Waltzing on the Edge
Hibari leaned his back against the door after it clicked shut. As his granite eyes cooled, he finally realized it. This feeling—it was more powerful, more arousing, more potent than any brawl he had ever fought—
The 'wow' floated off his lips, unheard by the girl behind him.
The girl spastically wondering what the heck had just happened.
Scissors—No. Screwdriver—No.
Yuka needed gum. She needed that intense herb flavor to numb her overloaded mind. The fresh mint would help her calm her down. Help her catch her breath. Gosh, what he had done to her! She felt like a fish, hooked, hauled onto a boat, gills gasping for water, cheek ripped open.
Then thrown back.
Popping the small, green-tinted pieces into her mouth, she concentrated all her frustration and anxiety into her jaw muscles. Furtively, she glanced around the room. She never had the chance to see it empty before. The potted plants from the 'tree-planting club' were still cluttered in the corner of the room, a shade lifted to give them some light. Otherwise, the dim room felt like a cavern; it felt larger and more threatening than it really was, shrouded in darkness. The furniture barely took up any space: a lounge sofa, two bookcases, and the prefect's desk.
A little devious grin spread across Yuka's face. She had Hibari's desk all to herself.
She slinked across the room, walking on tip-toes. Carefully, she opened all the drawers. Its contents were perfectly innocuous, containing office supplies like fountain pens and stationary, a book on kanji, a first aid kit… She jiggled the last drawer, which refused to pull out. Stuck? No. It was locked. Despite her delinquent past, Yuka had never actually broken into a teacher's desk before. She wasn't that cool. Just a little feisty. Besides, Mrs. Rushito had always just trashed the little toys and hair accessories she confiscated.
Still, she made up her mind to try. Dexterously, she inserted the elegant lock-picking prongs into the keyhole. She had no idea what the heck she was doing. Really, she had the whole mechanism inserted upside down. So, indeed, she was working the drawer wrong way. And she was worried about the pocket knife. What if her tool got stuck? So she worked slowly and carefully.
And now, she was taking too long.
Yuka emerged from the reception room, adjusting the men's cut jacket. It fit her rather awkwardly. Heidi always toted her boyfriend's uniform jacket as if it was a fashion statement, but this just felt… strange. The sleeves were too long, Yuka needed to roll them up, and it was baggy around her shoulders. She detached the jacket's prefect badge, putting it in the pocket.
Hibari was leaning next to the door, a black silk necktie now hanging around his loosened collar. He probably grabbed it on the way out. She could only study him in pieces: his collar, his shoes, his hands. Why was it so much harder to keep her composure now? She bitterly fought back a blush when she found herself standing beside him. She just wanted to get away. Get away to the roof. She wanted to think about what had happened. Thus spurred, Yuka spoke up first, tensely.
"About the whole 'sleeping beauty' nickname, ugh," Hibari's glinting eyes caught hers, and she couldn't hold herself together. "Just forget it," she mumbled. Why was she losing herself like this? Why was she becoming so weak in front of him?
It was the adrenaline rush. She had never felt it on such a high level. It was scary at first, but addicting. Just like a fight.
Did she like it, then?
As she held out to him the ripped shirt, she imagined another future, an alternative universe, in which she had turned around and embraced him. In which she ran her fingers over his chest and through his hair, tucked her lips into his neck. In which she had told him all her problems, all her worries, all her sorrows, all her frustrations.
An utterly horrible idea.
She didn't even love him. He was practically a stranger!
She wagged the ripped shirt, furious now because he wasn't relieving it from her. She avoided looking at his staunchly leaning frame as she heard him chuckle softly.
"I only return favors. Fix my tie and we'll call it even," Hibari explained, an entertained sneer growing across his face.
"Are you kidding me!" she announced.
"You have to do what I say."
Why did she have to be so dependent on him? Goddamn him and his nonchalance.
