This story belongs to Melzart, and the Yu-Gi-Oh! franchise is copyright to Kazuki Takahashi.
Chapter 24
The Exile
Why had he hung it up?
He didn't quite know why he had decorated the wall of his office with the drawing and letter of such a young admirer.
Or maybe he did. He knew exactly why.
He had placed it beside Mokuba's, which as a child he had also drawn. The one that made him suddenly remember so much.
More than anything, he was touched by Jeremy's letter.
Ever since Naomi arrived Kaiba was forced to admit that his humanity was gaining on his legendary inflexibility; he was learning to be more sensible, more tolerant, more inclined to forgive, more compassionate. What she had managed to extirpate was priceless – he had felt helpless for quite some time.
However he never would have thought it possible that any being, as extraordinary as he could be, could in part discover a part of his soul he thought too hidden in obscurity in some distant abyss.
Of course it had taken a lot to reach where he was now. No pain, no gain.
And this young man allowed him to remember the long struggle to climb the dangerous mountain of the world's business elite.
Yes, Jeremy had moved him.
And Naomi was troubling him again. She held every power over him, yet did not seem to know how to – or did not want to – abuse them for her own gain. And the way she pardoned everything he did, even the worst things, shocked him and also upset him; she was probably the best person in the world to ask for a clarification of his own actions. She knew them. Better. She had memorized them. If it weren't so hard to hunt through the ruins of her past, he was convinced that their life together would be without parallel.
Yet voila. The truth remained that Naomi still hadn't stopped suffering and closing herself off from him, even in the silent comfort of his arms.
It was already getting late; the sky had darkened over the earth.
Yet Kaiba still sat before his computer screen, resolute to not take much longer. He wanted to find her family, an act which was proving elusive. He understood that Mokuba would have loved to know about this.
And that bothered him.
It was true that he was pushing it. He wasn't proud of that at all. On the contrary; his tongue could still taste a certain bitterness. As always, he regretted what he was doing. But hadn't he warned his brother to not get in the way of whatever plans he had in mind?
Even if he were to do the least bit of harm that he could, he would still hate himself.
But he had to get a hold of himself, face the facts again. This wasn't supposed to be a sinecure.
He was shaken from his thoughts with the sound of his phone ringing.
"Kaiba," he said, his tone uniform.
His face was distorted with a pained frown, not to mention outrage.
"What?"
Agh… is he ready for anything? Even something as low as that? Grrr…
And then he felt himself sitting up ramrod-straight in his chair.*
"Yes… do that," he sighed. "Very well."
Then he hung up, very slowly, as if afraid that he could run away from the machine, his face hardening from the terrible bit of news.
It wasn't anything good at all.
And January was near its end.
Was everything going to end up working out for this most difficult task?
February 1st was approaching rapidly – it was three days away.
Kaiba felt even more bitter as he thought about that date. Because it marked a turn for the worse in Naomi's life, an end to the existential world that wouldn't stop because he was simply by her side.
That, yes, he feared terribly; he was already sick to his stomach because he realized perfectly well how powerless he was and how he would have to watch her suffer again, probably worse than he could have possibly imagined until now.
And he was going to attend a spectacle which he couldn't even lift a finger to stop.
It would be a wasted effort, after all. He wasn't at all certain that she would even let him offer her any help. He was actually more inclined to believe that she would reject him, an idea that was difficult for him to swallow, even with what he knew.
Kaiba sighed heavily; there was still some time to get a hold of himself.
He at least knew what he wasn't going to do: flee, abandon her at the one time that she would need him most.
But first he believed the time had come to explain things to his little brother.
So he hurriedly left his office, not wanting to delay things any more than he could allow.
In no time he had raced across the hall and run up the stairs to the third floor.
Knock, knock, knock.
When the door opened, Mokuba looked crestfallen – as if he still hadn't accepted his recent action, given the look of hate that he was immediately privy to seeing.
"Mokuba," Kaiba breathed, suddenly uncertain of himself. "I told you that I would someday need your help. Well… that would be now."
