Fic: Shed The Skin, The Love Beneath - Mai-HiME
Title: Shed The Skin, The Love Beneath
Author: hyena_gal
Fandom: Mai-HiME
Summary: A study in falling in love. Shizuru-centric.
Rating: M
Warnings: Blood, Crazy!Shizuru is behind the wheel, *symbolism*, and a scene that may come across as containing dub-con.
Word Count: 5,295
Disclaimer: Not mine in a million years.
A/N: Not particularly the fluffy variant of Shizuru, this. Shout out goes to centauri2002 for inspiring me to get up on the fanfic horse again, so to speak. See further notes at the end.
*
But there's a smile on my face
For everyone.
- Just Another Day. Oingo Boingo
Time moves sluggishly in the Student Council room, like a deliberate act of stagnancy, like a preferred suspension of patience is prerequisite in order to survive this vapidity with a mind unscathed. It advances at the same pace as the trickling warmth currently settling in Shizuru's groin does, rearrangement of blood, insecurity and lust and need thrown so sharply in relief by occurences recently in life that the potency of it all almost dwarfs her.
She is entertaining clean-cut, ardour-laced pictures of Natsuki inside her head; willingly bent over the desk she's seated at now, her own head lowering to lick in thick, wet stripes up that precious white throat, behind the delicate shell of an ear, small, helpless vocalations coming from the other girl as a result of the action (oh, bright song to her soul). Panties pulled down around Natsuki's knees and Shizuru's hand under the short skirt, fingers sliding in wetness, penetrating through the downy brush of curls, bitten-off moans rumbling back at her each time she *reaches*.
Slick and so hot and soft, and, yes, her breathing might be coming out just that bit more laboured than usually right at the moment.
Has enough control over herself to know the arousal at least hasn't painted a blush across her cheeks. There's only the steady throb between her legs from this, little heartbeat timed with the fluid thrusts from a thin wrist in her fantasy, tangible hands supporting her chin upon linked fingers, eyes half-lidded, downcast.
The other council members' voices are simply a low drone in her ears by now.
These meetings are... tedious.
Other things more important, demanding more attention, why am I even here? Waste of energy, of focus, squandering the hours like an imbecile, she's smarter than this, *does* pay attention to details, and.
And she's tired, so tired, the Star weighing down on her mind, constantly, never a second without its presence being known, small insignificant dot up in the sky, a *puncture* in the heavens which she looks up at day after day after day, scratching at the status quo equilibrium invariably. Spilling her thoughts into a drain that won't let her rest at any point of time, relentless mantra in the swirl: where's Natsuki, is she okay? should be more *careful*, oh god, please, if anything happens to her --
"Kaichou-san!"
Slow lizard turn of her head at the noise disrupting her absorption, and when she fixes her heavy gaze on Haruka's face, there's the most infinitesimal flinch from the other female's side.
A slip of the mask? Most probable cause for the give. Must have caught the most fleeting glimpse of what rests behind her eyes right then, dark and substantial, the exhaustion, sharp like thorns washing through her veins, it's the worrying that gets you in the end, gnawing at you, *eats* you up from the inside.
The virago holds her tongue, yet still frowns deeply at her. Mouth a displeased downwards curve. Oh, always so disapproving, always suspicious, Suzushiro-san, aren't you? Will never trust what doesn't show itself for what it is, those sides of oneself being held back, because it can only mean some kind of ulterior motive, right?
If you can't see it in its entirety? Something potentially... *fatal*, there. Wolf in the shadow, snake in the tall, dry grass, death just waiting for everyone's hearts in all found corners and any day may be the last. And that's it. Final word gurgled out from a broken mouth, the red-coloured spit a visual testament.
The loudmouth has never trusted the Student Council President as far as she could throw her (even if it probably would happen to be a good distance - if there was anything Suzushiro-san wasn't it was *weak*), and despite this fact, and that she will never admit to it - Shizuru respects that certain quality in the blond.
Able to recognise ruthlesness that will lead a blade without hesitation, to scent danger when it was hanging smoke-thick in the air even when others wouldn't.
Shizuru gives her a calm smile in response, muscles dictating how much she can afford to give at this point. Don't overdo it, most importantly.
All Haruka reacts with is something almost akin to a sneer, disgust and unease fighting for dominance on her face.
Like she just saw that the other female's in possession of *fangs* or something.
*
The clatter of typing on a keyboard ceases, Natsuki, lost in thoughts, rises to her feet, and consequently fails at masking the brief flash of mild surprise flitting across her features, there and then gone, as she spots a previously absent Shizuru now materialised in the doorframe.
It's adorable, really, watching her awkwardly gesture to the the black screen of the computer, lips pressed together in a line, frown furrowing her forehead all seemingly in the same breath.
"Uh. Thanks for letting me use the laptop. I appreciate it." All Shizuru does is respond with a small smile. It's the first time Natsuki has taken her up on the offer to borrow the computer for whatever research the biker may need to conduct, so to say that it's more than a welcome unexpected sight to actually have walked in on her seated in her chair minutes ago wouldn't be lying.
Not in her leathers. Has to mean there's a possibility of her having actually attended some classes today.
"Anytime." It comes out faint and soft. Wants her to know that she can come again, always, shouldn't keep so much distance, shouldn't maintain these fortified walls between them, they're friends, after all. Known each other for so long, it has to mean something. It *has* to carry significance.
Watches as Natsuki trots over to her, almost out of the door, shoulders brushing, before she stops short.
Bow of her head, angled in her direction, and can tell from the way those eyes refuse to meet hers that she's trying to carefully form a sentence in her head which will hopefully convey everything she wants it to --
"Shizuru. Thank... you. For everything." Already looking miserably self-conscious, but Shizuru reads it for what it is - an indication of trust, willingness to allow her to be open to weakness, unsure in her expressed gratitude.
Natsuki turns from her then, throws a genuine smile (so rare) over her shoulder at the other girl before walking down the hallway, hands thrust in her jacket pockets, stride strong and animal-smooth. Admirable, unique, and so much *more* to offer than the rest of the world had been able to muster of recent years.
And Shizuru aches so fiercely at that point, quietly watching all that silent beauty disappear that she wants to reach out her hand. Stop her with a touch on her arm, and hold her comfort taste her kiss, close, closer, confide in me...
The world only means to hurt you. Stay with me, here. Stay.
Even her back looks undefeatable, a spine made of numb, artic steel. Slope of shoulders that already carried more scruples and misgivings than they had to.
Shouldn't be this way.
Should... put an end to all her troubles.
