[AliCe In Chains]

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

[The Knife Called Lust]


It was eerily familiar- it had not been so long ago that she had been here, just like this. It had not been so long ago that she'd been at his mercy, shivering with barely contained excitement, her blood ablaze, her face warm. It had not been so long ago that her heart had pounded like this, but with the might of a desire that she felt she could barely contain. It had been want, it had been need that had raced through her limbs, that had made her tremble. The desire that made her painfully aware of herself in a way that she could never fully grasp in the light of day. The arch of her back as she leaned against the weight of that biting steel, the length of her legs, the smooth expanse of barely revealed skin between the edge of her shirt and the waistband of her cotton skirt. How the heaviness of her breath made her chest heave, the painful, almost tortuous ache burning in her abdomen.

The way her grey eyes, wide, searched futilely in the darkness. This was beginning to feel like some dream, some maddening delusion she'd dreamed up in her stupor. Because she was really still upstairs, dead as a door nail, sprawled out on the floor. And he was hauling her corpse to the corner trash can out back in a black garbage bag. Or she'd really done it, turned to magic dust before his eyes, complete with a 'poof!' and a shower of sparkles.

Like a broken record, replaying over and over again, a mad jumble of everything within her churning in turmoil. The feel of him beneath her hands, her lips, clashed with the image of that dim alley and that maddening grin. The cold shackles holding her prisoner, the only difference now was that they had been clasped of her own free will. All he needed was a sliver of moon overhead, that sickening glint in his eyes. That was all that was missing, her fear was there, her heart was pounding and she was more aware of her body, herself than ever. She was frightened beyond belief, and she could feel the hot warmth of her tears on her face but she didn't know why. And it was stupid because she didn't know why she was feeling so afraid, it was stupid because he had never hurt her, he had never hurt her, he had never-!

"Onna."

She flinched, as if the word had been his hand drawn back to strike her across the face. Her knees knocked together as she struggled to hold herself upright, her free hand trembling so fiercely that she could barely manage to keep it protectively held against her chest. It was feeding time at the pet mart, and she was the mouse in the snake cage.

"Your limbs tremble with barely contained fear. You hyperventilate. You barely have enough composure left to even form words."

She couldn't even find the breath to deny. What was there to deny? It would be pointless to fight against him, to fight against his words. Hadn't she said it before? This was his domain. He was lord and master here. And had she really thought, in one moment, that she would ever be able to fight with him on equal footing? What was the fragility of her love against his iron will? What were her fantasies and ideals against the harsh bite of his reality? He made it hard to for her to remember that she'd ever made him feel, it was hard to make it into a victory when he was so adamant that she wind up the loser.

"Shall I tell you how you 'feel'?"

And those emerald eyes were suddenly in her line of sight, drawing closer. If they could have devoured her, if she could have drowned in that sea of green, as transfixed as she was by those beacons in the darkness, it would have been then.

"In this moment Onna, you are frightened. Your brief display of bravery has abandoned you, and now you are what you always were. Weak. The strength on which you so heavily relied has faded. There is nothing left for you now but despair. This is a battle you cannot win."

She could acutely recall this same feeling of mute understanding, being devoid of words. Again, she felt as if her throat had been clogged, as if her heart had permanently lodged there. The triumph of that kiss, of those words finally released, faded away into the darkness of her subconscious. Those emerald eyes were on her, filled with that secret accusation, hurling the words at her from some distant part of himself that she could have never even hoped to reach.

"You profess to want someone who you cannot even begin to understand. Feelings you yourself cannot even properly explain."

She wished he was wrong, wished everything he said was nothing but lies for her to refute. She wished she could have proclaimed her innocence, campaigned for her truth, instead of being crushed by his. This was how he saw the world. Her so called feelings, her words, her actions, before him reeked of nothing but untruth. There seemed to be nothing his eyes could not perceive. She felt that if she continued to fall into his eyes, farther and farther down the rabbit hole, she would discover the meaning of it- the reason why he was so empty on the inside. The reason why his eyes stared at her with nothing but that ancient bitterness.

In a brief moment of startling clear reflection, a flash of brilliance, a sudden urge grasped her so strongly, so quickly it snatched her breath away. She could feel the stupid tears, still hot on her cheeks. He hated that. Tears. Tears were proof of the humanity in her that he tried so hard to deny. And before she even had the time to work up the nerve, the words hesitantly dropped from her lips.

"You never hold back. You say what needs to be said, nothing more and nothing else. You don't sugarcoat anything. You don't believe in lying. You don't believe in sparring someone's feelings. You have pride, but not arrogance. I honestly don't think there's a single thing you believe in. Tatsuki says people like you feed on the misery of others. I don't think she's right because…you never mean to cause it, it's just who you are, it's just…in your nature. I don't think you've ever been happy…you…you probably don't even know what happiness is. There's probably not a single person you call friend, or one who thinks of you as one. That's why you don't know, why you can't really know because- b-because-"- here she faltered.

And in that brief moment as before, he was upon her. She could not see- the darkness was complete around her, devoid of all light- before she'd compared it to a personal hell. She had not known hell like she knew it now, surrounded by this hopeless night. In the dark she could feel him, feel the cold of him close to her- and when she raised her head, she was assaulted by the emerald of his eyes. In the dark they burned with the heat of ice flame, which made no sense because ice couldn't flame, but somehow was perfect because it was him.