The young man opened his mouth, and then shut it again.
. . . . . . . . .
Times were grave.
So was she.
This wasn't her fight.
So why try to stay? What was holding her in his arms?
Naomi's fingers affectionately swept across Kaiba's torso as she lay against him. It wasn't a habit and probably never would be. It had become a need to feel their bodies intertwine and melt into each other.
And both of them were more ardent in doing so each and every time, and they didn't miss a single day.
"You know it's dangerous, don't you?" she whispered.
"I know…" he responded, deep in thought.
What I want to know is why he wants to have that dick back again…
But Kaiba kept that question to himself.
"I think I agree with you," she continued. "If he's aware of what happened, we can't reject the idea that he is truly responsible for this entire mess."
She was right. But Kaiba, despite the circumstances, couldn't help but let a pleasantly surprised smile from emerging in response.
Naomi was as worried as he was. Even better, she was effectively searching for a cause, showing her intelligence in trying to go to the source to protect both him and Mokuba.
"And if, from the beginning, he was the instigator of the kidnapping…"
Kaiba lost his tender smile, but he pulled her more closely towards him.
"Yeah, I thought about that," he murmured as if he had just hit a roadblock.
Whence came the most persistent danger in this situation.
When and how had this guy – which he didn't even know about beforehand – gotten this knowledge?
And above all, just who did he think he was, anyway?
He seemed to understand things quite clearly, given the news he had received.
A very unpleasant shiver flooded down Kaiba's vertebral column.
Yes. He was scared. But it wasn't for himself.
He didn't think he was capable of reliving the nightmare a second time. And he was far from ready to let anyone put her in danger.
How he hated losing control of the situation.
But his threat was growing more terrifying than the preceding one.
"Don't worry about me," she breathed as if she were reading his thoughts. "Think about Mokuba… he's the most…vulnerable."
Kaiba closed his eyes again, not daring to hold her any closer because he would risk revealing just how worried he actually was.
Didn't she understand how much she meant to him yet?
He thought that at that precise instant, Mokuba was far less likely of a target than she was.
He wondered if she even knew just how touched he was.
Of course, she could defend herself. But that had been useless the day he had rescued her off of the cold floor, unconscious and smothered in blood.
And his mind blocked him from remembering that ignoble, barbaric, nightmarish vision.
No. He would never want to relive it. He would give it his all, indeed, more, so that it wouldn't happen again.
Yes. Seto Kaiba would joyfully sacrifice himself to never see her suffer that much ever again.
"You got a plan?"
She knew Seto Kaiba too well now to not know that he had a certain response in mind. He certainly wasn't going to stand there and wait for something to happen without doing something first.
Kaiba sighed, somewhat amusedly.
And to think they accused him of underhandedly seeing everything before it happened.
"I first have to find out who he is. And when I do that…"
"Seto?"
"Hm."
"I don't know why, but I really feel something bad is going to happen," she managed to admit.
Yes. He did too. Seeing as he knew where this began.
But for how long would Seto be able to keep things hidden from her?
For now, which was still peaceful, he chose to purposefully avoid hassling Naomi further, as he turned towards her and rolled on top of her.
"Hey," he said as he kissed her on the lips. "Don't worry about it."
She forgot everything while in his embrace, as if she were being reborn each time he touched her. He no longer had a past, no longer a future. There was just a now.
But she remembered, before she fell into the most pure of delights, having thought that he was tormented. Maybe even more than she was.
Alas, no.
This wasn't her fight.
So why did she stay?
. . . . . . . . .
Faithful to his daily norm, Kaiba had left the house.
He had first spent a long time watching Naomi slumber. Then, very tenderly, before getting out of bed, he had kissed her forehead, but not without feeling atrociously sick at the same time. Hadn't he kept silent just so that she would find it all out soon enough?
The day was to prove to be a difficult one.
He had so many things to do.
Why couldn't he just stay?
What did she have to lose? Besides, who knew if it would all just crumble in due time?
Who could say?
Nothing lasts. Sooner or later, everything's got to give.