Yuka closed her eyes exasperated. Did he like seeing her squirm? She held back the earnest, babyish expression she gave Lal Mirch she used to make her aunt change her mind, opting for a dark and deadly flash of the eyes. She wanted to intimidate him. Push fear into his soul. But she could only manage a flash. That lean, hard body sent her heart palpitating like a nervous rabbit's. Looking at his folded arms, she felt them wrapped hot around her again. Glimpsing his mouth, spewing the order to 'kiss my ass,' she felt tender lips caressing her neck and shoulder. Even his hands, in her mind, tickled her bra strap and raked the side of her body, on their way lower and lower….
Oh Lal! What should I do? Is this all right?
But what would Lal think if she caught her in a boy's uniform, with nothing underneath but her bra? Nothing underneath but a bra! What had she become? Yuka gnashed her teeth. She needed her fixed shirt ASAP—she would have to suck up her pride. Kiss his ass.
At least just this once.
Grudgingly, she tucked the mangled shirt under her armpit - a borderline Frankenstein shirt repeatedly brought back to life like a phoenix from the ashes - and she reached for the repulsive black tie. It was excruciatingly difficult keeping her stone cold face emotionless. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a blush, which she knew would explode across her cheeks if her eyes tilted upward. If she caught sight of his luxurious, black-as-the-night-sky hair and self-confident, almost reassuring smirk. Everything about him, now, made her heart pound. She pictured Hibari was Dino, only Dino, in her mind. Dino, who was getting ready for his Cavallone inheritance ceremony. Dino, who didn't unnerve her in the slightest. She gave a final tug to the black silk fabric, hoping it was painfully tight. Hoping to make it difficult for him to breathe. Hoping to make him feel like some complacent, collared dog.
"Satisfied?" she mocked.
He just reached up and loosened it himself.
"It's good enough." He took her shirt from under her armpit, tossing it over his shoulders. Finally, he turned around and left, back to work patrolling the hallway for students skipping class.
"Don't forget, you have another detention after school," he said without bothering to look over his shoulder. "This is my last warning."
"Excuse me?"
"Go to class."
Yuka lazily stretched her body out on the rooftop like a tired tabby cat as she carefully read over the mysterious engraving.
To my fire, my perfect delight, and my perfect agony.
The fresh breeze cleansed her lungs of the reception room's dank atmosphere. Still, her mind couldn't escape from Vongola's cloud guardian. She was after, clothed in his jacket, that smell of his still teasing her nose. She warily suspected he was nearby, watching her, stalking her, even though it was probably just his coat playing tricks. Was it the same one she thought she had ruined? The tonfas' holsters cushioned her stomach as she laid on the cement floor.
She had pulled out the knife, examining it to distract herself. Lal Mirch had always avoided talking about her mother and father, only mentioning them in brief snippets. Only using their names to make her do her chores. Your mother would have wanted this. Your father would have wished that.
And who was Verde anyway?
She had very little to go on. Lal said her mother had left her care when she was only three years old. Guardian paperwork was signed. The little baby bassinet switched hands like a dollar bill in her mind. She liked to imagine every inch of her mother. A smiling face, soft hands, and a sweet voice whispering praise. There were no pictures of her around the house. Yuka would give anything just to know what her mother looked like. She yearned to hear a real love story. How her parents fell in love. What brought them together. Haru's daydreams were nice, Titanic was a decent movie, but what was love like in real life? What was the love that created her like?
Lal Mirch always said her mom loved her very much. She stuttered once when Yuka asked about her father. Lal then hurriedly changed the subject.
And then there was that time at the Mafia Ball several years ago, back when she was a preteen. They talked about her mother. Yuka had worn in a beautiful lavender chiffon dress. Lal Mirch had told her to wear a pant suit with a fedora. "Dress more masculine." She felt like Lal was almost trying to disguise her.