"Onna." There was a strange something in his voice- an ancient weariness that she dully recognized. When he sounded like that- when she stopped to think of him, of his complete detachment from any and everyone else in the world, something about the cold of him…well maybe if death could walk, live and breathe…she imagined it would be like him. Believing in nothing and no one, immune to the world because surely death would know of the follies of humanity if nothing else. When she thought like that, maybe his…disgust…in her made sense. How could he, so knowledgeable and wise, ever return the feelings of a fool like her? She would have laughed at this, thinking of a genius with the village idiot, but her throat seemed dry and hollow. Were she to even attempt it, she was sure it would be a dry, creaking sound.

"The world is filled with filth. The only logical response is to deny such trifling fixations with others, and rely only on oneself. Happiness and companionship are for the foolish. You humans are all the same. Equally foolish. You are blind to anything but your own world, fraught with delusions."

He spoke slowly, methodically in that voice like the night, and his eyes never left hers. Once more, she was left a step behind, dazed. If he claimed to be able to understand her, very well, she couldn't grasp heads nor tails of him. Had a mere moment ago- had he not raged at her, with an anger so cold she'd felt her heart freeze in her chest and shatter? She shook her head side to side in disbelief, gulping audibly at the conviction in his voice. Happiness and friends for the foolish? Of course he could say that if he didn't know what it was like! Maybe she was deluded, she couldn't deny that, but delusions or no, that didn't change the fact that deep down in her heart she-

"You Onna…do not know the meaning of despair. Fear and pain have never been your teacher."

She wasn't sure what to say to that. She had not known what true fear meant until she'd loved him, the simple fears she'd had of cockroaches and giraffes seemed foolish when compared to him, and the demons that stalked alleys at night, waiting for stupid little girls like her to wander by. But that wasn't right. It wasn't right. He couldn't stare her in the eyes and tell her that, not when he didn't know, not when he didn't even attempt to comprehend this… the ache in her heart, that empty hollow inside of her that only he could fill.

"You're wrong." She began quietly, and she could feel her eyes soften as she continued to peer hesitantly into the depths of his. She wanted him to understand. She wanted him to know. "I know about pain. There's nothing more painful than loving someone… who won't even try to love you back. There's no fear like loving someone… knowing at any moment that they could slip from between your hands. And knowing that… they were never yours to claim anyway. There's… nothing like that, not in the whole world."

His gaze intensified, and she felt like she was being peered at under a microscope, stripped apart to the very core of her being beneath his gaze. Again, this feeling of complete vulnerability swept over her so suddenly that before she could stop herself, before she could stop it from happening, her hand was touching him. In the dark, in an almost trance like daze, her eyes bored into his own, the cold of his cheek scorching her palm. He didn't lean into her touch, nor did he run from it. That feeling from before welled up within her, that strange feeling within her that wanted to submit wholly to him, that feeling that between them now was something she would never be able to put into words. That strange, wordless struggle that was always on the edge of his gaze, searching her face with that quiet intensity that made her heart flutter and made her knees tremble.

"…I do not understand you Onna. Knowing this, why do you continue to put so much faith in one who denies the existence of such things as foolish as feelings?"

Against her will, she felt her hand stroke longingly along the length of his cold cheek. It was smooth and hard, like marble. She didn't think she could have pinched it, no matter how hard she tried. She'd have better luck trying to pinch the cheek of a doll than she would with him. The thought made her smile slightly.

"I have faith that I can change him, and make him understand."

And she knew that somehow she'd ruined it, instinctively, as soon as the words left her lips. Before she could blink, her hand was hovering empty, grasping the dark. His eyes had retreated away from her, and she hastily withdrew her arm back towards her chest as she noticed the return of that cold determination in his eyes.

"…Nonsense. Very well. I shall teach you Onna… what it means to place your faith in anyone but yourself. True despair."


"I do not understand him. I myself am growing curious of this mortal that has grasped his attention."

"Well perhaps it was bound to happen- after all these centuries, how fitting for him to finally meet a mortal perplexing enough to procure his interest."

"What do you mean?"

"Consider this- he is the incarnate of Nihilism. An extreme form of skepticism: the denial of all real existence or the possibility of an objective basis for truth, nothingness or nonexistence, complete destructiveness at the world and at oneself. Or let's just say this, in his case, annihilation of the self or the individual consciousness, is far more fitting. He has never once, not in all these countless years, done anything for himself. Nor has he wanted too. It has always been for the good of the master, for the good of the master-"

"-even now?"

"-especially now. Ever since Los Noches fell in the last great war, along with our precious 'Master.' Once he went, there was no chance in hell we could have managed the aftermath- to impose order on that lawless chaos that has reigned since his demise? Suicide."

"….do you believe he will ever return?"

"I should hope not, especially when I'm having so much fun."

"Well it has been a century or two now, give or take a couple of decades…and we've seen men be born only to die, and die just to live and hunt us."

"Can you blame them? We're the last of a dying breed. Once we fall- well, that will be the end of it. Hueco Mundo will once more return to that illogical hell. Without order, without law, without mercy… the soul reapers wouldn't have to worry their pretty little heads anymore. Hueco Mundo would eventually annihilate itself. We were the last order you know, and if the master does return, we would be his last chance to overthrow the heavens. Without that… thing on which he relied, we would be his only hope. And that of course, is only if the master still lives, and if we are still alive should he ever return, which I doubt… the times aren't right for such things."

"Well said… Now… what do you think he'll do to her, considering the way things have turned?"