(A slow, slithering kind of cessation)
How could change like that possibly be unwanted, unwished for?
*
There are dreams, insistent and frequent.
Not every single night, but close enough; thing is, when somebody doesn't have anyone to confide in, bare one's soul to for just a few unbearable minutes, everything churning around inside one's brain is bound to represent itself some other way, take a form of sorts - subconsciously, more than likely. How the human mind basically works, Shizuru knows that.
*Knows* that, and still --
Doesn't need this. It's a mirage, something made plainly to distress and confuse and bitterly *upset* her:
Natsuki, completely naked, smudged with dirt, twigs in her hair, as if she'd just dragged herself through soil and mud and loam, completed a worm-crawl through several undergrowths, and wearing the most wrathful expression she's ever seen. The cutting pain in her chest from believing herself the focus of all that aversion before the words are spat like bile from her, pearly teeth baring in a snarl.
"I hate them." Her hands are clenched fists, entire frame trembling with repressed emotion.
Who? What happened? Who *hurt* you? Please, I...
No chance to answer, because she's being tackled, thrown to the ground, wind knocked from her by the sheer force and unexpectedness of the move, flat on her back, ground soft and yielding, and they... are in a forest? Branches and leaves and treetops like the prettiest canopy above, blotted efficiently out by the other girl crouched over her.
Short stingy bite to her throat, and all it gets is this surprised harsh noise shaken from her.
Natsuki rips herself away from Shizuru's neck without warning, gaze dark like a bruise.
There's two beads of blood on Natsuki's lips, undoubtly from the bite before. Obscenely red, indecently fresh...
And then there's kisses, slobby and too hungry, trying to devour her with their fierceness, and she wants to say no and she wants to say yes, and nothing expect gasps and throaty moans come from her when those hands roam over her body, pull at her clothes, short nails scratching her, leaving searing trails on her. Breasts roughly hefted, and her nipples feel like the hottest parts of her for some reason, wants Natsuki's mouth on them, wants Natsuki inside her, wants ten thousand things all at the same time, and not enough presence of mind to realise that it might well prove too much for her to handle, in any case, no matter what happens.
When Shizuru blinks, she feels tears collected thickly in the corners of her eyes.
Fingers get tangled in her hair, others moving within her panties, firmly *inside* her, wet enough for it, to take it, she can feel herself clench on the intrusion, every single muscle in her tensed, and can't decide between relinquishing all control, and holding on to as much as herself as is possible.
"I hate them, Shizuru. I hate them, hate them, *hate*--"
And there is no other way to describe the feeling other than nauseating that Shizuru feels herself tipped over then, staring into piercingly green eyes, as pleasure rolls through her in a suffocating wave with that contemptuous leer pressing down on her, hand around her throat, and all the euphoria gets forcefully *held* there, feels it overflow inside her, breaking within, *fracturing* --
Waking to gravitational pull of wetness down her cheeks, inhaled into her nose, the taste of salt in her mouth as she rolls over on her side, curls up and tries to make herself as small as possible in between the warm sheets.
*
It's not like she doesn't know what their peers say about her friend; Kuga-san, ice queen, the obvious recluse, always keeping to herself, never showing up for classes. All she has to offer is a scowl and a blasé attitude, so *rude*.
An authentic lone wolf, if they ever saw one.
Lone wolves, though, the animal kind... they'll fight tooth and claw for their life, for the last drop of blood in their bodies with froth spilling from lolling tongues and a wild, wide-eyed stare fixed on their foe's face, yet --
Are you deaf to their gossiping, Natsuki? Do they annoy you, cause you discomfort? Do you want to lash out at them for it?
(Word should be different, *lonely* wolves, they are ostracided, they die alone, not wanted, full of rage and weariness as snow seeps through their fur and into the bones, turning their eyes milky white as rigor mortis freezes them into everlasting crunched, pitiful poses, you let me die you let me go).
Do you want me to hurt them for you?
If anything else, if some being stronger *wants* to (kill) claim ownership of the canine enough, what can it possibly do? Raw force can only defend it for a while. It's nothing compared to perseverance.
After all -- there are some emotions which are more intense, burn more thoroughly than the will for self-preservation ever could.
Are you as lonely as I am sometimes?
Tell me, Natsuki, are you?
*
It is as nature ordains.
Girls born with small red marks on their bodies, that Shizuru will probably never be able to feel as much as a smidge of desire for any boy as intensely as she does for one specific gruff-voiced girl, that her mother would simply look at her with the kind of bottomless incomprehension that drains the soul if she ever tried explaining this to her...
And that snakes moult.
Oh, immensely *important*, though it may seem irrelevant trivia; layer after layer discarded, shed to make way for a new self, an untouched identity to present the world with, smarter, stronger, from having going through this more times than one, like the curling, crinkling skin of an apple sliced with the knife, rendered to the elements and dissolving into nature once again where it would belong.
Things need only be vulnerable for such a short *time* before they are covered up again. Protected, veins and vessels an intrinsic map tracing beneath it all.
Changing, always.
It makes an uncomfortably large amount of sense to her. Not necessarily logically, but deep in her gut, at the back of her neck where spine meets skull. Primitively.
Instinct. Prima materia cannot be questioned.
*
At first, she isn't certain; re-evaluating a potential course of action that ought to be taken tends to limit one's center of attention to just in front of one's nose with the train of ponderings it can result in. But then the clouds part outside, the moonshine breaks through the windows in thick, solid beams, into the Student Council room, and all the pieces seem to fall into their designated slots accordingly.
Dream, again. *Has* to be.
She's in her usual seat, cradling a cup of tea, night all around, a quiet that feels like a second film over everything's exterior.
She's not alone:
Natsuki, halfway thrown in shadows, sitting on the edge of one of the tables, knuckles chalk-white from gripping the edge of it so tightly, all tensed thigh musles ready to lunge her forcefully forward, to hunt, to fight...
And then she leans forward, out of the reach of the enclosing blackness, into the dusty ray of silvery light and it's --
An uneasy mix of both, the wolf and the girl, face twisted out of shape, bulging bone-structure and elongated features, freakish, slivers of yellowy red eyes, candle flames, and what looks like way too many teeth crowding in her mouth, ice pick sharp and spit-shiny, jutting out at strange angles.
"You know what you need to do, don't you?"
Words come out too thick, too slurred, *wrong*.
Shizuru's squeezing her eyes shut before even making the deliberate decision to do so. The dark behind her lids is of another caliber, denser, and she chokes the need to press the heels of her hands hard against her blinded vision. "I'd prefer if you didn't ask me about it."
