Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Note: Sorry to change writing styles so frequently... I guess I'm still trying to fit back into my old style and failing miserably. Haha. And I really also need to more positively charge my life, apparently. I promise the next one will be happier. And who knows, maybe I'll put a second part for this one in later; even I hate the way it ended.
Thank you for the reviews I received last time! For some reason it would only let me thank everyone personally as a personal message... Sorry!
This is their apartment.
There's a kitchen, where they used to cook for each other. There are dirty dishes piled up high in the sink. A chair is tucked in but another is pulled out, as if someone is still sitting there. There's only, however, a familiar purple cat sleeping in the center of the table.
When she looks right there's a livingroom. There's a threadbare couch where they've sat and laughed and watched TV, and even once huddle under a blanket when the electricity fizzed out. The TV isn't on now. The blanket is torn in half. Their Christmas tree is still there but the ornaments never made it to the branches before the incident. IT looks not festive, or cheery, but looks sad and dark, like it's mourning the loss of a holiday that had yet to pass.
After she searches the rooms and calls his name a few times, she remembers. There's a kitchen, a livingroom, bedrooms and bathrooms and decorations and dishes but there's no Soul. There's only her. Her and the affectionate cat that Maka also remembers isn't even really a cat. The loneliness soaks straight into her skin like rain and weighs her down.
There's no one here.
No one to cook for, no one to clean up after. No one to complain about, no one to complain to. No one.
Her world is the same but does not feel like it spins anymore. The axis is missing. She crumbles onto the couch like the bag of bones she is. She puts the blanket on piece by piece, then attempts to seal her eyes shut. She wants to fade like the color from her covers.
This is her second night home alone in the house they created for years together. She's barely eaten enough to survive. Besides school, a guarantee for a daily unbearable encounter with an old friend, she does this. She convinces herself that rotting away gives her what she deserves for the way she acted to cause this disharmony.
The quiet suffocates her and she feels like this place is a coffin.
She wishes she could become a kishin. She wants her soul stolen and eaten so it can become a part of something big, greater, and more beautiful. Something more than it is now: wilted like a flower with no sunlight.
It's her fault, him moving out. It's an unusually disruptive fight that broke their hearts. It's her stubbornness that split their soul resonance and their peace.
All he simply wanted from her was a relationship. Nothing too involved. Nothing more than it really was when she thought about it now. What they had, with their feelings in plain view and occasionally a candlelit dinner or two and a sleepover.
She said she wasn't sure she was ready, but she knew in her heart, she really was. She didn't know how but it erupted, she cried, and he said those three words and kicked him out without even thinking it over first like a truly mature person.
Her parents – mostly her dad – had bent her this way, she figures. Trusting men goes against her moral code.
But really, who did she trust more than Soul, her best friend of almost ten years?
She wants him back. She wants him here with his arms around her like she's always dreamed about. She wants their legs entangled, the TV on, some rain pattering on the windows to soothe them both to sleep. She wants laughter. She wants rides on his motorcycle. She wants her life back: She wants Soul.
Now her attitude stains it. Stains their place with silence. She waits around like she waits for a funereal, for death. She waits for a knock on the door that she knows will never find hers again.
This isn't a fight over burnt curry that can be easily resolved. This is a fight with feelings her heart and his can't seem to handle.
She cries and cries until she finally beings to doze away. When she wakes up, her blanket is new and whole. She runs excitedly up the stairs to his room but finds it completely empty. His belongings were moved in the night, while she slept.
She collapses on his still-warm bed.
This was their apartment.