And what is loved is lost.
Yes. And time was going so fast.
Three days. Merely three days before falling back into the worst of slumps, just like every year.
Like a ritual.
Forever.
His heart could not beat any faster in his chest because he was going to stay, permanently.
. . . . . . . . .
What was she going to do with Seto?
It was one of those times that she had to deal with things on her own. One of those times where there's no peace, just as if it didn't exist at all.
How was she going to tell him what she thought about things?
And why was there an irresistible desire to keep spinning in orbit around him like some sort of satellite? He had succeeded in taking care of her wounds, making her forget they even existed for perhaps hours whenever he was there, whenever the sun wasn't shining as brightly.
Thus was the aggregate sum of her thoughts upon awakening and shifting her body in his soft bed; she was going to continue her course, her training, even get Mokuba involved perhaps, and then she would also recommence her job at the hotel as well as her other activities.
She had to take back control of her life. For better or for worse. To writhe free of Kaiba's grip, go back to the daily grind.
Besides, she could still continue to visit him while still living anywhere else but this despicable house. There was nothing he could do; it was stronger than even she was.
Each time memories of the Kaiba children came back to her, she re-felt the need to escape this infernal place. The shadow of their adoptive father still loomed. And she was horrified of it.
She got dressed, again as always in black, then descended to the kitchen to greet Marie, faithfully at her post.
"Oh, ma'am?" she said as soon as she saw the young woman walk into the room. "You received a message and the woman said it was very important."
Naomi took the slip of paper that Marie handed her.
This time her anxiety went beyond description as she suddenly raced for the nearest phone.
"Hello? This is Naomi."
"Ah? Ohh… Naomi…" said Mrs. Kinoshi, at first enthusiastic to hear the person with whom she was speaking. But the tone of her voice rapidly betrayed her as she suddenly quited.
Bad news is never easy to announce.
She didn't succeed in fooling the young woman, who already suspected the worst.
"Oh… I…Naomi… I thought I should give you the latest news, because I know how close you are to the children…" she began.
No. No. Don't tell me…
"Well… somebody offered to take Molina…"
She hadn't known how to say it. But she had finally opted for the frankest path possible.
"I'm sorry, Naomi. I would have liked to tell you personally…but…"
But Naomi wasn't listening anymore.
I…abandoned…her…she also… I didn't…
She had to fight to hold back her tears, conscious that she wasn't alone and that Marie, who was just on the other side of the room, had become worried upon perceiving a major shift in her attitude.
Say something….anything…
But choked-down sobs knotted in her silent throat.
She somehow managed to clear her throat after several seconds – which seemed like an eternity – and regain control of herself.
"Oh…when?"
"The adoption was made yesterday evening, officially," said the director of the orphanage.
Last evening?
This time, Naomi shook violently; didn't it match up with that aggravating meeting with the guy in the limousine? Hadn't he the pleasure of watching the children at play, especially the one that had been closest to her?
This can't be true… can't be true… no… this can't be…
But she had to know. She had to keep pushing on.
"And…who…who showed up to – "
Then her voice cut off in mid-sentence, as if the task she had to accomplish had suddenly proved superhuman.
"Oh, Naomi, I can't… it's confidential, as you know…"
Naomi was trembling, having to push the phone into her head to keep herself thinking straight. And she felt her knees wobble, a sign that she was about to tip over at any moment.
Again, she felt that bad omen. The rage in her stomach.
"Mrs. Kinoshi…please…I beg of you… I have to know."
She could never have phrased it any better.
The entire response consisted of a short silence; the woman was undoubtedly thinking about whether she should unveil the information or not, connected as she was by friendship.
She changed her mind. After all, with what Naomi had done and continued to do for those children, she had no right to keep her completely in the dark.
But she also had no right to divulge such personal information.
"Naomi, I understand…but…"
No, I don't think you do…
"It was a man," she decided to admit. It even seemed like the answer flew out of her mouth before she could think about stopping herself from saying anything.
So, was there still hope? Just a tiny bit?
"Was he married…was someone with him?"