Silence, then. Stretching itself threateningly, melting toffee-thick between the space of them.
Blinks her eyes open again, and when she does -- the cup she was holding minutes ago, lukewarm and intact between her hands, is shattered. All she is left with is the deep cuts carved in her palms, shards clinking to the table's preternaturally shiny surface, dragging small shreds in the fabric of air on their way down.
She studies her upturned hands. No blood. Just her flesh lacerated neatly, for her to see, too close for comfort, hidden aspects open for everyone to acknowledge, point at.
Natsuki (no, it's not her, not Natsuki, it's not *her*) stares at her intently, hunched shoulders and undimmed fire in that unwavering gaze, long jaws cracking apart to talk.
"Do you?"
Shizuru can feel the shape of her own teeth within her mouth. Hard, unforgiving forms, which she can run her tongue between continuously, the sheer vulnerability of the muscle when it's held briefly between the two rows of them.
Moments. The answer is a surrendered whisper, a confession with years on its back.
"Yes."
*
Can there be too much love inside the body for it to contain?
Of course - the obviously unsubtle lewd comeback to *that*, just the slide and press of a hand between spread legs, the panted name of a lover who isn't there, isn't doing this, doesn't know.
Tamayura Festival -- in some way it'd felt like placing a chain around her own neck when she tied Natsuki's name around the railing. Symbolic handing over of the leash, yank with all might, wrapped around the heart, too, where the risk is -- it's not the stifling that will end her, though.
Just waiting until this devotion will grow and grow and simply *break* from her, shattering something vital on the way out of her, rearing to the sky like an open ugly scream.
Not sure how much longer it can last:
As it is, she's measuring time with the thunder of her own heartbeat and how long the intervals between not being haunted by dreams are.
Must be a trick of the mind, but sometimes it looks like that Star up there is... descending.
*
"She's your Child. Do you accept her?"
Nagi's perched on a thick, curved, black bough, his skin and hair equally snow-white in the darkness, painfully, blindingly so. Little ghost-owl bringing ill-tidings, isn't he. She wishes she were deaf to his tongue in particular.
Gentle breeze, this night. Toying with the ends of chestnut hair, moving like a lover's caress lightly against her face. Kiyohime is a gigantic living shadow in front of her that has slithered out of the night and left it behind, constantly moving, writhing, large head cocked and avidly awaiting any command possibly uttered.
Has to smile. The scene feels pretentiously clandestine, yet couldn't be anything but, because this is simply about being reunited. There's nothing disconcerting or unsettling about any of this. It's like having a sleeping limb awaken.
Low, thrumming, whispery sound of an old voice (metal and moving life fused into a gorgeous, monstrous mess) and it seems so familiar, recognisable, for some reason.
There's... something in Its eyes, a faint kind of glint.
Shizuru raises her hand up slightly, beckoning it nearer with the curl of two fingers, and the purple creature draws closer. The albino leers at the sight from his position in the tree like an anemic ape.
She wants to see what it is. Whether she can name it as a human emotion.
*
Is it me?
Am I...
*
Spider in the water.
Black waves of the sea swallowing it whole, along with a little red head, appearing, disappearing in turns from the embrace of the sea, because it's a lesson ought to be learned and remembered -- the ocean, cruelest mother there is of all, white fumes like frills on an endlessly undulating ebony dress out there. Vast and overpowering.
First she giveth, then she taketh away - life and death in an ongoing circle, and Shizuru pities those who won't acknowledge it as the truth. Repercussions are too high to pay for missteps here.
She kneels down beside the motionless body. Looks at the scratches on the pale skin from being dragged across the pavement, falling to the ground. She hears Kiyohime hiss behind her, as if saying these are precious bones, this is precious skin, yes? Hand cupping one cheek, thank you oh thank godness nothing broken, and she can feel her heart slow from the speed it was hammering with seconds ago.
When she has Natsuki scooped up in her arms then...
Weight of her reaffirming, even if her head lifelessly lolls back then, shows a white throat, and she feels her own body react to it, because wouldn't it only be a cold heart, an uncaring soul who wouldn't look at the younger girl and want to help her, and Shizuru *does* care, she cares so much, too much, perhaps. Can't help it.
And then Kiyohime's head is under her feet, and the two girls are being lifted toward the night sky and the bright scatter of stars, rushing at it like weightless beings, and.
For a few seconds she forgets what it is to breathe.
*
Would you believe me if I told you that it essentially comes down to every time people have looked at me with such expectant eyes that it makes one want to squirm, every single time I've had a feeling I didn't know to handle, and every single time I've had to wear a formal mask for some insignificant occasion, and that I've honestly lost track of the *number* of them, and that it has brought me to my knees emotionally, more times than I care to admit?
That it has made me hurt so deeply, not knowing what to do about any of it?
Hm?
Would you believe me if I told you that I have... 'heard' Kiyohime's sonorous voise somewhere behind my eyes at times, a dark and singing noise, like an actual snake behind my ear, hissing, spitting at all those hurts before I even met you on that sunny day by the flower bed years ago now?
No?
Hmm. Semantics, dear.
I suppose most people refer to it as the subconscious. They just don't work with the correctly coined idea of it - see, it's only when something small and painful gets buried in a dark corner of the mind, and is allowed to remain there, in fertile soil that it counts as anything. That it's given enough time to establish itself as a presence.
As a... *sentient* being of sorts, I guess.
We all have that tiny voice in our heads telling us things, right?
Mine just sounds like a sibilation.
Always has.
*
Natsuki sleeps like the dead.
Only signs that she in fact isn't a denizen of the unliving is the faint rise and fall of her chest, relentless rhythm of it in-out-in-out, the soft breath passing between her pink lips, soundlessly, reassuringly.
No Eguchi is she, doesn't want to rest her eyes on any other slumbering girls, but the prospect of an entire night where they'd simply rest side by side both without any clothes on, where Shizuru could just watch the pale nakedness of her, the small expressions she'd unknowingly pull in her sleep...
The thought goes like a jolt down to her sex, and she already feels herself loose-limbed and drowsy warm, pulse thudding in her throat as she tilts Natsuki's face slightly to the side, in order to press her lips to hers. That first taste of what she's yearned for for so long - a revelation, because it makes much more sense now to her why certain people will go to their death for a certain cause. They are promised things as exquisite as *this*.
And then everything turns on its head - going from being hot to having a cold sweat break out all over as that yell sounds from behind her, Suzushiro and Kikukawa-san appearing from their hiding place, mouths slackened in shock, eyes disbelieving.