But Yuka had wanted to impress Shitt P. Wow! That girl knew how to dress! Pink dyed hair was nothing compared to being a girl shaved practically bald! In the bathroom, she added the extra accessories she had stashed in her purse that Lal Mirch would never let her leave the house with: aerosol hair dye, glitter lip gloss, smoky eye shadow, fake tattoos, clip in hair extensions, fake eyelashes, a kooky glow-in-the-dark purple boa, stick on rhinestones, Kanye West sunglasses, and of course, an inflatable purple inner tube to decorate her waist. A bubble just like Shitt P.'s
But Shitt P. never noticed her at the party. Never stood up for her. "You're nothing but the daughter of a famous slut. How disgraceful." Adelaide frowned, her nose in the air, surrounded by boys dressed in school uniforms and black prefect armbands. "Purify her," she ordered and walked away.
"She looks like a baby who wants to go swimming!" someone shouted, laughing.
Why didn't they say stuff like that about Shitt P.? Yuka and her were dressed similarly that night.
"Let's throw her in the pool!" another whispered.
"Adelaide! Take it back!" she cried, angered by the insult, and she ran through the crowd of chuckling men, chasing the black skirt.
Xanxus leaned back in his chair, alone in his large and empty study. His raccoon tail skin and red feathers draped over his pristine silk nightshirt as his eyes lazily skimmed through the Mammon's file.
The known history of Kali Mirch.
Fucking Bitch.
Damn, he hated that woman. He hated her almost as much as his senile old hag. How could both women be mothers? He hoped both were rotting in hell. This slut, Kali, he remembered her, vaguely. She was an old member of Varia. She was allowed to work missions before he took over. She was such the skank flouncing around Vongola parties dressed half-naked, dancing around with men from hundreds of mafia families. Even he had seen her shirtless, breasts bouncing, when he caught her doing her job with one of the guest in a men's bathroom stall. Door shamelessly open.
Anything went in the mafia. Keep friends, close, enemies closer, and traitors in your bed. She was in charge of catching traitors.
He took another swig from the bottle of port in his hand. That pathetic cunt. Saying it was part of her job. Bragging that men fell into her arms to give away their secrets. Espionage? Hn. He heard she stole money from their wallets when they weren't looking, while they were staring at her sprawled naked on a motel bed. What a fucking whore. Pathetic shit-faced hag. All tits and ass.
He flipped through the manila folder, reports neatly tagged with post-it notes.
Family.
Education.
Varia Duties.
Aliases.
Residences.
Targets.
Vendicare Profile.
Vendicare. Bitch was probably PMSing that night. Slit. His. Throat. Funny, how she quit Varia to elope with him. Man must have been one hell of a good fuck, considering, under his corp., she would have been paid high cash to suck dick.
Some black and white photos of the crime scene. Her home. At least, where she used to live. Bitch was lucky to find such a nice place to shack up. He shuffled through the slick photographes. Bloody white bed sheets. Cigars littering the floor. A bottle of cheap whiskey on the nightstand. Every inch of the room covered in semen when scanned with the infrared light. Autopsy found the man's genitals shoved down his throat.
The Vongola had investigated the crime scene separately from the police. The Varia leader back then didn't want the cops to trace the whore back to his assassination squad. A theory spread that the wife was kidnapped, raped, and dumped in some bog or ravine. Not like it wasn't hard to believe. The slut looked like the kind of trash any man would like to fuck in the dirt. So a missing person's report was filed under her name. The shitty police are so easy to fool.
He scowled at their weakness as he continued studying the detailed report.
Her first victim was her husband. Why would anyone want to marry that used trash? She was brimming with the juices of other men. A tree over-urinated on by the neighborhood dogs. But she obviously wasn't satisfied with her one kill. Murders started popping up all over the world.
A few generals in the Sudanese army went missing, and found a week later. Found in bathroom stalls, their heads shoved in toilets. Castrated.
Throats slit wide open.
More murders in New York, wealthy businessmen who dipped into the sex-slave trade. Castrated.
Throats slit wide open.
Even some mafia hitmen fell. All men her former contacts, her former field agents, her former spies within other families. Castrated. All men she had traded sexual favors.
All their throats slit with the same knife.
All castrated, probably with the same knife.
A knife never found.