Naomi saw the walls around her begin to retreat as she felt her strength leaving her body. In reality, her forehead was stuck against it.
"I'm sorry… I can't tell you any more than that," said Mrs. Kinoshi. "I'm required to…"
This is my fault… my fault… I should have seen this coming, I should have been wiser…. because of me, she… I abandoned her… I abandoned…
Naomi hung up, no longer caring about anything else.
She felt extracorporeal, completely lost in a universe so dark that even shadows looked like bright lights in comparison to their surroundings.
The assurance drained away from her ivory face, being replaced by a most burning sense of guilt.
Empty – like stuffed game which no longer possesses the breath of life, she began to walk into the hall without looking ahead of her, an automaton.
Mokuba was about to share his amazingly good mood with her when he saw the ashen-faced silhouette drift in front of him. She was so pale it appeared that she could faint; her steps were slow, as if she were on some sort of stride-stabilizing drug.
Naomi? What is she –
She didn't even look at him.
He actually doubted that she realized he was even there.
But Mokuba suddenly felt a painful weight in his stomach.
He could easily see that something bad had happened but he didn't dare inquire as to what, uncertain that she was the right person to ask.
But Seto had already left.
For once, of the three of them, he was sure that he was the most anxious of them all.
It was with this feeling that he raced out of the house to a limousine waiting outside.
It probably wasn't a very good idea to leave her perfectly alone in the somber maze of her thoughts. But what better could he do than warn his brother as quickly as possible?**
. . . . . . . . .
I couldn't do anything… anything… I left her all alone…
She's all alone, scared… in the dark… she's…
I couldn't… say goodbye… hold her in my arms…I…
Where better than in the shower to let all of the tears leave her body?
There where nobody knew what hid in the depths of her feverish and lost soul?
However she had so much more left in reserve.
Wasn't she responsible?
Yes.
Yet she knew that this day would have to come.
Molina had every right to find a loving, attentive family.
And she knew that it would hurt when she left. She saw it coming.
But what she hadn't seen was the circumstances during which it would occur; Naomi understood her fate only too well if it had been the man in the limousine who had taken her under his wing.
She didn't doubt it; he would user her against both her and Kaiba. Probably as blackmail because he seemed to have used it in the past. It would have to be part of his diabolical plans to get at them.
And that was exactly what disgusted her most: using a six-year-old girl which couldn't fight back.
She had done enough harm. She had also received enough.
First Kaiba. Then Molina.
Wasn't it the signal to leave that was ringing so loudly in her ears?
It was so much to handle. And the weight on her shoulders was so heavy.
The water from the showerhead trickled over her body, masking the tears that she refused to let herself hear – the moaning.
However, it was crazy how she was suffering, paving the way for the sinister day which was rapidly approaching.
Hadn't she brought all of this unhappiness?
Maybe it was her destiny to live and die, suffering like a martyr.
So be it.
At least she had lived.
. . . . . . . . .
How much time did she have left before he returned? Would she at least have the time to pack her suitcase? If not, in what state would she find Marik if he were to walk up to her once again?
It was cowardly to leave, maybe. But her well-being depended on the escape, even desperately so. She was too conscious of the fact that the Egyptian was locked in battle that was not his own. Worse, she no longer knew which of the two would hurt her more.
Knock… knock… knock.
Naomi was flooded by a new feeling of terror as she stared at the door as if it were about to burst open.
If it's Marik…I…
"Naomi! It's Odion! Let me in, I beg you!"
She began to breathe normally again, recognizing Marik's pleasant traveling companion, even as the door opened.
"Are you alright?... he didn't hurt you, did he? Oh…"
He caught sight of the large open suitcase on the bed, as well as of the intermingled pieces of clothing only partially stuffed inside.
"…you're leaving?"
Naomi did not respond, but preferred to dodge the question by bowing her head.
"…he wasn't himself," Odion confessed. "He told me what happened. And… I'm asking you to forgive him, Naomi."
"But it's not your fault, Odion."