Realises, painfully unprepared for the immense blow of it --
There are no princes or princesses, and there is no happy ending for anyone.
Fairytales don't have a place for ones of *her* kind.
And that she of all people felt herself *ensnared* by this lie is the cruelest truth of them all.
*
Natsuki...
Is it *me*?
*
Their faces aren't welcome here.
Shizuru could wipe the two girls away from the ground with one fell swoop, oh yes, she could, but she is willing to talk, if it means it will make them disappear on their own. Snakes will refrain from striking as long as they can, explains rattlesnakes, tchk-tchk-tchk sound beating out the measure of danger, because it's about giving a *chance* and can't they see that they should draw back? Leave her be, leave, she doesn't want to use her fangs, she doesn't want to tear anyone apart.
But when Natsuki recoils - like she just got scorched by the touch, a pained howl ripped from her throat, like Shizuru is in fact the monster in this story, it doesn't matter anymore.
Is this it, then?
All falling, disintegrating, everything, and the night is tilting the world, spilling its inherent meaning out, and all there is to fill its place is what's already flowing through her veins, laying itself thick and chalky at the back of her tongue.
Her surroundings drain away, the moon gone like a dewdrop from the dawn.
And.
Next thing she's aware of is that she's inside some darkened building, and it's all blending together, fragmented memories, hopes and wishes: slickness on her hand from herself, from working frantically between her legs and the orgasm is this greedy, searing engulfing stream running through her from head to toe, shaking her in its jaws as she's pushed into convulsions, and the scream is her scream is hers is his is the First District is the guard's scream, and that's not...
It's red fluid on her hand, wet, stinking copper smell.
Only comes back to herself when her arms are in the middle of swinging the naginata in a strong, wide bow, feels how the blade extend as she brings force behind it, how it meets resistance and *slices* its way through something, and.
And then.
The man's head... ends up temporarily lop-sided, before the top half of it just fucking slides *off* with this disgusting moist sound, a bright blue glassy eye which briefly blinks at her, dumps to the ground with this heavy meat-sound and the fall of blood spattering, and she can't feel anything, not even the naginata clenched in her hands so hard that her nails must be piercing the skin.
They're everywhere, the bodies.
Soot and wet blood smeared on her cheeks, tacking her lashes together, warpaint to show the fallen and cooling dead, spread out like so many leaves on the floor around her. Inferno roaring behind her, and she's her own Nero leaving it all behind, *all* behind, stumbling out of the dark, out into the night...
And it's only really because there is no one there to see --
She's on her knees, heaving, but nothing comes up. Only the constricting of her lungs, her stomach, as if iron is coiling around the organs inside her trembling body. Her fingers feel like they're going to break off from holding on to the naginata like the last miserable lifeline that it is.
Feels a cold hand brush hair away from her sweaty forehead.
Short chuckle. "How many of them will you kill for me, Shizuru? Ten? Hundred? As many as it takes to reach whatever goal you have in mind?"
When she turns her head, Natsuki's crouched beside her, small indulgent smile on her mouth, gold around the ring of her eyes.
"I'm scared." She's never said those words before. Never. It comes out unsteadily, throat too tight to push the sound out.
There is a slight frown, and then a scrunching up of the nose, as if she just said something particularly amusing. "It's alright. You're beautiful like this, Shizuru."
Can still hear the wood crackling behind her, how the fire kept pushing tangible heat at her back while she was in there.
"You just have new eyes to see the world with. Don't be afraid to wake up."
Almost on cue, the nausau returns then, full-force.
*
Oh God, please, I can't
*
She knows now.
She knows what it was she felt when she caught that glint in Kiyohime's eyes.
*
Hunting through the woods in her torn yukata, dislocated hunger for a blue-haired girl lapping at her ribs, and the ground laid out like a singular prepared path intended solely for her feet. Stone and grass and wind all a part of her, too.
Wish you would leave a trail of blood for me to follow, my Natsuki, my darling wolf. The world is so dark now, you see, there's no light, and all I wish for is to find you again.
I can't see. Natsuki, I can't *see*.
See --
Natsuki with the cellphone pressed against her ear, snarling under her breath in pure impatience as she leans against a slim tree. I'm quiet, stealing forward inch by careful inch, the bushes obscuring me, so she has not felt my presence yet, nor had a chance to perceive me.
Waiting for an answer at the other end of the line. And there's no one. It's written all over her face, in the frown and gritted teeth - the frustration. I suppose it could be Mai-san she's calling. Perhaps Sugiura-sensei.
The important part - no one is *answering* her.
"Shit!"
She yanks the mobile away from her face, looks at the blue display of the screen before shoving the phone roughly down in a pocket.
What are doing out here in the middle of the night, Natsuki? Don't you know it's dangerous?
She never sees it coming. I break through the foliage then, and there's the widening of her eyes, her completely startled expression. Lips drawing back to yell.
"Dura--"
My hand quickly over her mouth, and she's so strong. I can feel it in the way her body immediately tries to throw me off her, the way her muscles bunch up like rope when one of my arms wind up around her middle. I tighten my hold around her waist, squeeze as hard I can. And any pain she may feel now I feel tenfold, oh, yes, because there's still traces of the human in me, the part who is ridiculously devoted to her.
She doesn't know that I have been sensitized to only her now, burned pure in my conscientiousness.
All that has been left is me.
*Love.*
I get her to the ground, the grunt of pain as the back of her head collides with it exploding in the otherwise silent air between us. She hurts - I hurt, and it's all the way it has to be as I straddle her, grab hold of her wrists and force them down. From her perplexed expression I can tell that she has no clue as to what is going on.
Kitsune. Bakemata. Jorogumo. You know of them, you know what they *mean*. I want to whisper it in her ear, but I know that there will be time for it later. Not now, necessarily.
"Sssshh, Natsuki. I know how to make it alright now."
It just took me a while to realise it myself.
She looks up at me, and there's only incomprehension for me settled on her face.
"What are you *talking* about? *Shizuru!*"
Struggling now. And scared. My Natsuki is frightened. I've never laid hand on her in this manner during all the years we've known each other. This is new to her, as new as it is to me.
As my grasp stays unfaltering, she goes wild with anger and confusion and despair, trying to buck me off, surprised by the sheer strength of my hold on her. And all of a sudden - as violently and sudden as the reaction from her was, as quickly does the fight bleed from her again. Motionless beneath me as she stares wide-eyed and breathless up at me with an emotion I could never put a name to.
I suppose...
I suppose it's something in my eyes she just got distracted by.
end.