"…he is the most logical of us all. The smart thing to do would be to just eat her and be done with all of this nonsense. However…."

"…however…?"

"Come, come… such opportunities are few and far in between. Why not keep her? It will perhaps be another couple of centuries before he shall meet a mortal with the emotional capacity to stand someone like him. Why not explore it for himself? What these humans call 'love.' We Espada were not born to appreciate such things, not much besides the hell fire, the fight and bloody victories. However we have been in the human world long enough- and Nnoitra has lost himself in the flesh, Grimmjow in the glory of battle, I in my studies- surely there is not something for him as well?"

"…So we shall permit this?"

"Why not? If he were to decide for himself otherwise, there would not be much that could be done to stop him. And do you not see how much fun this can be? A hollow, a heartless, emotionally detached being, learning to love? The blasphemy in this is just too rich to pass up."

"What if? Are you mad? Soul Society has probably already claimed her, as pure a soul as she has. Are you prepared for the consequences?"

"They have more than enough, surely one pure soul won't exactly matter now will it? Besides, by the time the dust settles, I highly doubt such will be the case. Besides, I have a wager to settle. And I have never lost a bet. And in case you've forgotten, yes I am mad. As mad as a hatter that's gotten to mad for his hat in fact."

"My, my brother… you are unmatched. Perhaps you are the one to be most wary of. How in the world did you find all this out?"

"She's a simple enough child. Under the lure of confidentiality, one can find out many things… namely, that her friends are overbearing and would not permit this, that her landlord is horrifically insensitive and crude when it comes to such things, her only remaining family cares not for her or her well being, and she's lost, confused and stumbling over that threshold between adolescence and adulthood. To whom else can she turn? I am merely a stranger to her, and have you not heard the saying that surely strangers can give one clearer insight on these matters?"

"So that's what you mean when you said-"

"That's exactly right. Honestly, in the void that is my heart, I'd pity her… if I wasn't enjoying myself so much. Poor girl. I understand now. I understand everything. She's madly, irrevocably in love with him… our Ulquiorra-sama."


His lips were cold and hard against her own. They were firm and set, the force behind them on the verge of bruising the soft flesh of her own lips. He didn't close his eyes. One of his frigid hands tightened securely around her wrist, bringing her forward against him. She couldn't pull away. She didn't want to. The cold of his embrace made her feel as if her flesh was on fire, lit from within. She wondered if he were the one melting, or if she were the one freezing. Slowly but surely...

She couldn't think, she barely had enough of her conscious left to formulate a single thought, much less words. The kiss was endless, unforgiving, merciless… she could have kept going forever, to describe everything the kiss wasn't. It wasn't anything like she expected, but everything she didn't want. She could have been kissing a corpse- or maybe it was he. She wondered which of them now was the colder. The kiss of death. When his lips left hers, she felt dead. Cold and empty inside. Her blood seemed sluggish and slow, lazy, warm. But…

That cold kiss was…

"You are satisfied."

"…No." In the dark, her voice trembled again, on the verge of tears.

"Onna. I am incapable of passion."

She knew that, stupid, she knew that, she did, but she wondered why it was now that it seemed to really hit her. This was it. That was it. That cold kiss had done it. It had finished her- he hadn't persuaded her with his logic- but with that untouchable indifference. She drew her hand up to her face, whimpering as a sob was smothered in her throat. The tears on her face were fresh, hot, warm. She didn't know what to do with them besides feel them, warm and lazily running between her fingertips.

"I…I don't understand. I don't! I don't! You won't, you can't-"

"Onna. There was nothing you claimed to not already expect."

It wasn't anger, it wasn't hate or… she didn't know what it was, welling within her.

"No! That's not right! That's not right at all! This is all wrong! You have to put your heart in it! How can you just do something like that without putting your heart into it?"

"Onna, the heart…" She didn't want to hear him condemn it, she didn't want to hear him abhor it, justify it with that infallible logic that would leave her behind, didn't want him to put it into those cold, cold words. And it wasn't rage that struck her, not anger or hate- but frustration and desperation.

"It's here!" She screamed at him, reaching forward, forcefully grabbing his hand, the cold of his fingers biting into the warmth of her own as she snatched his hand to her, barely breathing as she held it tightly to her chest. Immediately, an electric tingle raced down the length of her spine, she sucked in a heady breath, smothering the strangled cry of need threatening to burst from between her lips. The cold of his palm against her- she felt naked, freed, unbound, and the heat was in her face and she nearly toppled forward, barely managing to hold herself together. She could have been ripped apart just from that, just from that, the feel of his hand against her. She'd dreamed of this; of those hands and tender caresses, slow, leisurely strokes against her skin.

She wound her fingers through his, pressing his palm more firmly against her breast, the pulsating organ beneath her flesh beating an erratic tattoo against his palm. She wondered if he could feel the heat wafting off of her skin, wondered if the warmth of her could warm him. She noticed her hands were trembling. Her knees, knocking together. Her blood sang.

"It's here." She repeated again, firmly, even though the words were airy and breathless. She dared look into his eyes. And what she saw there made her pause, made the words dry up in her throat. His eyes were widened ever so slightly, staring at their hands, together, against her. She sucked in a breath, and held it, pensive and anxious as she felt the length of his spindly fingers pressed against her. His frigid hands seemed to sear her, burn her, mark her. She tried to hold herself together, beneath that frigid palm. She tried not to squirm, tried not to move, every single cell in her body on edge, aware, hoping. If he so much as moved a finger, if he so much as moved a finger she would explode, she would burst into pieces, she would fall apart at the seams.