More embarrassedly, he continued:
"It might as well be. I should have known. I had thought it might occur for some time now… I saw that things weren't quite right. But I had never thought that he might represent such a danger to you. I didn't pay attention. I'm sorry."
She sighed softly.
"It's not your fault, Odion," she repeated.
It's my fault. I'm damned, she thought to herself.
"It's really hard to explain, but please believe me when I say that it was not Marik," he insisted. "Don't leave like this. At least without saying goodbye to him. I beg you."
"But – " she wanted to complain.
"He won't come back tonight. I promise. I'm looking after him."
He wasn't about to tell her that Marik was in another room, stuck to his bed, his soul ripped into a good and evil half which were fighting over his body. But it was under the request of Marik that Odion had submitted.
He only hoped that with the new day that was going to arise, he would at least have time to regain control of himself – be the winner – over the monster which haunted him.
"Don't go."
Naomi again sighed, this one somewhat pained, still shaken by the savage aggression she had seen.
Maybe he felt it himself, but Odion allowed himself for the first time to show her all of his compassion in hugging her very protectively.
"I'm just on the other side of the door, you can sleep… just stay until tomorrow."
No. He wasn't about to say that the otherworldly beast inhabiting Marik's body would be completely unaddressed by his courage to play the guardian angel. And that he, himself, couldn't do much in sum if directly confronted by him. He couldn't pull his own weight.
But he knew that with Marik's will, which still existed beyond all appearances, neither one of them would let the monster reclaim his body in the coming hours.
It seemed to him now that he hadn't slept all night.
Yet the sun was rising, indicating to him that he was wrong. It was nine-thirty.
Maybe it was due to Odion's attempt to comfort her, but she eventually managed to fall asleep.
Which wasn't about to prove itself useless as the time to leave was drawing closer and she would need her courage.
It had even occurred to her that maybe Marik had proven an ideal companion for this portion of her travels; he was patient and generous. And she noticed that he had felt for her; he only wished her the best.
Yes, she often surprised herself in thinking that maybe he could have been the one to heal all of her wounds.
Only now she knew it couldn't be true. Because Marik had his own demons to fight, and they had proved to be far more dangerous than her own.
And what worried her on this day of departure was the thought of looking at him. Was he going to urge her to abandon him, to save herself? Was he going to have judged her more harshly than she had herself?
She believed that maybe she should have never known him; he had never made the slightest comment concerning the barriers surrounding her heart, after all.
Only one suitcase. It was all she needed, as she had no permanent home. It was always better to travel light. Anything else was too cumbersome.
She chose the outside terrace for their last meeting.
There, she waited silently as she sipped some Greek coffee, having learned which one was the best. Deep down, she hated goodbyes and would have done anything to not be so obligated.
But it was at Odion's insistence that she had resolved herself to do so. Even it was just a deep thank you for their friendship.
"Naomi," Marik whispered as he approached her from behind.
He had chosen, in a calm moment accompanied by his brother, to go for a long walk before seeing her again, like a young hero beginning his peregrination in search of a quest.
She jumped, still not having dared turn to look at him. But she scrambled up quickly.
Discretely, Odion had retired to a distance a bit further away, wanting to give them this last intimate moment.
"It's me, Naomi," he said, as if reassuring her of his current identity.
Then he stopped for a second before continuing slowly:
"I'm sorry… for having hurt you…"
He couldn't dare look at her. But Naomi had no difficulty detecting his suffering, or envisioning his bloodshot eyes.
"I'm not sure I'm the one who is in the most trouble, Marik," she said, her insides feeling distinctly empty.
Maybe if she hadn't been there, none of this would have happened.
Yes. She was convinced that this was all her fault.
He had passed the night split between raging over his imprisonment and intermittent periods of lucidity.
So as to not alarm Naomi, Odion had spent his with his hand over his friend's mouth so that she would not be able to hear him shriek in anger, keeping him solidly pinned in place.
It was a night like which he would never wish to again relive.
And it was false – Marik knew that none of his personal complaints compared to Naomi's suffering.
It was this thought that made him raise his head to look into her lilac eyes.