The killing spree didn't last long though. Only, roughly, a couple months—but hundreds died by her trademark calling card. The case ran cold for lack of fresh evidence. Was the bitch even working alone? She was too good at it. And God knew she could get any idiotic bastard to help her. Now, it seemed like she had disappeared off the face of the planet. Not even the Vendicare prison guards had traced her.
So, the slut had finally gone AWOL. It didn't seem like such a big deal. His squad had eliminated thousands more than she. Xanxus closed the folder and tossed it onto his desk, not caring at all how long it had taken Mammon to compile. He brought the port back to his lips.
"Nnn." No sweet alcohol welcomed his tongue. Empty. He threw the tinted wine bottle hard into the fireplace, causing it to shatter into a million pieces. The fire flared up briefly, fueled by the alcohol, then settled obediently back into its place.
Kali Mirch. She probably killed herself. That fucking bitch.
But damn, did she make a name.
And then, Suwana Yuka appeared. Lal Mirch tried to pass her off as some brat she adopted. But rumors spread that the blonde girl actually was Colonnello's.
But that just didn't make sense. Just because they were not married, they deny it?
And so, another, darker rumor also spread.
She was Kali's.
A frown graced Xanxus's horseradish-bitter face. This girl's whore of a mother dumped her. Abandoned her like a piece of rotting trash. No clue of her father's whereabouts, let alone identity. The woman seemed to have beheaded every cock that entered her.
He could easily imagine the hatred and wrath that brewed in Yuka's heart.
Her hatred and wrath just as intoxicating as his own.
Yuka rushed down the staircase, the door to the roof slamming behind her. She had to sprint to the gym—FAST. She had dozed off, wondering what her mother was like. Where was she? What she was doing that very moment? Was she in some other country, or perhaps right next door, watching over her? She liked the sound of her second thought better. It made her feel loved.
But she couldn't be such a lackadaisical dreamboat. Today was a very important day. Today, Ryohei and the boxing club would be practicing with her dance club. She had to get down fast and negotiate the chaos, knowing the boxing captain's utter cluelessness. She didn't have much time. Less than ten minutes, to be precise. Yuka couldn't be late for her detention with Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows. Man, she'd do anything to skip. Facing the cloud guardian would be awkward.
I should have gone to class. Then I could have given Hana instructions. Then, I wouldn't be worrying.
She sprinted across the courtyard, bursting into the gym.
Why on Earth are they in boxing outfits? The boxing team, half-naked in their polyester boxing shorts, some with towels around their necks, sat patiently waiting on the bleachers. She figured Ryohei didn't tell them until last minute. Your typical Ryohei. The dance club girls, more glammed up than usual, had changed out of their uniforms, and into pretty little outfits with butterfly and flower prints. They were clustered shyly together on the opposite side of the gym from the boys.
How classic. Yuka smiled wryly.
Finally, she caught sight of the boxing club captain, and, well, she didn't know what to think of him anymore. To say the least, she forgave him for his cluelessness. He was dressed like the rest of his club, but she never knew he had such a nice body. Toned to perfection! Without his shirt, she could see every muscle clearly defined on his well-shaped body. His silver hair contrasted majestically against his bronze, chiseled torso. It irked her a little.
Why was he so confident without his shirt off, while for her, just the thought of such nakedness, made her want to cry? Why couldn't she walk around shirtless without feeling exposed and laid open? Without feeling humiliated?
"HEY YUKA!" He called her name loudly while trotting to her side.
"Are you wearing a boys' school uniform?" Hana asked, approaching her from where the girls stood. She was dressed in an elegant skirt and satin blouse.
"Ugh, long story" Yuka explained, embarrassed. "I can't stay long. I just came to set everyone up." She wished she were dressed more appropriately. Yuka began to grow self-conscious in Hibari's jacket. It was so black and drab. It fit her horribly, too. The inside lining was itchy. It was meant to be worn with a layer of clothing underneath, after all. Not just a bra.