*
End Notes: Eguchi is the main character in Yasunari Kawabata's short story The House of the Sleeping Beauties.
Author: hyena_gal
Fandom: Mai-HiME
Summary: A study in falling in love. Shizuru-centric.
Rating: M
Warnings: Blood, Crazy!Shizuru is behind the wheel, *symbolism*, and a scene that may come across as containing dub-con.
Word Count: 5,295
Disclaimer: Not mine in a million years.
A/N: Not particularly the fluffy variant of Shizuru, this. Shout out goes to centauri2002 for inspiring me to get up on the fanfic horse again, so to speak. See further notes at the end.
*
But there's a smile on my face
For everyone.
- Just Another Day. Oingo Boingo
Time moves sluggishly in the Student Council room, like a deliberate act of stagnancy, like a preferred suspension of patience is prerequisite in order to survive this vapidity with a mind unscathed. It advances at the same pace as the trickling warmth currently settling in Shizuru's groin does, rearrangement of blood, insecurity and lust and need thrown so sharply in relief by occurences recently in life that the potency of it all almost dwarfs her.
She is entertaining clean-cut, ardour-laced pictures of Natsuki inside her head; willingly bent over the desk she's seated at now, her own head lowering to lick in thick, wet stripes up that precious white throat, behind the delicate shell of an ear, small, helpless vocalations coming from the other girl as a result of the action (oh, bright song to her soul). Panties pulled down around Natsuki's knees and Shizuru's hand under the short skirt, fingers sliding in wetness, penetrating through the downy brush of curls, bitten-off moans rumbling back at her each time she *reaches*.
Slick and so hot and soft, and, yes, her breathing might be coming out just that bit more laboured than usually right at the moment.
Has enough control over herself to know the arousal at least hasn't painted a blush across her cheeks. There's only the steady throb between her legs from this, little heartbeat timed with the fluid thrusts from a thin wrist in her fantasy, tangible hands supporting her chin upon linked fingers, eyes half-lidded, downcast.
The other council members' voices are simply a low drone in her ears by now.
These meetings are... tedious.
Other things more important, demanding more attention, why am I even here? Waste of energy, of focus, squandering the hours like an imbecile, she's smarter than this, *does* pay attention to details, and.
And she's tired, so tired, the Star weighing down on her mind, constantly, never a second without its presence being known, small insignificant dot up in the sky, a *puncture* in the heavens which she looks up at day after day after day, scratching at the status quo equilibrium invariably. Spilling her thoughts into a drain that won't let her rest at any point of time, relentless mantra in the swirl: where's Natsuki, is she okay? should be more *careful*, oh god, please, if anything happens to her --
"Kaichou-san!"
Slow lizard turn of her head at the noise disrupting her absorption, and when she fixes her heavy gaze on Haruka's face, there's the most infinitesimal flinch from the other female's side.
A slip of the mask? Most probable cause for the give. Must have caught the most fleeting glimpse of what rests behind her eyes right then, dark and substantial, the exhaustion, sharp like thorns washing through her veins, it's the worrying that gets you in the end, gnawing at you, *eats* you up from the inside.
The virago holds her tongue, yet still frowns deeply at her. Mouth a displeased downwards curve. Oh, always so disapproving, always suspicious, Suzushiro-san, aren't you? Will never trust what doesn't show itself for what it is, those sides of oneself being held back, because it can only mean some kind of ulterior motive, right?
If you can't see it in its entirety? Something potentially... *fatal*, there. Wolf in the shadow, snake in the tall, dry grass, death just waiting for everyone's hearts in all found corners and any day may be the last. And that's it. Final word gurgled out from a broken mouth, the red-coloured spit a visual testament.
The loudmouth has never trusted the Student Council President as far as she could throw her (even if it probably would happen to be a good distance - if there was anything Suzushiro-san wasn't it was *weak*), and despite this fact, and that she will never admit to it - Shizuru respects that certain quality in the blond.
Able to recognise ruthlesness that will lead a blade without hesitation, to scent danger when it was hanging smoke-thick in the air even when others wouldn't.
Shizuru gives her a calm smile in response, muscles dictating how much she can afford to give at this point. Don't overdo it, most importantly.
All Haruka reacts with is something almost akin to a sneer, disgust and unease fighting for dominance on her face.
Like she just saw that the other female's in possession of *fangs* or something.
*
The clatter of typing on a keyboard ceases, Natsuki, lost in thoughts, rises to her feet, and consequently fails at masking the brief flash of mild surprise flitting across her features, there and then gone, as she spots a previously absent Shizuru now materialised in the doorframe.
It's adorable, really, watching her awkwardly gesture to the the black screen of the computer, lips pressed together in a line, frown furrowing her forehead all seemingly in the same breath.
"Uh. Thanks for letting me use the laptop. I appreciate it." All Shizuru does is respond with a small smile. It's the first time Natsuki has taken her up on the offer to borrow the computer for whatever research the biker may need to conduct, so to say that it's more than a welcome unexpected sight to actually have walked in on her seated in her chair minutes ago wouldn't be lying.
Not in her leathers. Has to mean there's a possibility of her having actually attended some classes today.
"Anytime." It comes out faint and soft. Wants her to know that she can come again, always, shouldn't keep so much distance, shouldn't maintain these fortified walls between them, they're friends, after all. Known each other for so long, it has to mean something. It *has* to carry significance.
Watches as Natsuki trots over to her, almost out of the door, shoulders brushing, before she stops short.
Bow of her head, angled in her direction, and can tell from the way those eyes refuse to meet hers that she's trying to carefully form a sentence in her head which will hopefully convey everything she wants it to --
"Shizuru. Thank... you. For everything." Already looking miserably self-conscious, but Shizuru reads it for what it is - an indication of trust, willingness to allow her to be open to weakness, unsure in her expressed gratitude.
Natsuki turns from her then, throws a genuine smile (so rare) over her shoulder at the other girl before walking down the hallway, hands thrust in her jacket pockets, stride strong and animal-smooth. Admirable, unique, and so much *more* to offer than the rest of the world had been able to muster of recent years.
And Shizuru aches so fiercely at that point, quietly watching all that silent beauty disappear that she wants to reach out her hand. Stop her with a touch on her arm, and hold her comfort taste her kiss, close, closer, confide in me...
The world only means to hurt you. Stay with me, here. Stay.
Even her back looks undefeatable, a spine made of numb, artic steel. Slope of shoulders that already carried more scruples and misgivings than they had to.
Shouldn't be this way.
Should... put an end to all her troubles.
(A slow, slithering kind of cessation)
How could change like that possibly be unwanted, unwished for?