Very carefully and very softly, Marik's fingers came to rest on her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he repeated more firmly.
She had begun to shake, although she hadn't wished to show it. But nothing escaped Marik's senses, and he begin to worry even more.
"I would have loved to have been the one to bring an end to your suffering, Naomi. I thought I was strong enough. Only the Gods know how much I desired it."
As if to wipe away his assurances, she shook her head, sighing quietly.
"I don't think any mortal can, Marik."
Affectionately, he placed his lips on her forehead.
"I know," he whispered, "so I will be immortal when we next meet."
He earned an emotional, slightly mocking smile.
Wasn't there a saying that it's the thought that counts?
"I'm not used to goodbyes, Marik…"
This time, the Egyptian gently took her in his hands.
"This isn't 'goodbye', Naomi. This is 'see you later'."
She didn't want to tell him that she didn't agree. But she approved all the same with a light nod of the head and a smile.
"Thanks for everything, Marik."
He looked taken aback. Wasn't his happiness about to leave with a suitcase in its hand?
And he was the one who made her leave so soon.
But he waited until she had gone before murmuring:
"No… thank you."
. . . . . . . . .
There was nothing reassuring Molina; hadn't she just been ripped from the only world she knew, the one that she had learned to cherish and make her own?
In less than an hour, as if the times were urgent, she had seen two small suitcases quickly fill, with barely any time to hug those who had taken such good care of her and her friends as well, even if they were the boys she joked about with Naomi.
But it was probably the greatest pain she could stand at the moment: despite all of her hopes, after having hoped for a long time that she would become her mother, Naomi was not at the meeting. She had looked all the way to her room for the limousine which marked her presence before the entrance without seeing the slightest trace.
And despite the kindness of the big man who was holding her hand, she hadn't stopped crying as she peered out of the back window of the car, just in case.
But Naomi never appeared.
In the limousine, the man wearing the sunglasses kept on handing her tissue after tissue.
He secretly admired the little girl, who was trying to not let him hear all of her pain and heartbreak. There was just sniffling.
But they were just as atrocious.
He was just a simple messenger. So he couldn't do much to soothe the child's suffering, even though he was deeply moved by her.
He almost felt that the ride back was interminable, until they finally reached a small white house, where they came to a stop.
Her room was enormous, and numerous toys were abundantly sprinkled over the floor. Even her bed was big, and it was pink, too. It was the most beautiful room she had seen in her entire short existence.
She even took the time to notice, through the window past the street beyond, a small park where she immediately understood she would have fun visiting.
Again, however, her heart was filled with chagrin when she saw the swing set, as she thought of Naomi.
Less than an hour later, there was a knock on her bedroom door, a demonstration no doubt of the respect that she believed she would come to expect.
Then another man, also very tall, walked in.
The young girl's face filled with fear. So the man, without making any sudden movements, took a chair and placed it in front of her, sitting upon it.
Calmly, his face relaxed in kindness.
"Hello, little girl," he said. "You remember me, don't you?"
Molina wasn't about to risk moving, but she kept large, inquisitive eyes upon him as her mouth slackened, no sound escaping from it.
Maybe there was some hope after all.
"Now… let me tell you what I expect from you," he said, crossing his arms and observing her from up high.
. . . . . . . . .
This time, she had made her decision.
Nothing would hold her back anymore.
Not even Kaiba, because he wasn't there. Deep down, she was relieved about that, because she knew all too well that all of her strength would leave her if she were to confront him directly.
Then again, she didn't have to say goodbye. Which was proving to be far easier. At least, in appearance.
Of course she was fleeing, leaving the ship, because it was sinking.
It was cowardly.
But the courage was lacking once again.
Her suitcase, her companion, was already ready to make another voyage.
Marik. Then Molina. Then Kaiba.
But there was one more rendez-vous left.
The most painful. The most bitter.
One last one.
Which she wasn't about to miss.
She was ready.
. . . . . . . .
Nervous.
More than ever.
Wasn't this the moment of truth?
The most difficult he had ever had to grapple with.
