A/N: I won't be spoiling you, just savor whatever you're reading. This is also not related to the other chapters; this belonged to another plane of existence. This is Shimako/Sei shipping, and I won't elaborate on that even more. I just hope that you'll appreciate this one. Think of this as a dream sequence.

Fine. This one is rated MATURE, but not necessarily explicit. Contains sexual harassment.

HOW THEY WISH IT WAS RAINING

-TheSilentReader-

CHAPTER 7: Shimako and Sei

If there was one thing that I hated to endure, it was to see you leave me with slightly indifferent eyes, trying to act so mature, so ready to leave this world that you and I considered an empty birdcage. A shell; an enclosed space. Graduation was near. You going away was near; even though you would be just a gate away. If slight annoyance was beginning to bud and grow inside me because you've been far away lately, I have done my best to hide that once-foreign emotion.

I played with my mechanical pencil, burying its tip a little against the wooden plane of my table. Somehow, I found a shallow little hole and buried the tip. I put my pointing finger on the other tip, swirling it counterclockwise, then clockwise. I felt so strained, putting all my aggression from my finger to my pencil. Small hands could not fit it.

You were very far away lately. We agreed on that a long time ago—to be as far away from each other—but it seemed to me that you were beginning drift further and further, away from my reach. It was more than the boundaries of physical space; it was as if I no longer feel your life force. It was as if you were dying. We never agreed to be like that. We valued our agreement, never to be too close for comfort, but it seemed to me that I preferred seeing your weakness. You used that agreement of ours—never said but felt—to shield ourselves. You being a supernova of repressed emotions, me a black hole being devoid of it. A black hole, frantic to suck your power dry. That is what I feel right now. It was eating me away—this newly discovered profound desire, which I felt when you were reminded of your lost love.

You know that.

That's why you were drifting away from me.

It was very hurtful.

I put my mechanical pencil back to its case.

When you asked my classmates, Yumi and Yoshino, to stay for a quick chat, you decided for yourself that I must not be told of this painful slice of your history that you still were not disclosing to me. Oh, I know it. You and a former student—Shiori-san—the person who showed you heaven and promised it to you, yet may I ask, my dear Sei, why are you still here? On earth, I mean? Why are you not with her?

Because you have been left here, in the garden, for me.

I never felt greed. As much as I wanted to be the most convenient little sister for you, deep inside, I wanted you to look at me the way you did on the moment we met. You were flummoxed at the sight of a disturbingly familiar, identifiable entity. A fragment of heaven. But when we became sisters, you resolved to tone it down, to compress your thoughts of me and identified it as dangerous, lethal to your reason. Was I really that poisonous? Thinking of that, I began to lose confidence that I will be completely accepted. You took me in because I remind you of the past, of that Shiori-san, of your capability to love to the point worse than death.

I really resent you for that.

It made me feel that I was used to tame you, somehow. Like eye-blinds against the racehorse's vision.

Days were ticking by until your graduation and, still, you were not approaching me. Now why is that? Did you learn your lesson, in the months that you were with me? Because I was not satisfied by the duration of our sisterhood. I know, I could feel you everywhere, as if you were right beside me even if you were not, but once you were out of the high school division, free to wish, waste, dream, surrender, attack . . . you'd later forget me. You would forget that there was someone that was putting you down, stealing away your freedom to love because I was a reminder of her—that girl Shiori.

I hate that I was just a reminder of someone you considered an angel. An ephemeral one.

A while ago, I was asked by Yumi if you gave me some sort of a goodbye, inspirational, warning message—a normal parting gift of a sempai to her beloved kouhai. You gave me none. Of course, you would say that I don't need one; I could take care of myself, as I have been doing for the past sixteen years of my life.

You were running away from me. That was what I thought.

Somehow, in these past few months that we were souers, I was denying that I did not want see you smiling, grinning to every prank that you pull on everyone. Those happy, although temporary, moments made me grieve for my soul. I'd rather see you bleed in your weakness. It made me powerful, as I remind you with just my presence. I would just look into your eyes, and there, your mask would break, revealing a scarred rose, pricked by her own thorns—your innate capability to love beyond human understanding. I am marveling in that talent of yours. It comes to you so naturally. I deeply desired that kind of affection, to the point that love like yours would hail me as a goddess, to be showered with praise and adoration.