"How are we going to break the ice?" she asked. Everyone in the room looked expectantly at the two club captains. Ryohei grinned bashfully at her, while Yuka caught her breath. His pecs rippled under his tanned skin.
"You guys should start?" Hana said warmly.
"START THE MUSIC!" Ryohei hollered, a goofy grin filling his face. The boys sitting on the bleachers turned the shiny new stereo on. It had almost drained the club's expenses, but Yuka thought the investment would be worth it. Soon, her detention debt would be paid, and she could spend every afternoon in the gym, dancing her heart into the clouds. A spicy Salsa hummed through the room, brassy trumpets defining the rhythm.
Yuka showed Ryohei how to put one hand around her waist and with the other hold her hand. The other couples followed her example, the girls teaching the boys. Salsa was probably the best dance to teach amateurs. The steps could be simple or extravagant. "1-2-3-4-1-2-3-4" she counted for the boxer. Ryohei, was a little clumsy at first, getting the hang of the movements. It was adorable how he apologized for stepping on her foot. And it was a nice change—to be in the lead.
The music was loud and energizing. She was having so much fun, laughing that it was ok, laughing that it didn't hurt when he was clumsy. Finally, a truly wonderful partner. He learned fast, too. Soon, she taught him how to spin her, and they flew to the sound of the music.
Suddenly, the gym blacked-out and the music cut from the power outage.
"Everyone out! Go home!" Kusakabe's voice, magnified by a megaphone, echoed through the dark spacious room. Ryohei let her waist go, but held her hand tighter, trying to reassure her.
I forgot!
"It's the disciplinary committee!" a boxer shouted, as the lights flickered on. Kusakabe and a band of black-jacketed prefects had gathered in the large gymnasium. The girls screamed, noticing that some of the boys were already knocked unconscious. The boxers tried to protect their dancing partners while leading them out, but the funny haired prefects, all delinquents who knew how Hibari liked his shows run, smashed through the crowd with pummeling fists.
Yuka was frozen, horrified that she had lost herself in the moment. She pulled Ryohei by the hand. She wouldn't let him get caught by the brutal disciplinary committee. This was her mistake. There was an exit, a hole in the concrete foundation, in the girls' locker room. They could squeeze out.
But Ryohei didn't let her pull him. He anchored his feet, looking over his shoulder.
"MY TEAM!" They were being battered by the delinquents in a mob-scene of riotous proportions. The boxing captain ripped his hand away, running to aid his boxing club in the brawl.
"NO! RYOHEI!" Yuka shouted running after him. She didn't reach for her pocket knife. She didn't plan to fight, just to get Ryohei out safely.
This was all her fault.
No. What was she thinking? This was all his fault. Hibari Kyoya's fault.
Where was he?
And where was Ryohei? She had lost him. Frantically, she searched, avoiding bouts between boxers and prefects. Finally, she saw Kusakabe dragging Ryohei's unconscious body outside the gym exit. She rushed to follow.
She slammed the gym double-doors open. Kusakabe sat on the ground a distance from the ruckus. The loud roars of the wrestling boys could be heard behind her and the subtle squeaking of her startled girls came from the courtyard they were huddled in.
Through all this, Yuka's face was exploding magma with crimson rage.
He would PAY!
Kusakabe was busy trying to revive Ryohei, but the boy was knocked out cold, having taking a solid hit in the head. Hibari had order him specifically to watch out for the sun guardian. Maybe he ought to run to the local convenience store to get some ice. And he might as well pick up some ice for everyone. There were bound to be loads of bruises on the clubbers who dared to crowd. But as he made to turn around, he was confronted by the rather red-faced transfer student, the girl who just kept on surprising him.
"You know him well, don't you?" she said in a very low, very slow voice, while clawing his jacket. "Where is Hibari Kyoya?"
Why was she wearing Kyoya's jacket? He recognized the golden metal buttons immediately. Only Hibari's had personalized golden buttons. If she had his jacket, it could only mean…
Was she important to him? He translated her low tone as urgent.