Her breath came in and out, in ragged breaths that broke the tense silence enveloping them in the dark. He spoke.

"…And therein is where such illogical feelings spawn."

He could have broken out of her hold easily, without the slightest bit of effort- he had long since proven that. Were her other hand freed, she would have placed it over his as well, to stop him from leaving. She couldn't do it. She knew anymore of this could end her, anymore of this could send her flying to the winds. And with a dip of her head, she tucked her chin, and softly pressed her lips to the tip of his finger.

"No." She stated, her eyes never leaving his, the grey orbs wavering, forcefully trying to make him understand. "This is where love resides."

"…You will not yield." His eyes never left hers.

She didn't flinch. "I won't."

"You will hold to your misconceptions and delusions of what this 'love' entails."

His hand tightened around her breast, as if he could feel her heart beneath his palm, as if he would have liked nothing better than to snatch the silly thing right out of her chest and end all of this. And she could feel the length of every single one of his fingertips, pressing against her flesh. She sucked in a breath, struggling to focus, to ignore the flame burning between her legs. If she could hold on, if she could survive, if she could show him, whatever she had to do to show him, she would-

"I don't have any delusions, or misconceptions. Not anymore. I know what love is. It's what I feel for you."

And time stopped once more, all over again, as his eyes bored into hers. He sighed. It was a strange sound, like the wind on the water at night. And the hairs rose on the back of her neck. And the hairs rose on the back of her neck, and her throat was dry. She hastily ran her tongue over her lips. It was fine, it would be fine. He had never hurt her, his words could only wound her so much, could only hurt her so much. She could survive. She could prove it to him, she could show him.

"Lesson One, Onna."

She sucked in a breath in the dark, the words, echoing in her head like a mantra. He couldn't hurt her. He wouldn't hurt her. He could vent, he could rage, he could push her away, he could throw her away… but she would return, she would come back, she wouldn't give up. She could do this. Now or never, now was her time to show him, this was her chance to change him. If she could only bear this, if she could only survive this, then what more could he do? How much longer could he resist? She remembered a movie she'd seen once. Some superhero movie, one where the hero met his match in a villain who he could not even begin to imagine, couldn't even begin to fathom. And why not? The villain had prompted then: 'What happens when an immovable force meets an unstoppable force?'

And what would happen? He would not move. She wouldn't stop. He'd said last time, that was where they ended. She'd vow they would begin. Immovable, he would not give in, he would not bend. Unstoppable, she would not give up, she would not submit to his will, not when it involved willingly separating herself from him. What was there to be done? Where was the resolution? Where? How?

"Enemies will take advantage of any and all weaknesses presented to them. They will use any means necessary to make an opponent submit. You will hold to your misguided conception concerning love. Very well. If that is so, Onna, then I will not hesitate to show you the error of your ways."

She didn't know what he meant, she didn't know what to expect, but she'd gotten this far. And again she knew, she was certain that if she could survive this, if she could survive this, there wasn't anything he could do to her (she told herself) it was fine, it would be fine, he wouldn't- no, it didn't matter, nothing mattered. She was strong enough, she was strong enough. In her weakness was her strength, in her fear was her courage, in her actions, in her words lay the proof of her conviction. She couldn't see, she couldn't see, it was dark, it was cold. But there wasn't any place she'd rather be, there wasn't anyone she'd rather be with, there wasn't anyone she could have hated more, there wasn't anyone she could have loved more than him. She couldn't really explain it, she couldn't even justify it- all she knew was that her heart, her body, all she knew was that everything within her wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him. He was the one she choose, and if this was what had to be done to make him believe, if this was what she had to do then-

The cold, cold hand, seared against the smooth expanse of skin revealed beneath her skirt. The hand. On her thigh. Cold. Drawing upwards, drawing upwards, drawing-

She felt the air whoosh out of her lungs. Beneath his palm, her heart surely stuttered to a halt beneath his palm. The hairs rose along the back of her neck. And all she could think of, all she could feel, was that hand. That cold hand, there against her thigh. That cold hand, drawing up the length of her thigh. That hand. Those five fingers, his fingertips leisurely dragging at her skin. That hand. That hand. That. Hand. Drawing upwards.

"You wouldn't." It sounded odd. How odd it sounded, those words in the dark. She sounded stupid. She sounded like what that little girl would have sounded like, if she'd been approached by that man in the night, by that monster who ate stupid little girls when the moon was full. Even she couldn't understand it, that strange edge to her voice. She wondered if it was disbelief. She wondered. She wondered what her face must look like now, in the dark. She wondered if he could see her, could feel all of the warmth drain out of her face, noticed the way her lip trembled, her eyes wide. Eyes wide with disbelief.

His hand paused, the hand, cold, seared the flesh of her thigh. Seared the innocent flesh of her thigh, untouched by man. His hand was there, against her. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe it. This didn't feel real, it felt like a dream, it felt like a nightmare, it felt like-

"You will surrender." The cruelty in his voice was palpable.

Dumbly, she realized she'd been staring at him the entire time. Momentarily struck blind, in a deluded haze, all she could acknowledge was the cold of that hand against the warmth of her thigh. She blinked. He was close upon her, so close she could have touched him again. So close she could almost feel him, could almost feel the ice in his blood. Close enough to touch her. Close enough to be touching her. Close enough. And she was the one who had drawn him in, she was the one who had wanted to trap him. She was the one who had wanted to keep him to her, to keep him, to keep that hand against her heart. Maybe she'd thought if he'd known of hers, if he'd felt it, if he'd held it and realized it was his, only his, that maybe he would find his own.