Yet, you gave me little of that—your love. You were restraining yourself, remember?

Never get too close; take a step back if you need to. I may not know the exact words but does that ring a bell?

You were the same as me. I tried to let you know that I don't want to let you go, but you dismissed it with your reassuring gray eyes and shove my hands with yours in your jacket pocket. You remember, that Valentine's Day? I was on the verge of spilling out my resentments against you, but you stopped me just the same. You might think that soon, those feelings that I wanted to tell would diminish, sink into the soil. No, they were still there, piling up, being filled by your endless successful attempts to stop me. And they were on the verge of spilling—like broken dams, like pressured, molten rock-filled volcano, ready to erupt.

And destroy.

You were not allowing me to feel anything. Just like how you would not allow yourself to love completely.

Maybe, I am jealous of you. To feel all kinds of emotions in their endless shapes and sizes. I have not loved deeply as you loved before. I was unable to curse Maria-sama from taking your beloved like you did. You were restless all the time because you cannot contain your feelings—you just have to release them out. For me, I was as calm as the sea because I contained nothing of what you have. I was a large well with a single drop of water, only to evaporate until I was entirely dry.

You were too bright. The shining thing.

But now, I felt like exploding, like atomic bombs on famous movies.

You see, there you are with Yumi inside your classroom, unable to decide whether to tease her or to lecture her of your last words, as a caring sempai would. That little intimacy you have with her—I never envy it, but I am overtly jealous that you could do it. I am jealous because I could not have such liberties when I am with you. Or with anyone. But especially with you. You are the clingy type . . . it was so obvious, and deep inside I want to be like you. Clingy. I could bet that you were with your previous lover. More overtly so.

Then I saw Yumi kissed you.

You asked for it, yet why do I see you astonished when Yumi granted it?

You were surprised, but you tried to keep your eyes from watering. To see that Yumi really have loved you, thus did not hesitate to share her lips to you and pucker it to whatever part of your lovely face where it landed. She was brave. I admire that in Yumi. I could never try that with you.

Could I?

Jealousy, it was clouding my mind, my heart, my vision.

I quickly hid to the other room, the moment you stopped Yumi from escaping from the room because of kissing you. My heart pounded as I tried not to let my footsteps tap against the wood. I know how you were sensitive with peeping toms, with eavesdroppers. I just used it to my advantage. Still, even I was in the adjacent room, I tried not to let myself reveal before Yumi, who was walking on the corridor, dazed in whatever you did or said last. I ducked a little, hiding myself from the door, and peeping by the glass, I found Yumi teary.

What did you tell her that you won't even say to me?

Because you always assume that I don't need attention as much as Yumi does.

It's graduation. I am like other girls too. I want to feel the attention sometimes.

When Yumi was already gone from the hall, I stepped out of the doorway, determination not faltering. Not even this moment. Tomorrow is graduation, damn it, I could not let my chance pass.

Volcano. Dam. Sea. Black hole.

I felt weak, yet I found myself walking to your classroom, sliding the door even without your permission. I did not even acknowledge your casual greeting for me. I just shut the door with a snap and you were now looking at me with disbelief. That I could actually be gruff when I wanted to be. I was never snippy, but when I am . . . I don't know; I just feel like it.

Jealousy. Explosion. Destruction. Resentment. Hurt.

You were sitting on your designated table in the classroom, watching me. You were a little amused with the spectacle. I haphazardly opened a sliding window, just adjacent to the first row seats. I opened it and the wind of spring just blew through the curtains and my chestnut hair.

"Why weren't you giving me parting words?" I asked you.

You answered confidently. "I told you, you can be on your own, right?"

The sun was setting, my dam breaking.

"I love you, Onee-sama." I declared.

"Well, I love you, too, Shimako." You said with a grin. I did not buy that you get my message.

I opened the second window. "No, you don't understand." I breathed. I walked towards you and gently put my left hand on your cheeks and caressed it. "I love you, Sei."

"Shimako, no—" You backed away by jolting your face away from me. But it was easy to see the hesitation in your eyes. You know what I was feeling; you've been there before. Haven't you?

"I want you to tell you before, but you never let me."

