I don't own Hana Yori Dango, just loved the plot and wanted to share a fanfic of mine with you guys~~~ please enjoy!
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Ch.7 The Cross road
The knobbed turned with a creaked, the door effortless slide open, and he slid passed it quietly, hoping that he had not disturbed the sleeping figure on the bed. The sunny afternoon breeze was accompanied by the distant sound of noises of people outside in the gardens. The happy atmosphere was a contrast to what he was feeling at the moment. With the soft sun light partially covered by the bellowing curtains, her small pale face carried a faint glow of peace. It was as if the news that he had received was just a mere set up to bring him back. His rigid body relaxed with that thought, a suddenly calm came over him as he took confident long strides towards her.
Her raven tress was as unruly as ever, he smiled at the remembrance of playing with it. The remembrance carried the past in which he had been free to feel and express what he had felt. His gaze moved down to her face, reminiscing the how he had kissed and loved with such vigor that he thought he would go insane without it. His eyes felled on her pink lips, the sensual plump lips that had him captivated hours after their love making. There was an urge to kiss it swollen until it hurts, but he controlled himself. He stared contently at his sleeping wife he had missed for so long. His eyes continued to move down to observe her with a smile before coming to a halt. His body stilled, his smile faltered and his mind turned blank.
Lines,
Red Lines,
Dents,
Nail marks
Red streak lines of nail marks marred the skin of her arms. The disturbing sight of dents and breakage of pale skin were distinctly etched into his mind. He stared at it blankly, hardly able understand what he is seeing. Then the haunting words of his secretary came to mind.
S-she's in the hospital in Japan, the only thing I gathered from the doctor was that sh-she had been clawing herself with h-her own n-nails.
Why?
Why would she do that?
Questions and thoughts ran over his mind over and over. He could not come to terms with what he was seeing. He wanted to understand her; he wanted to know what had possibly made her do what she had done. Thoughts and accusations were loud and blaring in his mind, he could physically hear it. In the end, he could only resolved into one conclusion that he was to be blamed, and that it was probably all his fault. The feeling of foreboding premonition looms over him. The horrid feeling of wretchedness ate at him.
He felt sick.
All rationality seemed to leave him as he fell on his knees, shakily reached out to touch and feel the reality of it all. The familiar warmth of her skin jolted him, he retracted quickly, stunned. He glanced again, doubting his eyes, and half hoping he was hallucinating. But the lines were still deeply etched there. It was still on her skin, the skin that was so hauntingly beautiful to him. The skin in which he had spent hours affectionately, fascinating over. It was the same pale skin that had haunted him endlessly at nights, causing him to restlessly toss with yearning.
Tears spilled from the corner of his eyes, he swallowed, trying very hard to push down the surge of emotion bursting to spill. His trembling hands reached forward and tightly grasped onto hers. He was angry, angry at himself and angry at her. He wanted to scream and to shake some sense into her. The idea that she wanted to purposely hurt herself, alarmed and scared him. Because he knew, he knew deep down that he could not really protect her from herself. It was the idea of being unable to protect her from harm again that frightened him.
The emotions finally escaped him, and he let it all out. The grief, the anguish, and the pain from all that has happened thoroughly racked his body with a sob. He wanted so much to just hug her soft body to his, and whisper things that he knows would comfort and reassure her. He wanted to just lock her up in a cage so she was not a target of any scheme and plan. But what he really wanted the most is for her was to be free and smiling like she was before.
Before she came to know the true reality of his life.
Before they lost their child.
Before she married him.
The tears subsided, and he realized the fingers he had held ever so tightly was out of his grasp. And it was now threading tenderly through his dark curls. He slowly turns, and his eyes came to rest on her warm dark ones.
He came to face her.
His wife, his love, his Tsukushi.
-to be continued-
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