:: Attempt 25 | Breakeven (Unedited) ::
"Heav'n has no Rage like Love to hatred turn'd,
Nor Hell a Fury like a Woman scorn'd."
- "The Mourning Bride" by William Congreve
x + x
[An hour ago.]
He remembers those days, though he may pretend that he doesn't.
He remembers those days, because they're all he has left to hold on to.
He remembers those days beneath the sakura tree, watching her retreating figure as she chased butterflies, hearing her voice ringing with childish joy. He remembers those days as if they were just yesterday—he wishes it were so, but knows that it will never be.
Because they've long passed him by.
Because they've long been stained with the guilt of his prejudiced accusations, of assumptions of the blood which had been splattered and had stained her childlike hands.
And these memories reduced him into pretending that he can still bring them back, that he can still remain by her side like he used to—like he promised her that day beneath the sakura tree. These memories make him pretend that everything will still be alright, that he can still fix what he's broken.
He clings to that one mask humanity loves to wear so much: the mask called pretending-everything's-alright. Because without it, he knows he's broken. Without it, he knows that she—no, they have both been broken.
And he was the one who ignited the blast which shattered them both.
So he spends his days remembering, grasping at the wisps of his memories of those days beneath the sakura tree in the same way he futilely attempts to gather the broken pieces of himself.
But they're over and done with, Asano Gakushu repeats firmly to himself as he walks along the Kyoto streets, leaving behind the other Virtuosos. He'd waved them off, stating that he knew his way back. ("I'm not as foolish as those End Class scum to forget where the hotel is," he'd said with a smirk, to which his companions had laughed snidely.)
He can see students from all sections of Kunugigaoka walking along like he does, occasionally browsing the stalls and shops lining the streets. He continues on his way, before he abruptly stops just before a marker alongside the cement path as a sudden realization descends upon him.
He hasn't seen any of those 'End Class scum' for the entire day—and he's already been walking for several hours now. Gakushu frowns at the thought, furrowing his brow, as the implications of those students' disappearance from the usual sightseeing routes of Kyoto could mean anything, from taking a different path than the main building students due to other matters, to doing so because they were hiding a secret.
Something which isn't known to all but the Board Chairman and the End Class itself.
He shakes his head, then, and continues onward, glancing at the shops' display windows in idle contemplation. It's when he's walked a few meters from the marker that he halts just short of the window to a small, somewhat nondescript café.
She's sitting in a booth inside, across from who Gakushu can make out to be a tall, dark-haired male. Her azure eyes are bright, her lips pulled up into a grin he's missed for so long, and her cheeks seem to be dusted with a light blush.
Aoi is smiling, so brightly, so happily, like she used to—and it's not because of him.
He feels that same ache inside him, growing stronger and stronger by the second—a gaping, agony-inducing hole where his notoriously dubbed 'cold' heart used to be. And he takes a second to compose himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.
It hurts. He realizes with a sharp intake of breath, and he straightens. He can tell what he's feeling—he's not that oblivious to the pain he feels right now, and he can pinpoint what emotions are coursing through him.
Hurt. Nostalgia. Longing. Anger. They coalesce into one poisonous, dangerous mix which churns somewhere inside him, wrapping tight around his chest, creeping up his throat and locking his airways. He closes his eyes, before they flutter open once again, and all he can see is red, red, red.
He understands what he's feeling; he's felt this before, so he's no stranger to this corruptive emotion.
Jealousy.
She's smiling, and it's not because of him, not at him. She's happy, but not with him.
He can remember her false smiles, can remember her trying her best to maintain the metaphorical distance that is so tangible between them even when they're physically close together. He can remember the pain, the hurt, the anger and betrayal in her eyes whenever she looks at him, whenever he can see those eyes of azure.
But he also remembers the days when she had looked at him with joy, with the blatant happiness she always displayed—with the love she had admitted that she once had for him. But that was it, wasn't it? She had 'loved' him—but it was all in the past.
It isn't there any longer.
She no longer loves him like she used to, because there is already someone else in her heart. Someone else who can make her smile so happily, so freely, like she used to. Someone else who makes her happy the way he no longer can. Someone else she looks upon with those beautiful blue eyes the way she looked at him once.
Someone else whom she loves even more than she used to love him.
And oh, does it hurt him so much. Because even if she's moved on, he hasn't.
He can't move on when he desperately wishes that he can bring back what used to be their reality. He can't move on when he remembers their past so vividly, when he's still trapped in his 'what if's, his 'maybe's and his 'could have been's. He can't move on when he wishes that he can change the mistakes he made.
That he can reverse time, that he can bring back those days beneath the sakura tree. That he can take back the words—those horribly unjustified accusations, those crude insults, those lies—he had shouted, had mercilessly thrown at her that stormy night nearly four years ago.
But they are over, they are done with, they are all in the past, and everyone save from him has already moved on—but he hasn't been forgiven, nor has it been forgotten.
And it hurts, because hearts don't break even.
Gakushu turns towards the window once again, watching her smile and nod along to what the male's apparently saying. She's grinning, covering her mouth behind a hand as she shakes her head in amusement and starts to laugh.