*
There are dreams, insistent and frequent.
Not every single night, but close enough; thing is, when somebody doesn't have anyone to confide in, bare one's soul to for just a few unbearable minutes, everything churning around inside one's brain is bound to represent itself some other way, take a form of sorts - subconsciously, more than likely. How the human mind basically works, Shizuru knows that.
*Knows* that, and still --
Doesn't need this. It's a mirage, something made plainly to distress and confuse and bitterly *upset* her:
Natsuki, completely naked, smudged with dirt, twigs in her hair, as if she'd just dragged herself through soil and mud and loam, completed a worm-crawl through several undergrowths, and wearing the most wrathful expression she's ever seen. The cutting pain in her chest from believing herself the focus of all that aversion before the words are spat like bile from her, pearly teeth baring in a snarl.
"I hate them." Her hands are clenched fists, entire frame trembling with repressed emotion.
Who? What happened? Who *hurt* you? Please, I...
No chance to answer, because she's being tackled, thrown to the ground, wind knocked from her by the sheer force and unexpectedness of the move, flat on her back, ground soft and yielding, and they... are in a forest? Branches and leaves and treetops like the prettiest canopy above, blotted efficiently out by the other girl crouched over her.
Short stingy bite to her throat, and all it gets is this surprised harsh noise shaken from her.
Natsuki rips herself away from Shizuru's neck without warning, gaze dark like a bruise.
There's two beads of blood on Natsuki's lips, undoubtly from the bite before. Obscenely red, indecently fresh...
And then there's kisses, slobby and too hungry, trying to devour her with their fierceness, and she wants to say no and she wants to say yes, and nothing expect gasps and throaty moans come from her when those hands roam over her body, pull at her clothes, short nails scratching her, leaving searing trails on her. Breasts roughly hefted, and her nipples feel like the hottest parts of her for some reason, wants Natsuki's mouth on them, wants Natsuki inside her, wants ten thousand things all at the same time, and not enough presence of mind to realise that it might well prove too much for her to handle, in any case, no matter what happens.
When Shizuru blinks, she feels tears collected thickly in the corners of her eyes.
Fingers get tangled in her hair, others moving within her panties, firmly *inside* her, wet enough for it, to take it, she can feel herself clench on the intrusion, every single muscle in her tensed, and can't decide between relinquishing all control, and holding on to as much as herself as is possible.
"I hate them, Shizuru. I hate them, hate them, *hate*--"
And there is no other way to describe the feeling other than nauseating that Shizuru feels herself tipped over then, staring into piercingly green eyes, as pleasure rolls through her in a suffocating wave with that contemptuous leer pressing down on her, hand around her throat, and all the euphoria gets forcefully *held* there, feels it overflow inside her, breaking within, *fracturing* --
Waking to gravitational pull of wetness down her cheeks, inhaled into her nose, the taste of salt in her mouth as she rolls over on her side, curls up and tries to make herself as small as possible in between the warm sheets.
*
It's not like she doesn't know what their peers say about her friend; Kuga-san, ice queen, the obvious recluse, always keeping to herself, never showing up for classes. All she has to offer is a scowl and a blasé attitude, so *rude*.
An authentic lone wolf, if they ever saw one.
Lone wolves, though, the animal kind... they'll fight tooth and claw for their life, for the last drop of blood in their bodies with froth spilling from lolling tongues and a wild, wide-eyed stare fixed on their foe's face, yet --
Are you deaf to their gossiping, Natsuki? Do they annoy you, cause you discomfort? Do you want to lash out at them for it?
(Word should be different, *lonely* wolves, they are ostracided, they die alone, not wanted, full of rage and weariness as snow seeps through their fur and into the bones, turning their eyes milky white as rigor mortis freezes them into everlasting crunched, pitiful poses, you let me die you let me go).
Do you want me to hurt them for you?
If anything else, if some being stronger *wants* to (kill) claim ownership of the canine enough, what can it possibly do? Raw force can only defend it for a while. It's nothing compared to perseverance.
After all -- there are some emotions which are more intense, burn more thoroughly than the will for self-preservation ever could.
Are you as lonely as I am sometimes?
Tell me, Natsuki, are you?
*
It is as nature ordains.
Girls born with small red marks on their bodies, that Shizuru will probably never be able to feel as much as a smidge of desire for any boy as intensely as she does for one specific gruff-voiced girl, that her mother would simply look at her with the kind of bottomless incomprehension that drains the soul if she ever tried explaining this to her...
And that snakes moult.
Oh, immensely *important*, though it may seem irrelevant trivia; layer after layer discarded, shed to make way for a new self, an untouched identity to present the world with, smarter, stronger, from having going through this more times than one, like the curling, crinkling skin of an apple sliced with the knife, rendered to the elements and dissolving into nature once again where it would belong.
Things need only be vulnerable for such a short *time* before they are covered up again. Protected, veins and vessels an intrinsic map tracing beneath it all.
Changing, always.
It makes an uncomfortably large amount of sense to her. Not necessarily logically, but deep in her gut, at the back of her neck where spine meets skull. Primitively.
Instinct. Prima materia cannot be questioned.
*
At first, she isn't certain; re-evaluating a potential course of action that ought to be taken tends to limit one's center of attention to just in front of one's nose with the train of ponderings it can result in. But then the clouds part outside, the moonshine breaks through the windows in thick, solid beams, into the Student Council room, and all the pieces seem to fall into their designated slots accordingly.
Dream, again. *Has* to be.
She's in her usual seat, cradling a cup of tea, night all around, a quiet that feels like a second film over everything's exterior.
She's not alone:
Natsuki, halfway thrown in shadows, sitting on the edge of one of the tables, knuckles chalk-white from gripping the edge of it so tightly, all tensed thigh musles ready to lunge her forcefully forward, to hunt, to fight...
And then she leans forward, out of the reach of the enclosing blackness, into the dusty ray of silvery light and it's --
An uneasy mix of both, the wolf and the girl, face twisted out of shape, bulging bone-structure and elongated features, freakish, slivers of yellowy red eyes, candle flames, and what looks like way too many teeth crowding in her mouth, ice pick sharp and spit-shiny, jutting out at strange angles.
"You know what you need to do, don't you?"
Words come out too thick, too slurred, *wrong*.
Shizuru's squeezing her eyes shut before even making the deliberate decision to do so. The dark behind her lids is of another caliber, denser, and she chokes the need to press the heels of her hands hard against her blinded vision. "I'd prefer if you didn't ask me about it."
Silence, then. Stretching itself threateningly, melting toffee-thick between the space of them.
