Can anyone understand the feeling of uneasiness within me? The feeling that when someone I care about, someone I love, is being hurt… I can only stand and watch, powerless to help them. The feeling of guilt grows within me every single day. It increases slowly, gradually, but I sense it. And with every increase of the pain, it burns me deeper.
To shy away from this ripping pain that gambols through my body, I cursed myself with no smile. In order to protect those around me, these people who I cherish so much, I stray away from them. I thought that I could live like this forever, but apparently my conjecture was wrong.
I met him, that man whose smile and persuasive words can bring down the sun if he asked it to. The man who smiles, who looks outgoing, but is actually the one hurt most among us. For some reason, I lament when I see his anguished visage. I wan to tell him to eat, to sleep, to breath, to open his eyes and say something to me when those tasks don’t seem at all important to him. I want him to live. I don’t know why…
Can someone tell me what this feeling is? This sensation that swims within my bosom, threatening to burst and kill me. What is it? Like a Japanese firework, this tinge expands, swells up, and then will one day explode. I am afraid… of myself.
Someone please tell me why I am still living. Why I am still able to laugh, to smile, to eat, to sleep, and carry on with life. I disgust myself, really.
"Hey, tomorrow…"
Tomorrow. That word that urges me to live. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow. How many tomorrows will I have? How many tomorrows must I live? Am I obligated to do this? One day, I just want to close my eyes and never open them again. One day, I just want to cease the effort of breathing, and let it be game over right then.
But this one thing keeps on stopping me. It came one day, out of the sky, falling from grace and becoming one of us, an assassin. Clad in black it came, eyes a vivant violet with burning red hair to match. I think he’s watching me… I don’t know.
He does this to himself, doesn’t he? Everything he does, it’s to punish himself, and avoid everything. He keeps on switching girlfriends, he acts like a nuisance to let people hate him so that they won’t want to help him or get close to him. That way, they won’t be hurt. Every pain he experiences he’ll swallow up and gulp it down. He won’t show it to people, much less let them hear about his problems or deal with it. He just has to jump in the fire and burn himself, then let people think that he is fine. He won’t scream or cry until he is alone. He won’t say anything unless it’s to himself…
His hands are warm, as is his smile. I’ve never actually touched his hands before, but I can see the undying warmth emerging from his body just when he’s really careful. Those are the times when he talks to a woman, laughs, or when he handled flowers. I fear the one-day that the warmth will die out. No matter the flower, it will wither, someone had said before. Day by day, his laugh gets more and more hallow, his smiles are masks to lie to the society, and he grows more and more distant.
There was something wrong with him the first time I saw him. He’s the type that a person just can’t leave alone for too long, or the next time that same person will find him will be at a funeral. Although he doesn’t seem it, this man is actually quite fragile.
He frightens me when he kills. It seems that he lives only solely for this mission, there is nothing left for him. His once laughing verdant eyes will dim, illuminated with a new light, the kind that kills. His smiling mouth twists into a snarl, teeth clenched, lips turned down. His brows will crease and furrow in an unknown hatred that is not seen in the day, and his face will grow paler than ever before. The laughing, foppish, laid back and tie-dyed boy inside him will die, and he’ll become someone that not even I know. What frighten me most are his hands when he kills. Those hands that are so warm when they handle fragile things will clench tightly into fists, holding the weapon that will stain his hands only seconds later. I don’t want that last innocence of his to die out. What is wrong with me? Why do I feel this way?
God help me…
None of it really matters anymore to me. I can die right here, right now… I don’t care anymore, really. Not after what I did, not after I made that stupid mistake over again…
Is it true when someone says: "It’s good to be alive?" Is it? I am alive right now, and is that supposed to be good? Am I happy at all? Am I making someone else happy, even though they say that this paradox of assassinating the "evil" is "good?" I don’t know anymore…and personally, I don’ t want to know.
God help me…
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"Come on, you guys! Help me with these!" Omi shouted while trying to carry a few bags of fertilizers, "I can’t handle them all by myself!" It was only a few more minutes until opening, and the shop was not all set up yet. Omi was attempting to lug around the fertilizers that finally came in after 4 weeks of waiting for delivery, Aya was figuring out the account, Ken was ready to kill the hose for not untangling, and Youji… Youji just might be still sleeping. Ken lent his hand to helping Omi with the puffy bags of fertilizers as he looked over at Aya, who was checking to see if the shipment of flowers came in as they were supposed to have. Sighing, he put the fertilizers over onto a bench and tossed a handful of keys to Aya, who caught them promptly.
"The key with the green label is Youji’s house key. Go and check on him, will you? We didn’t go on a mission last night, so he shouldn’t have pulled an all nighter," Ken announced to Aya as he struggled to hoist the sacs up again. The redhead said nothing, but walked out of the flower shop doors anyway.
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The walk to Youji’s apartment wasn’t all that far or tiring. In fact, I was a bit glad of getting away from the whinny voice of Omi and the nagging complaints of Ken in that flower shop. It’s not like I hated them or anything, just that sometimes, they really tended to get on my nerves. I flipped through the keys in my hands to look for the one to allow me access to Youji’s house. I heard from Omi that he had said once: "Only women knock on my door," so I suspect that he wouldn’t open the door to let me in when I knock on it. A chuckle escaped my lips, and I hurried on.