He wasn't ignoring her, obviously; for a short while Naomi had known. He knew that.
But how was she going to react now?
Corroding from the inside out, he found the force to remain calm and remain in complete control of himself. Yet, he had only one wish: to run out of the office to find her, wherever she was.
"Kaiba."
He had answered the phone.
His face showed a deep sadness. And his voice was threatening to give at any instant.
"No… let her," he breathed before hanging up.
No… don't do this, Naomi. Come back…
She was gone. Just like he had foreseen. Yet he would have paid anything to be proven wrong.
Hope is vital, right?
So that at the last instant, he believed that maybe she had changed her mind.
Maybe.
If he asked her.
Maybe.
If he prayed enough.
Yes. Against all expectations, Seto Kaiba suddenly found himself capable of prayer.
. . . . . . . . .
More than twenty hours to kick back and relax.
Even at customs, she had felt Kaiba's powerful influence in action; since she had left the mansion by taxi, she had not been able to escape any of his 'sources of information'.
Which was why she was praying so hard that he wouldn't suddenly arrive and try to hold her back.
But he never showed up.
Of course, he hadn't appreciated what she had just done.
Of course, he had to hate her now.
Of course, he had to find her cowardly, no better than a petty thief.
She was seated by the window, and the plane was strangely not filled with too many people.
All the better. She didn't have much to say, anyway.
Except to hear all of their complaints, their incessant loquacity for the entire time…
The engine roared to life.
It was crazy, but right up until the gate closed, she seemed to be hoping full-heartedly to see Kaiba at the far end of the plane, having come to find her.
Maybe, secretly, she had been hoping he'd keep her behind.
To see his face again, to taste his lips one last time. To feel the softness of being in his arms, of his body against her own.
Her forehead lightly tapped against the Plexiglas.
Then her fingers began to rub against it.
Her entrails felt like they were being torn apart.
She could no longer keep in the tears as she peered out the window, seeing all of her memories of Kaiba beyond it.
It was crazy how much she suddenly missed him.
Yes. This trip would be very long.
. . . . . . . . .
He had hoped until the final moment.
But the airplane had finally taken off.
Elbows on his desk, Kaiba was happy to be alone, as nobody could see his fingers near his eyes. They were wiping the corners, for all intents and purposes, of the water which attempted in vain to escape from them.
It was true that his heart was broken into a thousand tiny pieces.
It was true that he felt so sick he thought his insides were on fire.
Had he been rejected?
No.
She had never stopped trying.
Kaiba sniffed, loudly.
This wasn't the time to be sappy. Nothing had been lost.
The game had barely begun.
Besides, hadn't he told her that he had enough courage for both of them?
"Sadi, summon Roland," he spoke into the intercom.
"Yes, sir."
He surprised himself by letting his eyes wander over to the bay window, and then over to the crystal dragon.
Even a small smile had been on his lips, for a little while.
"Sir?"
But his reveries were soon snuffed out by the voice of the man who had just entered the room.
"Prepare the KaibaCorp plane. We're leaving for a few days."
Roland didn't bother being curious.
After all, he only needed to know what was strictly necessary.
"May I ask about our destination, sir?"
Calmly, Kaiba took several seconds before responding, his eyes still turned towards the night sky outside, as if he hoped to catch sight of the plane that she must have boarded.
"North America."
* Ever since reading the third book in the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo series by Stieg Larsson, I've loved using 'ramrod-straight'. I'm happy I could use it.
** Dude, just call him. Didn't you learn that a couple chapters ago?
Anyway... things are picking up speed - there are only twenty-seven chapters in all. Let me say that until this point, I have not read ahead in this story, having fun discovering things as I translate. However, I admit that I did sneak ahead and read chapter twenty-five before I uploaded this. Now, maybe because it's late at night where I live, or maybe it's because my threshold lowered due to my recent surgery, but I have to say that what I read was one of the most moving things I've ever read in my entire life, in either French or English. This is someone who read Moby Dick in sixth grade of their own volition. I can't wait to share it with you.