Blinks her eyes open again, and when she does -- the cup she was holding minutes ago, lukewarm and intact between her hands, is shattered. All she is left with is the deep cuts carved in her palms, shards clinking to the table's preternaturally shiny surface, dragging small shreds in the fabric of air on their way down.
She studies her upturned hands. No blood. Just her flesh lacerated neatly, for her to see, too close for comfort, hidden aspects open for everyone to acknowledge, point at.
Natsuki (no, it's not her, not Natsuki, it's not *her*) stares at her intently, hunched shoulders and undimmed fire in that unwavering gaze, long jaws cracking apart to talk.
"Do you?"
Shizuru can feel the shape of her own teeth within her mouth. Hard, unforgiving forms, which she can run her tongue between continuously, the sheer vulnerability of the muscle when it's held briefly between the two rows of them.
Moments. The answer is a surrendered whisper, a confession with years on its back.
"Yes."
*
Can there be too much love inside the body for it to contain?
Of course - the obviously unsubtle lewd comeback to *that*, just the slide and press of a hand between spread legs, the panted name of a lover who isn't there, isn't doing this, doesn't know.
Tamayura Festival -- in some way it'd felt like placing a chain around her own neck when she tied Natsuki's name around the railing. Symbolic handing over of the leash, yank with all might, wrapped around the heart, too, where the risk is -- it's not the stifling that will end her, though.
Just waiting until this devotion will grow and grow and simply *break* from her, shattering something vital on the way out of her, rearing to the sky like an open ugly scream.
Not sure how much longer it can last:
As it is, she's measuring time with the thunder of her own heartbeat and how long the intervals between not being haunted by dreams are.
Must be a trick of the mind, but sometimes it looks like that Star up there is... descending.
*
"She's your Child. Do you accept her?"
Nagi's perched on a thick, curved, black bough, his skin and hair equally snow-white in the darkness, painfully, blindingly so. Little ghost-owl bringing ill-tidings, isn't he. She wishes she were deaf to his tongue in particular.
Gentle breeze, this night. Toying with the ends of chestnut hair, moving like a lover's caress lightly against her face. Kiyohime is a gigantic living shadow in front of her that has slithered out of the night and left it behind, constantly moving, writhing, large head cocked and avidly awaiting any command possibly uttered.
Has to smile. The scene feels pretentiously clandestine, yet couldn't be anything but, because this is simply about being reunited. There's nothing disconcerting or unsettling about any of this. It's like having a sleeping limb awaken.
Low, thrumming, whispery sound of an old voice (metal and moving life fused into a gorgeous, monstrous mess) and it seems so familiar, recognisable, for some reason.
There's... something in Its eyes, a faint kind of glint.
Shizuru raises her hand up slightly, beckoning it nearer with the curl of two fingers, and the purple creature draws closer. The albino leers at the sight from his position in the tree like an anemic ape.
She wants to see what it is. Whether she can name it as a human emotion.
*
Is it me?
Am I...
*
Spider in the water.
Black waves of the sea swallowing it whole, along with a little red head, appearing, disappearing in turns from the embrace of the sea, because it's a lesson ought to be learned and remembered -- the ocean, cruelest mother there is of all, white fumes like frills on an endlessly undulating ebony dress out there. Vast and overpowering.
First she giveth, then she taketh away - life and death in an ongoing circle, and Shizuru pities those who won't acknowledge it as the truth. Repercussions are too high to pay for missteps here.
She kneels down beside the motionless body. Looks at the scratches on the pale skin from being dragged across the pavement, falling to the ground. She hears Kiyohime hiss behind her, as if saying these are precious bones, this is precious skin, yes? Hand cupping one cheek, thank you oh thank godness nothing broken, and she can feel her heart slow from the speed it was hammering with seconds ago.
When she has Natsuki scooped up in her arms then...
Weight of her reaffirming, even if her head lifelessly lolls back then, shows a white throat, and she feels her own body react to it, because wouldn't it only be a cold heart, an uncaring soul who wouldn't look at the younger girl and want to help her, and Shizuru *does* care, she cares so much, too much, perhaps. Can't help it.
And then Kiyohime's head is under her feet, and the two girls are being lifted toward the night sky and the bright scatter of stars, rushing at it like weightless beings, and.
For a few seconds she forgets what it is to breathe.
*
Would you believe me if I told you that it essentially comes down to every time people have looked at me with such expectant eyes that it makes one want to squirm, every single time I've had a feeling I didn't know to handle, and every single time I've had to wear a formal mask for some insignificant occasion, and that I've honestly lost track of the *number* of them, and that it has brought me to my knees emotionally, more times than I care to admit?
That it has made me hurt so deeply, not knowing what to do about any of it?
Hm?
Would you believe me if I told you that I have... 'heard' Kiyohime's sonorous voise somewhere behind my eyes at times, a dark and singing noise, like an actual snake behind my ear, hissing, spitting at all those hurts before I even met you on that sunny day by the flower bed years ago now?
No?
Hmm. Semantics, dear.
I suppose most people refer to it as the subconscious. They just don't work with the correctly coined idea of it - see, it's only when something small and painful gets buried in a dark corner of the mind, and is allowed to remain there, in fertile soil that it counts as anything. That it's given enough time to establish itself as a presence.
As a... *sentient* being of sorts, I guess.
We all have that tiny voice in our heads telling us things, right?
Mine just sounds like a sibilation.
Always has.
*
Natsuki sleeps like the dead.
Only signs that she in fact isn't a denizen of the unliving is the faint rise and fall of her chest, relentless rhythm of it in-out-in-out, the soft breath passing between her pink lips, soundlessly, reassuringly.
No Eguchi is she, doesn't want to rest her eyes on any other slumbering girls, but the prospect of an entire night where they'd simply rest side by side both without any clothes on, where Shizuru could just watch the pale nakedness of her, the small expressions she'd unknowingly pull in her sleep...
The thought goes like a jolt down to her sex, and she already feels herself loose-limbed and drowsy warm, pulse thudding in her throat as she tilts Natsuki's face slightly to the side, in order to press her lips to hers. That first taste of what she's yearned for for so long - a revelation, because it makes much more sense now to her why certain people will go to their death for a certain cause. They are promised things as exquisite as *this*.
And then everything turns on its head - going from being hot to having a cold sweat break out all over as that yell sounds from behind her, Suzushiro and Kikukawa-san appearing from their hiding place, mouths slackened in shock, eyes disbelieving.
Realises, painfully unprepared for the immense blow of it --
There are no princes or princesses, and there is no happy ending for anyone.