Coldly. Without the slightest remorse. Without the least bit of pity he could look her in the eyes and make her choose. Without mercy, just that easily, once more he'd broken her delusions and ground them to dust beneath his heel. She thought she was the one trapping him. She'd been the one trapped all along. Just as planned? Was this what he wanted? How easy she'd made it for him. Now he could break her at his own discretion, at his own pace. Just like this. In the dark, her only vision of him the cruelty in his eyes. When all she could feel was his hand on her heart, not holding it like it was precious, like it was something to be treasured. Holding it like it was fragile, holding it with the power he knew he had over her, holding it as if he would have liked nothing more than to clutch his fist. Clutch his fist and shatter her stupid feelings to pieces.

She wanted to tell him. 'You're a monster' she would say. But it wouldn't matter because she still loved him, because that was all she could do. Even if he was cruel, even if he was merciless, even if he was without pity, without a heart, without a shred of compassion. She still loved him. And she was stupid, so very stupid. Stupid. 'You're a monster.' She could have said, some secret part of her that wanted to yell it at him, scream it at him. That same part of her that wanted to hold him, to love him, to make him understand.

"Onna."

And she wasn't strong enough. She wasn't brave enough. She wasn't courageous or bold enough. She alone wasn't enough. She wasn't enough of a girl to deny, wasn't enough of a woman to accept. And she was stupid because she knew he knew, stupid because she knew he knew she wouldn't give up. She knew he knew. He would push her limits, he was the only one who could, the only one. And she couldn't find the words. Stupidly, she wanted to cry again. Cry bitter, bitter tears.

"Why?" She didn't mean to sound so broken. She didn't mean it. She didn't mean to let him know. The impossible choice; give him up, give this up, give up on a chance for something more or… this. That hand. Cold. On her thigh. Without the love she craved, without the tenderness she wanted, without the impassioned kisses, without-

In the dark, his eyes were tight, set. She questioned him…she dared to question him. And therein laid her reply. They both knew why she'd asked. It didn't need to be said. They both knew what she would decide, long before the time of reckoning had arrived. The both of them had known. Why? Because he knew there was no other way to control her. Because there was no other way to dissuade her. He couldn't dissuade her with his logic. He couldn't convince her with his truth. He couldn't hurt her with his words, biting with the edge of truth. Such weapons could only harm her to a certain extent, before she would return, before she would come back to try again, and again. She understood. It was her fault. Because she persisted. Because she wouldn't give up. Because she still believed she could change him, because her love for him hadn't wavered. She understood him. She understood why. This between them was war. And if all else had failed, then he would hurt her in the vilest way possible. The only option left, the only way left for him to teach her the error of her ways, the only option left to make her lament her decision, make her regret.

Yes, it was cruel, to fight her with the only thing she couldn't control, to fight her with the only thing she had not yet learned to resist. Yes it was immoral, to toy with her feelings, to use her love against her…to use her body against her.

He didn't say anything more.

And then that cold hand was against her.

She told herself not to scream, she told herself not to make sound. If he knew! If he knew! It would last longer, it would be crueler, his eyes would be colder, his hands more insistent. She told herself that, as her heart sprinted beneath his palm, told herself that as the cold of his finger stroked against her. Told herself that, when her breath began to come in ragged breaths, when her knees began to tremble, when her shackled hand shook so hard she could feel the tremors racing through her arm. Her hand, over his, clutched insistently at his wrist. She wished she could push him away, hurl him away, wished she could have done anything but clutch tighter at his hand, the fingers trembling. She closed her eyes, slammed her mouth shut. 'Not a sound' she told herself. Not a sound.

The cold of his fingertips.

Dragged against her, a whisper against her.

Not yet. Not yet. But the room was aflame. Her eyes were closed but she could feel her head swim dizzily in the dark.

And the cold of his fingertips.

Prodded against her.

And she stumbled on her feet, stumbled and tumbled against him, her shackled hand held at an awkward angle above her, her head, pressed against his shoulder, her hand, his, still against her breast. And his hand, the cold one, still against her. It could have been a lover's embrace, if he had loved her as fiercely as she did him, it could have been, if the cruel intent behind that cold hand hadn't been so unforgiving.

The cotton of his shirt gave her flushed face a momentary relief. He smelled like freshly trampled snow, or earth. Bloodstained earth. Like the air of the tomb. Like the moon on the water. She couldn't think, she couldn't think, she could only feel that-

That cold hand.

Prodded against her.

And she smothered the wordless scream into his shoulder, muffled it in the cloth of his shirt. Her hand clawed at the back of his. Her legs nearly gave out beneath her. In the dark, her breath came, rushed, ragged breaths hastily drawn in and out. And she couldn't breathe fast enough, she couldn't breathe fast enough-dear god- air wasn't sweet enough, not here, not here where it smelled like death and bitterness, not here, where cold immovable hands touched you and made you freeze to the core.

His hand paused. His chest rumbled when he spoke, the cool of his breath against her ear, even though she hadn't felt him tuck his head. Even though he hadn't moved, probably hadn't blinked, not when he seemed to be able to do this so easily, so easily.