"He's in the reception room finishing up some paper work."
"Thank you," she said through clenched teeth, and he realized in now. The girl before him radiated a carnivorous aura. Her tone reminded him of Hibari at the highest level of irritation, a low and slow rumble. Should he run ahead of her to warn the prefect, or head to convenience store to help Ryohei? He stalled in indecision as he watched Yuka stalk off to the reception room.
The convenience store pulled him. Hibari was strong. The prefect would be irritated if he went against orders and left Ryohei.
But Yuka's voice still worried him. There is a certain power in someone speaking so quietly, hushed, and deadly, instead of shouting loudly and hysterically. Like simultaneous outrage and self-control.
Scary.
"YOU!" she raged, pointing at the prefect. Her feelings were no longer muddled and confused. She knew her heart now.
Hibari looked up from the papers on his desk, eyes narrowed with annoyance at the disturbing girl. Yuka stood in the reception room doorway, irate, scarlet splotches once more percolating to her face, eyes uncontrollably watering with intense emotion and frustration.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" She cried, walking brusquely across the dim room toward the window shades she had the sudden urge to rip down. Him and his goddamn darkness. The prefect rose from his chair as she whisked by, withdrawing a tonfa from a drawer. Yuka whipped off her glasses and threw them with all her might at the cloud guardian, wanting him to sit back down again, to be lower than her, but he just deflected the missile with a tonfa. She didn't care if the glasses broke as she heard them smash to the ground. Screw it all! She stormed over to the shades. Those dark shades made this room his. They made her angry. He doesn't own this school! He had no right to crash her dance club, finish it in that insulting mob of chaos. With both hands she grabbed the Venetian blinds, and pulled down with all her strength. The vinyl window shades crashed to the floor, leaving gaping holes where they were attached to the ceiling. Light flooded into the room, illuminating all its hidden corners. Exposing all its mysteries. It really was just a simple room, in the end.
The catastrophic view outside reminded her why she stomped up two flights of stairs to the reception room, very tempted along the way to pull the fire alarm and kick the walls. In the courtyard, Hana was trying to pick up Ryohei and her club's new stereo was being carried out in crumbled, wiry pieces by some prefects. What would happen to dance club now? There wasn't even enough money in the club's bank account for a new boom box.
"WHAT'S THIS?" she thundered, pointing out the window pane. Turning around, she was caught pinned across the chest by his tonfa, her back hard pushed against the glass. His face was frosted with a new harsh impatience that she had never seen before. Like he was the one wronged? How could that be? He started this fiasco!
"Don't damage school property," his voice cold and controlled, referring to the blinds. "And I warned you, if you disturbed the peace again, I would disband your club." He scrutinized the only girl he had allowed to knot his tie, the first time with such sweet tenderness and the second time with such entertaining defiance. "And you were skipping detention again."
What a lame excuse! Yuka was no longer going to take his shit.
"You can't just do whatever you want," she growled menacingly in reply. Her hand wrapped fearlessly around Hibari's tonfa, trying to relieve the pressure.
"No. I can. How long is it going to take you to realize that?" And pressure of his tonfa increased two-fold. He looked like he had spoken the truth. The ultimate truth. No arguing.
But Yuka only smirked back devilishly, her mauve eyes glinting with sad laughter, avoiding his own. Here she was eating the biggest pile of steaming shit ever served to her on a shining silver platter. Her beloved dance club was dissolved. Her Salsa partner was knocked unconscious. And Ryohei was only trying to help his friends.
Her heart throbbed heatedly in her chest.
How she had let him control her.
THROB.
How she had let him defile her.
THROB.
How pathetic she was.
THROB.
How weak.
THROB.
And she gave up on the steel tonfa, opting for his spotless shirt. She was so jealous. Just so jealous. It looked like it never suffered any rips or tears. It never needed any scars to be sewn up. Why did hers always have to be so battered? Her hand shot out like lightening, grappling the fabric over his chest. Over his heart. Her fingers were clamped like an oyster protecting its pearl. Quickly, she yanked the prefect close to her, overcoming his stubborn strength with the willpower of a suicidal rebellion.