Fairytales don't have a place for ones of *her* kind.
And that she of all people felt herself *ensnared* by this lie is the cruelest truth of them all.
*
Natsuki...
Is it *me*?
*
Their faces aren't welcome here.
Shizuru could wipe the two girls away from the ground with one fell swoop, oh yes, she could, but she is willing to talk, if it means it will make them disappear on their own. Snakes will refrain from striking as long as they can, explains rattlesnakes, tchk-tchk-tchk sound beating out the measure of danger, because it's about giving a *chance* and can't they see that they should draw back? Leave her be, leave, she doesn't want to use her fangs, she doesn't want to tear anyone apart.
But when Natsuki recoils - like she just got scorched by the touch, a pained howl ripped from her throat, like Shizuru is in fact the monster in this story, it doesn't matter anymore.
Is this it, then?
All falling, disintegrating, everything, and the night is tilting the world, spilling its inherent meaning out, and all there is to fill its place is what's already flowing through her veins, laying itself thick and chalky at the back of her tongue.
Her surroundings drain away, the moon gone like a dewdrop from the dawn.
And.
Next thing she's aware of is that she's inside some darkened building, and it's all blending together, fragmented memories, hopes and wishes: slickness on her hand from herself, from working frantically between her legs and the orgasm is this greedy, searing engulfing stream running through her from head to toe, shaking her in its jaws as she's pushed into convulsions, and the scream is her scream is hers is his is the First District is the guard's scream, and that's not...
It's red fluid on her hand, wet, stinking copper smell.
Only comes back to herself when her arms are in the middle of swinging the naginata in a strong, wide bow, feels how the blade extend as she brings force behind it, how it meets resistance and *slices* its way through something, and.
And then.
The man's head... ends up temporarily lop-sided, before the top half of it just fucking slides *off* with this disgusting moist sound, a bright blue glassy eye which briefly blinks at her, dumps to the ground with this heavy meat-sound and the fall of blood spattering, and she can't feel anything, not even the naginata clenched in her hands so hard that her nails must be piercing the skin.
They're everywhere, the bodies.
Soot and wet blood smeared on her cheeks, tacking her lashes together, warpaint to show the fallen and cooling dead, spread out like so many leaves on the floor around her. Inferno roaring behind her, and she's her own Nero leaving it all behind, *all* behind, stumbling out of the dark, out into the night...
And it's only really because there is no one there to see --
She's on her knees, heaving, but nothing comes up. Only the constricting of her lungs, her stomach, as if iron is coiling around the organs inside her trembling body. Her fingers feel like they're going to break off from holding on to the naginata like the last miserable lifeline that it is.
Feels a cold hand brush hair away from her sweaty forehead.
Short chuckle. "How many of them will you kill for me, Shizuru? Ten? Hundred? As many as it takes to reach whatever goal you have in mind?"
When she turns her head, Natsuki's crouched beside her, small indulgent smile on her mouth, gold around the ring of her eyes.
"I'm scared." She's never said those words before. Never. It comes out unsteadily, throat too tight to push the sound out.
There is a slight frown, and then a scrunching up of the nose, as if she just said something particularly amusing. "It's alright. You're beautiful like this, Shizuru."
Can still hear the wood crackling behind her, how the fire kept pushing tangible heat at her back while she was in there.
"You just have new eyes to see the world with. Don't be afraid to wake up."
Almost on cue, the nausau returns then, full-force.
*
Oh God, please, I can't
*
She knows now.
She knows what it was she felt when she caught that glint in Kiyohime's eyes.
*
Hunting through the woods in her torn yukata, dislocated hunger for a blue-haired girl lapping at her ribs, and the ground laid out like a singular prepared path intended solely for her feet. Stone and grass and wind all a part of her, too.
Wish you would leave a trail of blood for me to follow, my Natsuki, my darling wolf. The world is so dark now, you see, there's no light, and all I wish for is to find you again.
I can't see. Natsuki, I can't *see*.
See --
Natsuki with the cellphone pressed against her ear, snarling under her breath in pure impatience as she leans against a slim tree. I'm quiet, stealing forward inch by careful inch, the bushes obscuring me, so she has not felt my presence yet, nor had a chance to perceive me.
Waiting for an answer at the other end of the line. And there's no one. It's written all over her face, in the frown and gritted teeth - the frustration. I suppose it could be Mai-san she's calling. Perhaps Sugiura-sensei.
The important part - no one is *answering* her.
"Shit!"
She yanks the mobile away from her face, looks at the blue display of the screen before shoving the phone roughly down in a pocket.
What are doing out here in the middle of the night, Natsuki? Don't you know it's dangerous?
She never sees it coming. I break through the foliage then, and there's the widening of her eyes, her completely startled expression. Lips drawing back to yell.
"Dura--"
My hand quickly over her mouth, and she's so strong. I can feel it in the way her body immediately tries to throw me off her, the way her muscles bunch up like rope when one of my arms wind up around her middle. I tighten my hold around her waist, squeeze as hard I can. And any pain she may feel now I feel tenfold, oh, yes, because there's still traces of the human in me, the part who is ridiculously devoted to her.
She doesn't know that I have been sensitized to only her now, burned pure in my conscientiousness.
All that has been left is me.
*Love.*
I get her to the ground, the grunt of pain as the back of her head collides with it exploding in the otherwise silent air between us. She hurts - I hurt, and it's all the way it has to be as I straddle her, grab hold of her wrists and force them down. From her perplexed expression I can tell that she has no clue as to what is going on.
Kitsune. Bakemata. Jorogumo. You know of them, you know what they *mean*. I want to whisper it in her ear, but I know that there will be time for it later. Not now, necessarily.
"Sssshh, Natsuki. I know how to make it alright now."
It just took me a while to realise it myself.
She looks up at me, and there's only incomprehension for me settled on her face.
"What are you *talking* about? *Shizuru!*"
Struggling now. And scared. My Natsuki is frightened. I've never laid hand on her in this manner during all the years we've known each other. This is new to her, as new as it is to me.
As my grasp stays unfaltering, she goes wild with anger and confusion and despair, trying to buck me off, surprised by the sheer strength of my hold on her. And all of a sudden - as violently and sudden as the reaction from her was, as quickly does the fight bleed from her again. Motionless beneath me as she stares wide-eyed and breathless up at me with an emotion I could never put a name to.
I suppose...
I suppose it's something in my eyes she just got distracted by.
end.
*
End Notes: Eguchi is the main character in Yasunari Kawabata's short story The House of the Sleeping Beauties.