this is what I have to do to prove it, then I will. I know you think I'm stupid, yeah well maybe sometimes I am. I still watch cartoons and collect stuffed animals, I'm slightly crazy and not too mature. But if I'm sure of nothing else, it's the way I feel about you! You can push me away all you want, you can deny me all you want, but I'm not going to go away!"
And the fire was in her, coursing through her without restraint, branding her like the key clutched tightly in her fist. It wasn't going to end like last time! She wasn't going to walk away from her again, not again! She wasn't going to let him walk away from this, wasn't going to let him turn her back on this! He claimed it was impossible, that there was nothing she could do to ever make him feel for her the way she felt for him. Well she would tell him until she was hoarse, screech it to the heavens, chant it up and down the mountain, even if he taped her mouth shut and left her in the dark, she had time and patience and the feelings in her heart could not be so easily quenched. If he was going to be stubborn about this, then so would she!
And before she could think twice, she grimaced and popped the key into her open mouth. And he recoiled away from the door stiffly, as if she had just grown a second head, as if she were the one, changing before his very eyes into a being that could match him blow for blow with equal fervor. And if she could have lifted the world on her shoulders it was now, when he was looking at her like that, and the words were flowing smoothly out of her without regret. Her eyes were narrowed, determined, set. She'd vowed to not let this end like this, not when she'd even been given a chance to begin. Well this was it!
"You don't understand! When you tell me to abandon you, you only make me want to hold you tighter. When you tell me I'm foolish for wanting to believe in you, it only makes me want to make you believe in me. When you walk away and leave me… it only makes me want to follow you until I collapse! Because when you're so cold, so empty, so desolate, living like an untouchable it only makes me want to be the one to make you see! How do you know, when you won't even give me a chance? Ulquiorra, why don't you want to believe me when I tell you, breathless and anxious like this, when being the way I am, I can finally look you in the eyes and say it! I'll say it until you believe it! Ulquiorra, I like you! I like you I like you I like you!"
And then the damn broke, all hell broke loose, the universe exploded, reality shifted and tore and maybe she even thought she saw heaven and hell for one brief moment. Because he snapped, he ripped, the façade slipped, the frigid cold was lit into a startling harsh blaze, because those emerald eyes were suddenly as hard as flint, those dark eyebrows narrowed into such a startling display of anger that it could have killed her and buried her six feet under in hellfire.
"I'm telling you it's useless!"
Because he was yelling at her, because she'd broken that cold façade without knowing how, without knowing why, unknowingly she'd pulled the trigger, and now breathless, she waited for her brains to splatter like vomit all over his wall. If she thought her will was strong, her resolve unshakeable, before the force of his sudden rage they all faded away to nothing. The cold hand of fear had latched into her heart so suddenly, it frightened her to the point of tears. The blood, her pulse roared in her ears, and her knees buckled. Agape, astonished, her mind could barely process the fact that the mask she had so idolized had shattered, could shatter. For one maddening moment, she thought she went brain dead, staring wordlessly at his face filled with that tight anger that threatened to blow her away. Because the cold in those emerald eyes snapped at her, snapped at her like smoothly drawn blades, the depths of them hard and accusing, and if she been worth nothing to him before, she suddenly felt ascended to as close to hate as there could be with him.
Because she'd blurred the line, jumped over it, pranced up and down it, danced on it, and even rolled over it. The) blasphemy! How dare she? What right did she think she had, to make him feel this way? What right had she? When she was so unworthy, so insignificant, nothing but a foolish pattering little fool who didn't know better, a stupid little girl who had just been lucky, who had taken one too many liberties.
He'd warned her last time. And if she thought he didn't follow through on his word, then she'd obviously fallen in love with another man. Because she could see it, clearly in the depth of those accusing eyes, that very same warning, reverberating within the confines of her mind.
["This situation will not repeat itself."]