You held on my left wrist. You were trying to laugh it off, to dismiss my confession. I never felt so angry. You were treating this like a game. "Shimako, is this because I'm graduating? I'll be just a fence away. Shimako, don't be sad . . ."

I slapped you with my good right hand. It was a momentous event in my life that finally my anger was interpreted with the force in my hand. This is all your fault, you knew everything, ever since, but you just dismiss it. You thought that I don't feel you ignoring me, but I know it by your actions. You're always transparent to me. I know that you too, desire me.

You were shocked, but you felt the intensity of my desire to heal your reddened, abused cheek with my hand, or if possible, my lips. But you saw no yearning look at my eyes; you saw them filled with desperation to hurt you with my feelings. You saw my wicked smile, and I was as shocked as you were since this was the first time that I let my twisted love be expressed with (what you said) my angelic lips. I was like an angel was being possessed by a demon. Inside, I was fascinated by the discovery of me mixing the archetypal version of evil against its good counterpart. And it turned out that they were no oil and water.

I took the opportunity of you agape at the sight of a possessed me as I smirk at you and cusp your head with both my hands and held you in place. I kissed your soft lips.

I held you firmly in place and wedged myself between your unsuspecting thighs. How could you get out from my solid hold and the table where you sat? You were trying not to move against my kiss, as I brusquely brush the tip of my tongue on your lower lip. Your hands somehow appeared between us and shoved me away from you. You stared at me incredulously, as I staggered two steps away from you. I looked down on you, feeling like a predatory panther in front of fresh meat. Yes, you are Sei.

You looked like fresh meat to me. I don't know why, but that was how I see you when I looked at your face—still shocked at my devices.

"You would not hear me before. I love you, deeply. Not as my onee-sama."

You were seeing me shaking—my hands were trembling, because I slapped you. But I did it already—blood reached to my fingers, reddened. You see, when I slapped you, I felt pain too. I felt how the skin of your cheeks made a piercing sound against my hand. Your cheeks had much skin as my hands to feel pain. I felt so torn. I love you deeply, passionately. I've always hidden this with all strength.

So this is how I release my frustration? My twisted love for you? I punish your insensitivity by laying a heavy hand on your sweet face?

"I love you."

"Shimako, please."

"Please what, Sei?"

I drew near again. I put my tainted free hand back to your red cheek, then took the liberty to caress it. It was soft and tender. You did not flinch, or you fought yourself not to. You fought the urge not to look away from me as I scrutinize the gentle slope of your left face. "Please what, Sei?" I repeated.

"Please don't kiss me again."

I stopped my hand. Unable to accept your blatant rejection, I struggled to regain my ground, took a step closer to you and block your path with my body and your table. You see, you were still sitting on it. I inhaled and asked you, "What is in me that you do not like?"

You look at me with guilty eyes; I could not decipher of what you think of me, until you said, "Stay as you are."

For the first time, I did not understand what you mean. I repeated that notion, but still, you moved your head sideways, left and right, further negating yourself. What were you thinking? "I don't want to soil you."

I was enraged by your statement. "That's for me to decide, not you."

"Shimako, I know you would not want this."

"You will not tell me what I want. I want you." I firmly and slowly proclaimed, and chuckled as I lose my patience with you. I spoke, "Do you think my love for you soils me? I don't think so. I was the one who is dirty. I was the one confessing, wasn't I? I was the one soiling you. No, no . . . this love is pure, innocent, not immoral as others forced it to be. You think that this is wrong because I was the one hurting you. But that was because you wouldn't hear my true feelings before. Yet now, it seems that my mouth would not stop saying what I feel."

I felt like I was contradicting myself.

I put both my hands onto your unyielding shoulders. I leaned closer to you; my eyes half closed as I watched you looked at me with straight eyes. You were trying to just let it pass, braving out my assault with passiveness. Will you receive me with unmoving lips? Will you not close your eyes? Will you not savor my lips that I offer to you? Because if you say so, I will be yours—I will do your bidding—anything, really.

Because I am tired of watching you from far away; I am tired of keeping it to myself. I was not wearing anymore your rosary upon my wrist as you once recommended; I am wearing it now around my neck. The cross was near my heart, just like how it should be. A symbol of my secret.