Today, she would give her LIFE to win. To conquer. To earn back what she loved. To come out on top with her heart beating alive in her throat.
And she was so strong, so strong fueled by these profound forces. So strong driven by her deepest desires. Hibari couldn't pull back in time. He couldn't even catch himself, tripping towards her, his feet too slow for his head. His eyes still hurting from the sudden bright light. His belt buckle slammed into her stomach, his tonfa falling behind her to prevent himself from dropping inches closer. And this intimacy, this indulgent proximity, was his weakness. It was dizzying. It was confusing. His body ached where everything mattered. Because when Hibari was so close, so grinding close to her, his hips pressing on her soft stomach, his head hovering over her pink neck, he didn't want to hurt her anymore. He didn't want to punish her. Hibari Kyoya just wanted to bury himself in her, touch her supple shoulders with his lips and her warm body with his hands. Feel her squeezing his hand wrapped around his, tight and earnest with desire. With something more than desire.
And while his eyes clouded and that heavy, sticky lump grew in the back of his mouth, Yuka's knife flew to his throat like the teeth of a rabid dog.
"I hate you!" she cried through tears. "I abhor you! Detest you!" The words wretched with pain. The jade handle's deep purple color swirled darker and darker as she pressed the sharp metal against his neck. "...Loathe you with everything in me!" It was the weakness. The exposure. No one would ever strip her. She had to stop him for good, because if he could take away her dance club and her self-control, what would be next?
Her honor? Because she could feel it now. The second hardness against her stomach. The one just below his belt buckle and made her all too aware of his intent.
He was just another man.
"Go to hell!" she seethed, perfectly ready to cut open his neck. Wanting to put this devil in his place. To cast him far, far away and forget about him. Horror edged up her spine from the touch of his erection.
Murder broke open her heart.
"Go to hell!" her voice cracking with hatred.
But as her words spilled forth, the knife's blade turned to hot misty vapor, melting back into the handle. Denying her the freedom. Dropping her from where she clung on the edge the cliff. Her heart seemed to choke, then painfully burn. Burn. Burn. Burn. Her knees buckled and she fell helplessly. Was she dying? Every ounce of strength drained from her body as she collapsed onto the floor. She lay at Hibari's feet, exhaustion sweeping over her as she squeezed the jade handle. She was too tired to care what happened now. Every muscle of her body was contracting, tightening, flaming pain consuming her heart.
And then—release.
Hibari had kicked the switchblade out of her hand and it skidded to the far side of the room. Then a long silence. Was he still there? Her skin was insensitive and deadened. Almost a corpse. She waited, her body folded over her knees, her forehead kissing the dirty floor. She heard his footsteps around the room, pat-pat-pat, vibrating against her temple.
Were they following her heartbeat?
She couldn't feel her heartbeat anymore.
Was she even still alive? Yes. Tears of frustration, welled in her cheeks. All her strength in her eyes. In her eyelids squeezed tight. Then, a light covering was thrown on top of her. A blanket? Her white shirt. And then, the sound of the door clicking softly shut.
And for a long time, she laid in the empty reception room, crying out the agony in her breast as the light streamed through the window. Her knuckles turned white from hitting the hard wood floor. Pounding it. She lay until the sun began to set, until darkness returned, twilight approaching.
Then, slowly, she picked herself up. Feeling returned like prickling pins and needles against her skin. The sensation made her woozy. Shaking, she unbuttoned the prefect's coat and slid it off her shoulders, feeling returning to her numbed mind and her cold body. She was returning to herself. Shivering, she brought her arms through her own uniform's shirt. Murder still shrouded her mind with its dark ominous mist.
What would she do with Hibari's jacket?
Destroy it.
Because all she wanted was to forget. All she wanted was to be free of him and all these rules that ate her up.
And she imagined, smiling, the jacket sinking blurry into the depths of the Namimori River.