And then she didn't know what she had been thinking, didn't know what the hell was wrong with her, because suddenly her free hand groped fiercely at her bound one. If she could have ripped the stupid thing from the wall she would have, but super Orihime had headed back to krypton leaving behind a shell, stupid and weak. She had never been more frightened of him than in this very moment, when his eyes were so raw, so open. Maybe she had never really believed they could be filled with anything but detachment. If she'd been smaller, this was the part where she'd wet her Pamper, right here, when she felt her blood run cold and felt the heat rush out of her face, sapping her of her energy. But because she was older, and stupid and confused and because she was naïve and foolish and didn't understand, it was in this very moment that she gulped audibly.
[In the unlikely occurrence that I once again find you violating my premises without my explicit permission, I will not be so lenient.]
It was only a second later that she realized, with mute horror, that she'd swallowed the key.
But too late, too late! She felt the muffled scream rise and die in her throat, and she realized that once before she would have sighed in sinful delight at the thought of being at his mercy. His face had snapped back, snapped back into that cold façade. But this time it was no longer unreadable, she could see the resolution, the determination etched into the lines of his frown, like dying stars, the warning in his eyes. And she almost lost it then, pulled so viciously at that stupid cuff that she swore blood trickled down the inside of her wrist. Because there was no longer emptiness, only that cold resolution, to solidify that warning. And she nearly gnawed her tongue off, threw the weight of her body against that stupid cuff, her heart pounding so fiercely in her chest, that cold sweat breaking out along her forehead, the hairs rising on the back of her neck.
Because the dragon was about to burn the village to cinders with his hellfire, storm the castle, smash the hero to bits, devour the princess unmercifully, no longer sordidly amused by her antics, this time he would rip her limb from limb. She was the sacrificial lamb chained to the altar, staring down the beast that would be her undoing. She wanted to scream for anyone, someone, her palms were sweaty, cold and clammy, she felt sick to her stomach, bloodless and limp. Because those emerald eyes were looking at her.
And she knew that without a doubt, this time he would make sure of it. He would give her what she wanted. He would give her himself, without mercy, without comfort, with nothing but the ice of his flesh and the winter in his eyes. He was going to give her himself, but he was going to break her apart thoroughly in the process, he was going to devour her completely, he was going to utterly destroy her, she wouldn't have enough consciousness left to even pick up the pieces. And the brilliant skies of her fantasies darkened to black, and for one moment she fervently hoped for that sudden slumber, to vanish through the floorboards, to be invisible. She wanted to run, to flee, to evaporate into nothingness before the nature of the unspoken promise between them. She could almost read his eyes. Stupid girl. The princess wanted to be tainted, to be dirtied, to be covered with the cloak of darkness.
She thought she could feel her life flashing before her eyes. The fleeting desires, her dreams, her ideals of her and him. There wouldn't be enough of her left to want much of anything. Instinctively, the dread, the reality slowly seeped in. This time, he was going to break her.
Ulquiorra slammed the door shut behind him.
And it was back to the unforgiving darkness.
AN: DUN DUN DUN.
Maybe he'll eat her. Omnomnom gimme ur SOUL! (...and stuff)
Sorry this took so long guys! I went to college and now I don't have half as much time to devote to Ulquihime fun tiemz as I used to, but hang on and we'll get there (eventually!) Anyway, somehow, some way, I would like to blame Mrs. Mimi for all of this. Trifling old people. She sure knows how to help Orihime land in some interesting positions doesn't she? And if you think Syazel was just just trying to be a good neighbor, you're reading this wrong.
Once again, bow all before the might of the mighty Equitablyinjust and her highlighting power of DOOM. She made this chapter awesome...-er. (As in awesomer. Yeah I suck at that, I know.)
Well let us speculate, murhur. (That's me laughing evilly at you btw) Review! They make my college fried brain MOST pleased. Most pleased indeed.
Disclaimer: I no own Bleach. Kubo Tite does, that triflin ho heifa. So put that in your pipe and SMOKE it.