But I want to tell you that soon, I will get rid of it, just like how you said. Spring would come and go, just like students of Lillian. Soon, you will leave, and I will find a petit soeur, which will fill for your absence. And soon, that person will inherit my rosary. How lovely you told me that. How blunt.

That's why I want to be as blunt as you were, when I told my feelings.

The touch of your lips was very pleasing; the pair was soft because you were not opposing . . . you just kept your mouth fairly shut. I tested the tip of my tongue to your lower lip; your lips part.

I was jubilant at that minute movement.

One hand resting on your shoulder went to the back of your head to fasten our kiss permanently. I kept on nibbling you, when I felt that you were fighting the urge to respond. How long has it been since you've tasted willing lips to ravish yours? How long has it been when you weren't the one prowling over a helpless prey? How long has it been since you were the captive? The submissive one?

Since Shiori?

I want to erase her memory in your life—she was the one who let you perceive that this kind of love is wrong and painful. She was the one who soiled this kind of love. Not you.

So I force this on you, not to wait any longer, not to put up with naïve pleasantries or subtle techniques to make you notice me in a different way—I shoved it right to your face. It's how you did it before to her, therefore, that's how you'll receive it from me.

You opened your mouth.

Were you yielding?

Courageously, I pulled you from the table, forced my strength to your shoulders again, only to shove you to the hard, wooden floor, braced both my hands to yours, and pinned them above your head. My one leg wedged between your thighs. You never thought that I had more muscle than I appeared to be—because below my dark gaze, you found yourself utterly helpless. You tried to push your arms from the floor, but they would not budge. You tried to thrash your legs, but my own leg was already deep between yours that you had no avenue to release them. I kissed you again, and oh, you tried to repel the urge to reply. You see, that's why I love you seeing in your weakest.

Were you surrendering?

Your neck . . . I bit at the taught muscle of your neck, grazed my teeth, sliding my wet tongue along its length. You were caught between the decision of turning away and meeting my gaze—if you turn away, that would just give more access to explore; if otherwise, that means you yield. You chose the first one. You closed your eyes.

No, the lower planes and curves were just as better. You thought that I stopped. But you realized that I was untying your neckerchief with my teeth, and nipping on your collarbone.

Why would you not yield?

Soon, your skirt was pooled around your waist; the long zipper at the back of your uniform was long unfastened.

Why would you not yield? If you do, I'll be much more gentle!

I looked at your eyes again, hoping dreadfully, that you'll do. Yield, please. I want to be gentle. You were forcing me not to. Please, yield.

Look into my eyes. Look at me, look.

Please accept me. Please.

I was surprised that tears were falling out of my eyes. What was happening to me? Wasn't I the dominant one? You were at my mercy. You could not even fight back as I unzipped your back.

I kissed you tentatively, just to convey those feelings. I loosened the grip of my fingers on your hands. I raised my body to unlock yours from my capture. In all-fours, I just kissed you, tentatively. I already forced myself to you, I was not wholly satisfied, but I was already full with my conquest. Even though I was so sure that I was not finished with you yet.

This was your chance to retaliate, to shove me away. That was your goal, was it not? You were struggling, that's why.

Yet, your hands, bruised because of my tight grip, brushed to my cheek. You sighed when I removed my unmoving lips from yours.

Finally, you yield.

END

A/N: What do you think? I know, I know, I just tinkered a very virtuous character, or did I? Did I do it right? Or Is it lame? I know that Shimako had her little issues too; I just want to superimpose them. OOC. Sorry for not warning you about that, I just need you to think about its possibility. While doing this I tried to imagine Shimako's seiyuu saying all this stuff, and it turned out that I could.

This has been on my mind (and PC) for a long time, even before I was caught up with plotting for The Passing Wind. You might think that this was because of that—that I was extending darkness to other characters, one by one . . . but no, that was not entirely the case. I have thought of it since Behind Closed Doors, debating to myself if I could pull off little OOC with Shimako, but I digressed, convincing myself that BCD!Yuuki is not worthy for a little-dark Shimako.

Although, I would not think this as mature, or deep. That's also why I was reluctant to publish this. But I did anyway. I don't want this to rot in my laptop, neither be forgotten.

Please review! If you like it, review; if you hate it, review still.