Disclaimer: -glares-I do not own Bleach, be it the cleaning supply or the anime/manga. Oh, and Yevgeny Ybarra is a character of my own creation. I don't know if I mentioned that last time but…anywayyyz…
A/N: I'm back again with yet another Etapa. Nothing like fresh, empty blank computer screen…-sighs contently- I am sooo not stalling...but anyway, this chapter is probably not going to be as long.
Okay, anyway, I'd like to thank my reviewers for taking the time out to let me know how you feel! I really appreciate it you guys. Thanks to:
frostedheavens, DoodleNoodle-no-baka (Happy belated birthday! ), mymissmochakitty, Brighit R. Gauthier, and TheGoldenOne.
Onward! Oh and everyone, don't be hesitant to send me feedback, constructive criticism, etc!
Chapter Four
The Pinnacle
Like Ash.
He Found that,
The emptiness of her eyes,
Slightly displeased him.
Despite it all.
Orihime dipped her toes into the rich bath water. It emitted a soft odor of saturated minerals, the kind that would sooth the rough skin of its occupants in a form of cleansing therapy. The tension in her bones became emaciated almost immediately, and feeling lighter, she allowed her entire body to slip into the bubbly froth.
Two Days.
Two days he would be gone. She found she did not particularly care where he was going. It was whether he would return that concerned her…
Breathe evenly…don't think…forget…
She sunk into the crystalline bubbles until only the slight plump her upper breasts could be seen, and then sighed. The soft hiss of air from the exhale caused a few bubbles, which were clumped together in glazes of greens, oranges, and pinks, to detach and flit excitedly through the air. She lifted one sopping wet finger and popped a particularly large specimen, another sigh following its execution.
The bath room Ulquiorra had escorted her to was elegant. It was fairly spacious, with a rounded pool of steaming clear water defining its center. Racks of white towels, shelves of herbal wash, soaps, and shampoos, and walls of robes had immediately caught her attention. And mirrors…rows and rows of mirrors…on the ceiling, even. It was quite…nice. It occurred to her that she hadn't bathed in days. Why was she being allowed to bathe now…?
It's almost as if I can't live anymore.
She was miserable.
I can't cry.
She resisted, choking down the surge of tears that pulled a tight strangulation in her throat. Crying would only revive photo flash; after images of their faces… the will of her heart to never forget. The feeling of being trapped within the encirclement of their last moments, with Aizen a mere few feet away. His face smug, his eyes dancing, his palm outward, simply standing there…would she reach out to touch his lips once more?
A soft tremor awakened her from her blank stare, and she realized that she'd been sitting in the water for so long that it had grown cold.
She was shivering.
Orihime smiled, a slow feeling of madness calling gently, from afar. Whispers. She dragged her water logged fingers through her red tresses, deciding suddenly that she may cut them.
--
"Your time is up."
No answer. It was quite simple, really. He set a time and if she did not come forth at the passing of the hour, she would be gifted with an unsubtle reminder.
"I am coming in."
At the verbal command, the door drifted open, unclasping from the ivory colored vertical ridge which was the lock. He stepped in, caught a glimpse of naked shoulder, and paused.
"Where are your clothes." It was more of a quiet statement than a question. His green eyes shifted idly to the left, averting away from her crouched, bare form.
"I'm not finished." She replied meekly, clutching the shard of broken mirror in her hand. Shakily, she reached up and snipped away at yet another orange lock. It fluttered to the floor, cluttering within the soaking red mass that had formed as a result of her hair cut.
"Get up."
"I'm not finished."
Snip...
It only took a second, and he'd snatched the glass from her hands in such a precise manner that the flesh on her palm bruised red. In that moment, she felt like screaming.
Ulquiorra quietly kept his eyes forward. "I tire of repeating myself, onna. Get up and get dressed." His peripheral caught sight of a shattered mirror, the jagged pieces of it littering the floors and counter spaces. Nearby the wreckage was a firm bar of soap; the weaponry she used to create the mess.
Inoue Orihime unlocked her legs, and slowly, she stood from her sulking position. It was almost as if she was oblivious to her nakedness; oblivious to Ulquiorra's presence. And he did the same, utterly ignoring her, keeping his hands plugged casually into his pockets as she moved to where her clothes lay.
The wetness of her bare feet resounded as she shuffled forward. And below her, at her feet, the broken mirror shards gave her a demented reflection of a new woman. The new hair cut was lopsided, hardly even, and tapered just above her shoulder blades.
"Would you like help?" There was no perversion in the question…merely quiet urgency and impatience. An order.
"Iie." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She slipped into the difficult white layers as if they were a second skin, and only when she'd shoved the final boot onto her foot did she look up at him. And it almost disturbed her that he was looking at her, as well. There was command in his eerie green eyes, and so she stood, walking over to meet him. But no sooner than when she came in close contact with him did he began to tread his own, silent path…directing her out of the bath room. Orihime followed without resistance.
She wanted to ask him.
"Ulquiorra…?"
His pace remained even as they advanced through the white halls, and he gave no indication that he was listening. Orihime cupped a hand to her chest, her brows shifting downward.
"Ulquiorra…what will…" Her throat dried against her will. "What will Aizen-sama do with me?"
"Aizen-sama will do as he wishes." Ulquiorra replied immediately.
Orihime blinked, sighing and turning her head away.
"Aizen-sama will not be pleased that you have cut your hair."
Her heart winced in her chest. She jerked her head forward, staring at Ulquiorra's back with something akin to fear. "Na…Nani?"
"…I will ask Aizen-sama if he will consider installing a hearing aid."
A hard frown marred Inoue's features. "I…"
What?
She did not continue, and Ulquiorra did not open his mouth again. The rest of the journey through Las Noches was silent, only broken by the slight patter of the hard underside of their shoes as they hit the floor. He reached her room, opened the door, and allowed her to retreat into its depths.
"Ulquio—" But by the time she turned around he was gone. And once again, she was within the lone company of the barred moonlight…and the stifling sickness follows…
Orihime felt her knees began to buckle…her gray orbs illuminating behind a glassy layer of tears…
The breaking point…
Choking, she allowed herself to near the couch and lean upon it…the steel layers which were sustaining her were slowly peeling away to pure nothingness.
…was just around the corner.
She crumpled, burying her face into a layer of fabric but stiffened at the immediate odor that crawled up her nose. Her head jumped away as she stared at the item that was sitting below her chin.
It was black. It smelled like blood. It smelled like…Kurosaki-kun…
She fell on her rear, a sharp whimper tearing from her lips. There, sitting upon the couch, was the folded up fabric of the last shinigami uniform that Kurosaki Ichigo was to ever wear. And placed on top of it was a card…she read it from where she sat.
It was callous of me to have forgotten.
--Aizen Sousuke
Break.