"I do not understand. Why torture yourself in this manner? It is simple enough. If you would only relinquish these idiotic feelings, you will be spared this torment. All you have to do Onna, is refute those illogical statements and vow to never return. It is simple enough. Mortals such as you place so much emphasis on morals, on character, on societal standards. Why renounce such things over a matter so trivial?"

She couldn't find words. She could only feel herself, could only feel herself the way only he could make her feel, feel herself the way only he could incite in her. She could only feel the blood roaring in her ears, the heat in her face, the barely restrained cacophony of sounds being swallowed in her throat. The cold of his hands. Against her. Against her.

"Love...love isn't something so trivial. It's not something so cheap that it can just be thrown away over something like this. It's fine. D-Do your worst. Do your worst because I love you. Do your worst because that isn't going to change, no matter how much you push me away, no matter how much you hurt me. It's not-"

She lost the words. She would not get another chance to say them again. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him, feel the cold suddenly amplified in his chest. Could feel it again, pouring out of him. That bitterness. That ancient, biting bitterness, aimed at her. His voice was clipped. Cold.

"I see. Then, Inoue Orihime, you are as foolish as I thought."

And he ripped his hand from her chest, ripped free from her grip so easily her eyes wrenched open, ripped open wide as the cold of his hand tightened around her wrist, drawing the limp arm upwards, slamming it against the wall to join its brethren. She barely had time to breathe, barely had time to scream. Afraid, afraid, afraid of that stone cold accusation in his eyes. Grey eyes wide, in disbelief, in disbelief. His knee moved forward, pried her legs apart. Her head, the room spun, spun, spun. His eyes never left her face, and in them was that liquid cold, that cold, seeping from his eyes into her. She tried to close her eyes, terrified, she wanted to close her eyes, but his eyes held her captive, his eyes held her captive. And stupid, stupid!

And his hand was against her. There was no mercy, no love, no compassion, no pity, as he ground his palm against her. Ground his palm against her clothed center, looking at her with that edge to his eyes, that immovable frown, that impassive face as he ground his palm against her as if it were nothing, as if it were nothing. And she broke, she broke, because she threw her head back and screamed, screamed at the impossibility of it, the cruelty of it. Screamed because her body was on fire, screamed because the pressure was building and building and it wasn't fair, it wasn't right, it wasn't!

And his fingers pressed and prodded and pressed, as if he'd known her all along, as if he'd known all along, all about her secrets, all about her fantasies, all about princesses and dragons. And she couldn't breathe, could only suck in enough air to scream, to scream. And she screamed, and he pulled and prodded and pressed, and she screamed, and her legs trembled, trembled, and she threw her head back against the wall, the sounds, broken whispers, strangled cries of pain or pleasure, she didn't know, but her body burned, her body burned. And she screamed because her virgin flesh didn't understand, screamed because her heavy heart couldn't understand, screamed because the cold of his hands was against her prodding and pulling and pressed…

And that dark tide was rising, rising, rising-

And the cold of his hands against her heated flesh, pressed against her aching need, pulling and pulling and pressing, and she couldn't see she was blind, she couldn't think she was dumb, she couldn't-

And she tossed her head, the hair plastered against her forehead, against her neck, her breasts heaved and she couldn't find the breath to scream quick enough, couldn't do anything besides gasp audibly, couldn't do anything but tremble beneath that skilled hand, and she was a traitor, a whore, a liar- she couldn't, she couldn't!

And somehow her widened, desperate gaze found his, found his as she squirmed beneath him, her body quivering for him, her body ripe and ready for him, just like this, without the love, without the love and she was loose and ready for him like some whore, like some-

His eyes didn't leave hers as he pulled and prodded and pressed and-

She was blown apart, she exploded, she exploded into a million pieces, her legs gave out, her body, arching off the wall at an impossible angle, and she screamed like she'd never screamed before, screamed and screamed and screamed.

And that dark tide overwhelmed her.


"Oi, I'm looking for that Hime chick, have you seen her?"

She paused, her lips nibbling slightly on the edge of her pencil. The note page in front of her was filled with scrawls, of crudely drawn horned rabbit people dancing erratically around an orange haired rabbit swinging a sword. She hurried to sweep the doodle under a pile of papers that she hadn't bothered to even attempt to read. The library was silent in this corner, the perfect place to brood, or plan as it were. She drew her eyes upward, and nearly toppled over in her chair. She blinked owlishly at the man in front of her, blinking a few times to assure herself that this was real.

"…Come again?"

Grimmjow scoffed, a scowl rapidly stretching across the rugged lines of his face. His hands were shoved haphazardly into his pockets, and his entire form was tensed, an anxious air around him that made her gulp nervously under her breath, despite the foolishness of the action. He was only a man, had she not dealt with worse? Had she not faced far mightier and frightening opponents than some blue haired maniac with an anger management problem? She didn't like the feeling welling up in the base of stomach. She hurried to compose herself, putting down her pencil and sitting up straight in her chair to give him her full, undivided attention. There may have been many who cowered on the end of his ferocious gaze, but she would not be one of them. She coolly met his eyes.

"You're her friend aren't ya? I'm lookin' for her."

She drew back, a crinkle in her brow. She knew about him, knew that it was highly likely that he was a textbook definition of what these mortals called 'clinical psychopaths' and for reasons she had never been able to identify Ichigo hated him with an inhuman passion. He was right, this man before her reeked of a malice and evil so far ingrained into his being that she could taste chaos on the edge of her tongue. She'd never been in such proximity to him, and it was just as well. The black of his soul was almost tangible, she'd never been in the presence of a human with such a filthy aura. She felt like covering her nose and mouth just sitting here.