Once I got to the plain apartment door of Youji, I sensed something was wrong. The door was locked as usual, yes, but the presence inside it was strange. Aya-chan had always told me that I had some sort of ESP that allowed me to sense the aura of someone. I wouldn’t know if it were true or not, but I just had a hunch that something was wrong. Narrowing my eyes, I carefully slipped the key into the keyhole and slid the door open. No one was in the hall of his apartment, and I sensed only one person in the house.
The resonance of the Felix Cat Clock on the hallway wall echoed through my head as my bare feet padded on the recently waxed floors. A faint hum came from the bedroom at the end of the hall, a mixture of piano music and the AC system, my ears indicated to me. Something was terribly wrong, I said to myself. Youji never listened to classical…as far as I know.
"Youji?" I called, knocking on his bedroom door in case he’d get sore at me for coming in his house without permission. No answer. The sensation within my chest grew, this kind of worry. There was something wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The gentle hum of the music almost mingled with the ventilation system’s soft growl if not for the sudden striking of piano keys every so often in the classical piece. Youji never played his music so softly, even when he’s alone and there’s no one to share his music with. "Youji? It’s me, Aya," I called again, louder this time. My one fist pounded on the door of his bedroom while the other one tested the doorknob. The door was locked. My heart pounded within my chest, threatening to burst at any given time. Man, I was really getting worried. "Youji!" I reduced to shouting, pounding once more on the door. A smell then infiltrated my nose. It was the kind of dirty rusty scent that I can only sense when I was at "work."
It was the smell of blood, yes, and my eyes shot open at the thought of that. Did someone break into Youji’s house through the window? Is he hurt? Is he…? My mind ceased at the last thought, and I pounded on the door once more. "Youji?" I nearly screamed, "Are you in there? I’m going to break open the door!"
Backing away from the door for a couple of inches, I slammed my body onto the wooden door. Too light, I thought, so I tried again. This time, my teeth gritted at the amount of strength I used. The door tittered a bit, and the stubborn lock was dislodged a bit. I kicked the door open with some might in frustration that the door may never open and entered the room. My eyes skimmed around the room quickly. The window was locked and fine, there were no signs of a fight or struggle, but where was Youji? My mind paced, and the classical music was not helping. Beethoven’s piece drummed into my brain despite the low volume it was playing at. My gaze eventually shifted to the door on the left wall of the room (it’s the left when you enter and the right when you’re on the bed) that led to the bathroom. A stagnant scent rolled out from there, blundering around the room through its open door. Mustering up my courage of what I fear I will see, I moved towards that direction.
Upon my entrance, my loafers splashed into the water on the ground. There was a thin film of crimson liquid in there. My head spun at the sight of it, my conjecture coming more and more clear to me. Lifting my hand, I pulled open the shower curtains of the bathroom, the source of the overflowing water. What I then saw was almost as horrid as a child spotting their pet dog road killed on the streets was.
Youji!
He laid there, eyes dimmed, but not shut. Those verdant eyes a darker tint than usual. They were locked onto a spot on the ceiling that I didn’t know of. His mouth was in the perfect "eh" shape, as if he were only answering to Sayaka’s confession to him. Only then did I notice that his mouth was moving at abnormal speed, muttering something. I couldn’t understand him. The water around his body nearly drowned him out, teeming down the sides of the bathtub. On his wrist was a deep gash, his lifeblood seeping out like wicked little demons seeking release.
I must’ve damn near screamed. The mirror behind me shook a bit, and Youji stirred but did not look at me. It seemed that he was oblivious to the world now, stuck in his dream, muttering to whoever it was that was in it. A line snapped within my head, and I grabbed the nearest towel next to me and drenched it with cold water, wrapping it around Youji’s wrist. Picking him up, I noticed how heavy he was. My mother always told me that the dead was always lighter, so he wasn’t dead yet. I dragged his immobile form out of the bathroom and on his bed, hoping that my 2 years in emergency care class weren’t wasted.
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Who is there…? Who’s holding me? Don’t… Don’t help me. Leave me! Let me die... let this blood drain out of me… Stop it! Don’t touch me, bastard! Let go of me… Let this devil die within me, please… Stop it!
I killed her, didn’t I? I did it to her, twice… Killed her, let her die in front of my face… Twice I did it! Why am I still living? Don’t bandage up that wound! Please… Just let me go to Hell…
"Asuka…" I muttered, tasting the blood upon my lips ever so slightly, "A…su…ka…" Please, God! Don’t take her life…just let me die… Just let the silence swallow me up… If I could take her place…
I must’ve been burning up with a fever, I felt so hot. A cold hand touched my forehead as I struggled to get up, to rip the bandage off my wrist.
"Schlaf, herzig
Ermorde," a voice whispered. And I did. Schlaf…
Part One
End
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Author’s Rants: Heheheheh… Wasn’t that a fun ride? This is just another sucky fic that came from the stupid author, Youko. Just felt like torturing Youji a bit more before I finish my other doujinshi… But don’t get me wrong~! I love Youji to pieces, just that I have a perverse fondness for things I like…. Sorry about the shifting of the narratives, it might get a bit confusing, but it’s just the shifting of Aya’s views to Youji’s views to a third person narrative. Don’t worry if you don’t get it at first, it’ll come to you! ^^
I have no idea how long this fic will last, or even if I’ll finish it. All I know that it’s started… So what did you guys think? Comments, death threats, flames, etc go to youkofujima@hotmail.com.