His scowl deepened beneath her gaze, bearing her scrutiny with a barely contained growl rumbling in his throat. She wasn't surprised. Nothing offended a wild dog more than when you met their eyes. If she didn't know any better, she could've sworn his arms tensed, as if those deep pockets hid his tightly grasped fists. He was easy enough to read, the longer she met the increasing rage in his eyes. It was taking everything in him not to strike her.

"Oi! Answer the damn question! I got better shit to do than stand here playing the fuckin' quiet game!"

She frowned, quickly gathering her things into her shoulder bag. She stood up from the table, ice in her gaze as she met the fire in his. She didn't waver, despite him being two heads taller than her and twice as wide. He was looking at her now as if he would have liked nothing better than to smash her face in until his knuckles were drenched with blood. She was slight, but her body had long since grown accustomed to this. She faced him warily, prepared for just such an action, in which she would be sure to assure him of the error in his judgment for even thinking about intimidating her. She'd heard he was merciless, no matter if it were a man, woman or child. Tasting the very essence of destruction and chaos that seemed to be flowing around him, she believed it.

"Well if that's how you go about asking for someone, I don't see why on earth I should. As if I'd tell someone like you were she was, considering how rudely you went about it. I see men of your nature are raised with all the manners of wild animals. Besides, why on earth would you be interested in finding her? Let me guess - you're planning to beat her up and take her lunch money?"

His scowl evolved into a full blown snarl, and she could have sworn his eyes lit up from the force of his rage. He whipped his hands out of his pockets, fists tensed, veins visible against the flesh. She tensed up immediately, angling her body slightly to better counter act should he choose to rush her. His rage was prevalent, his eyebrows were drawn over his wild eyes, his face contorted into a expression of murderous rage.

"Bitch," he hissed at her, grinding the words from between his clenched teeth. "I should snatch your fucking jaw for that."

"I'm shaking in my boots, Grimmjow. Or is that your way of coming on to me?" She smirked in his face, reveling in the increasingly growing rage on his face. Tatsuki taught her that one, she was glad to finally be able to put it to good use. Being human had its perks - the insults, for one.

"I'm already fucking pissed for the day, the last thing I need is some little prissy bitch trying to tell me off. Maybe you'll feel more talkative after your fucking teeth are in my palm."

He drew his arms upward, his sleeves drawn up, making the swell of muscle rippling through his arms painfully apparent. He cracked his knuckles, and suddenly a sliver of fear crept into her heart. She shook her head fiercely from side to side, hurrying to disregard the feeling. He was only human! It was nothing short of foolishness to fear a mere mortal, no matter how… The pressure in the room dipped, she stumbled, almost dropping to her knees. She looked up in surprise, shocked and in disbelief. There was no way! No way!

It was too late. By the time she looked up, by the time she righted herself, slowly as if in a dream, she saw the fist rocketing straight towards her face. She felt fear blossom in her chest for the first time, because she couldn't dodge it. This was impossible, impossible because no mere mortal could do this, no mortal could be quicker than her eyes, no mortal could… but she couldn't see, it she couldn't dodge, he couldn't be serious this couldn't be real!

She wrenched her eyes shut and flesh pounded on flesh.

-And the blow never came. On bated breath, she pried open her eyes. She was blinded, blinded by the sun from the window, reflecting off of the orange glint of his hair. And deep within some secret part of her, beneath the pride that roared at the shameful nature of the act, of being rescued when she was strong and capable- beneath the pride and the envy was something more- relief. She smiled at that tall proud back, as the hand that had easily caught the thrown fist.

"Is this how you pass the time now Grimmjow? Beating up girls? How about you try that shit with me?"

She wanted to warn him, to tell him- but the air was suddenly tight, tense, rigid with the scent of barely contained power. Wordlessly, again, the dip- and she knew, instinctively now she knew. Her lips were set, tight, her hands clutched into fists. She could have laughed at the irony, or at his stupidity. Just that easily! That easily! She wasn't sure what to make of it, wasn't sure how to interpret this- as an ill omen, or as the inevitable?

Grimmjow's responding grin was malicious, drenched with a joy so intense it frightened her.

"Ichibitch. I've been waiting for you ya kno? We've got a score to settle."

Ichigo's grin was tight, and he took a step back, shielding her. Warily, she stood by his side. If this was fate, then so be it, she would take her place- standing by him. She'd made the choice, she'd decided, and she would hold to it. They could take him. The both of them together, were more than enough. Silently, she glanced into his eyes, nodding wordlessly. Without a word, without a command, reading her eyes, he understood. He understood her like no one did, and the grin left his face- the steel in his gaze. He understood. He knew what needed to be done. And it was with conviction that he responded.

"Well there's no time like the present."


She came to, sitting down on the floor. Her entire body felt weak. Drained, spent. She could barely remember her name. And she ached. She ached. Ached in a place that was suddenly shameful, ached in a place she suddenly hated fiercely. She didn't know if she felt broken, like she should have. She felt empty. Empty and cold. She tried to move her arms. They were limp, heavy. She tried to raise them, to wrap them around herself… she was cold. Cold. She didn't think she'd ever get warm again. She couldn't even remember what it was like, that peculiar heart warmth she'd had in such abundance.

Wearily, she opened her eyes.

The light was on. And for the first time, she saw The Room. It was empty. Empty. The walls were a collage of chipped layers of paint over shading one another in some places, fighting for dominance in others. Patches of grey, white, and rust colored like blood. The cold floor beneath her was cement, an ugly shade of mutated grey. There was a ragged series of wooden steps that led upwards towards the door, which she knew led out to the hall. A part of the ceiling was covered with a few long fluorescent light bulbs that brightly lit the room. She let her eyes drift upwards, above her. The light flashed off the steel handcuffs, attached to chains that disappeared into holes in the wall. She remembered being hoisted upwards, screaming as she tried to pull but was only dragged higher. There must have been a pulley behind the wall. Down here, as above, there were no windows.

She pretended not to see him. Pretended not to see him, standing there in the middle of the room, staring at her. Standing there, with his hands shoved in his pockets, his back rigid as always, with that loose length in his arms, the emerald of his eyes not as luminescent in the blinding electric light.

She couldn't look at him, as she struggled to her knees, nearly whimpering aloud at the effort, the protest aching in her abdomen. Her body, satisfied, finally satisfied, wanted to meditate, to bask. But no. She couldn't bear the sight of him. Not now. She wanted to leave. She had to leave. She had to-

"Onna."

She couldn't look at him. Leaning heavily against the wall, hesitantly she drew her body upwards, feeling something hot and warm against the inside of her thigh. She drew in a ragged breath, and took a jerky step. Her legs trembled. Had she not been leaning against the wall, she would have collapsed to her knees and laid there. Laid there, and never gotten up again. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to hear him. Not now, not after… not when the cold was in her chest.

"You could have simply submitted."

She didn't reply, pressing both of her palms against the wall, slowly navigating her way towards the stairs, one jerky step at a time. Her throat felt rough, dry, as if the inside of it had been scraped with sandpaper. She could barely remember her name. She couldn't think, she couldn't.

But he could. Like a machine, like the perfect little robot, with that soulless gaze, that heartless being, with that cold artificial flesh, with that insurmountable logic. He took three perfect little steps closer to her, and warily, she turned to stare at him through the curtain of her hair. She didn't want to hear him. She knew, she knew, that he wasn't done, not when he had to prove her wrong, not when he had to break her further, break her completely. That hadn't been enough, she hadn't learned enough, she hadn't returned to her place.

"I see I grossly under estimated you. What manner of human being what submit themselves to such torment, when all was required of them was to relinquish a single delusion? I understand now. Love? You are naught but a fool. And this notion about the heart is nothing more than idle banter. 'The heart is where love resides?' The idea is laughable."

Laughable. The idea was laughable. Her heart, her love, idle banter. And after she'd said the words. After she'd borne his cruelty, the proof of it imprinted against her own body, still trembling at the thought of his hands. After she felt stripped, cold, on the inside. After she had offered to him everything she knew, everything she had; her love, her passion, her naked need… to prove to him she meant it, to prove to him this was real. Laughable. If she thought he could not have broken her more thoroughly, if she thought he was incapable of more cruelty, she was wrong. She was wrong. She was wrong.

It took her four strides.

Four. Long. Strides.

She drew her hand up and back.

On the fourth stride she swung with all her might, swung with all her soul, her spirit, the shattered remains of her ego, the discarded pieces of her love.

And she struck him across the face.

In the empty room, the slap rebounded off of the walls, amplified in the silence that followed, interrupted only by her ragged intakes of breath. His head was turned from the force of her blow, his eyes staring blankly at the wall. Her shoulders heaved, her body rigid, her eyes narrowed and aflame. She could feel her teeth gnawing at her lip, feel the pin pricks of tears in her eyes. And ever so slowly, his head turned, his gaze turned, and settled back on her. Those emerald eyes settled on her.

She ran.

She turned and ran with strength she didn't know she had. She bounded up the steps, slammed the basement door behind her. Dashed down the hall, past the kitchen, through the living room. She half expected him to chase her, to stop her, to grab her, screaming. There was no chase. No cold hands grabbed her by the length of her hair and dragged her back. There were no more screams. She barely made it through his door, barely slammed it against her, before she was crying. She cried like she'd never cried before, sobs that made her shoulders heave, that wracked through her chest so fiercely it was painful. And the tears poured down her cheeks so she thought they would never stop, with her face buried in her hand she crumpled against the back of his door, and she cried like she hadn't since her brother died.


AN:There it is. Intense chapter was intense. I'm not sure what to make of this, I'm really quite curious to see what everyone thought of it. I felt really bad for Orihime this chapter...that must really suck, liking a guy that much. But I believe she's capable of that, considering. All the same, poor girl. I hope she has a happy ending...one of these days. And you can't tell me this time that slap wasn't deserved. CAUSE IT WAS. As before, please review, getting those bad boys while I'm studying are nothing short of rainign skittles to me...as in they make me feel GEWD. And gewd= quicker chapters right?

PS: I friggen love you guys. I got a record 34 reviews for this chapter. Hear that? 34? You guys rule. I was so happy I didn't know what to do with myself to be honest. I nearly flipped my laptop when I checked my e-mail and saw all of those bad boys. I didn't get around to replies this chapter, but if I had the time I would have. Every single one. You guys are just THAT AWESOME.

PSS; I don't own Bleach...dammit. And that movie quote was from The Dark Knight I think...and I don't own that either...double dammit.

Anyway, see you guys next chapter!