He'll do anything just to see her smile at him like that, like she used to. And so he sighs heavily, putting on that mask man likes to wear once again as he places a hand into his pocket. He walks towards the front of the café, pulling the door open and stepping inside.
He's greeted by the small chime of the bell as he walks in, surveying the quaint surroundings. The walls are painted a pale cream color, decorated with swirling designs in shades of gold and crimson. On a closer look, they appear to be in the likenesses of thorny vines and roses. A few wooden frames hang in relative distances, displaying quotes and snippets of poems—one in particular, hanging just beside the glass door, catches his attention. He steps closer to observe the specific frame.
It's written in English, in a looping script reminiscent of calligraphy with scarlet ink, amidst a black-and-white sketch of two hands.
"How should we like it were stars to burn,
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me."
—" The More Loving One", W.H. Auden [1]
He looks away, swallowing thickly, and takes a step back to further observe the inside of the café.
There's only a few people in the small store, mostly sitting by the comfortable-looking leather booths and quietly enjoying the pastries and beverages they had ordered. He turns, seeing familiar persons in Kunugigaoka uniforms seated some ways off.
Gakushu ignores them; they may recognize him, but they're not who he came here for. He strides towards a specific booth settled just before the large, display window to the left of the glass door, stopping just in time to cut into their conversation. (He belatedly notes that they've been speaking not in Japanese, but in Italian, with several sentences in Spanish, as well. He tucks that fact for further perusal later. He had more urgent things to tend to.)
"What do you think you're doing with my girlfriend?"
The pair turns to acknowledge him; Aoi, seated to his left, immediately looks annoyed by his presence, the smile upon her lips disappearing and replaced by a scowl. The boy—no, man who sits across from her seems to have a similar reaction to the redhead: lips pulled into a tight line, lone visible brown eye glaring distastefully at the strawberry-blond male.
"Pardon?" The man speaks coldly, inclining his head in a gesture which demands an immediate answer despite the subtle movement. He gets the notion that the man did hear his question, yet opted to 'clarify'.
Gakushu's lips twitch, tempted to be pulled down into a frown, but he maintains a polite half-smile which simultaneously conveys, 'Who the fuck are you and why are you here?' to the dark-haired male. He seems to have noticed the underlying tone to his smile, as evidenced by the smug, 'Why should I listen to a brat like you?' look the man sends him.
"What are you doing with my girlfriend?" He repeats, purposefully slowly so as to emphasize the sentence—and perhaps to mock the man as well.
Judging by the irritated look which passes through the man's features, he'd succeeded in that slight jab.
"That's none of your business." Aoi interjects, casting him a glance filled with pure fury.
That sentence, spoken in the same cold tone she uses against him makes him snap.
"Who my girlfriend interacts with is 'none of my business'?" Gakushu turns toward her, purple eyes filled with the silent anger and hurt he had been concealing until that moment. "Are you hiding something from me?"
It's fleeting, not at all that visible, but he sees it—he sees her flinch, turning her head away to hide that look in her eyes. And he grits his teeth, his left hand slowly curling into a fist by his side.
"That's it, isn't it."
It's not a question, that much is obvious, and he sees Aoi tense, shoulders hunching slightly, hands gripping tightly into the leather of the booth.
And he laughs—it's not out of amusement, or joy, or any positive emotion. It's one of disbelief, a breathless excuse to hide the pain which is so clearly threaded through the purple irises which look at her and see the girl he'd missed for so long crumbling, breaking, shattering and fading away into mere pieces.
She's moved on and I'm still here, waiting for someone I knew—someone who's not coming back. Because she's different. She's no longer the girl I knew—the girl who's no longer there.
"Isn't it enough, Aoi?" He asks quietly, "Aren't I enough in this game you're playing, making me hope, making me wish for something so illogical? Isn't it enough for you to drag me along without you stringing two others into this game, making them the same as me, playing with them the same way you've been playing with me? Do they know what you're playing at? Do they know who you really are? Do they—"
He's stopped by a force which sends him careening into the tiles, hands smacking against the cold surface as pain—pure, undiluted physical pain—erupts from his right cheek. Gakushu turns, staring up at the furious form of the dark-haired man Aoi had been talking to. A single—familiar—brown eye glares furiously at him, framed by dark hair.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Shu." The man snarls, "You don't know what my sister's been through, you fucking bastard—"
"Shin-nii," Aoi cuts in softly, tugging at the man's sleeve. "That's enough." He turns to look at her, opening his mouth to protest, but she shakes her head and smiles—a sorrowful smile which makes the strawberry-blond see the tears gathering in her eyes of azure.
She slides out from the booth, slowly lowering herself into a kneel before the silent boy. He watches her, taking notice of the way the light cast shadows upon her pale skin, the freckles dusted across her nose, the subtle tremble of her lips as she leans in—
Gakushu stiffens as her lips brush upon the surely blossoming bruise upon his cheek, a matching partner to the one he'd received recently, before she shifts, and his lips meet hers briefly before she draws away.
And she smiles as a tear falls down her cheek.
"Do you know how much it hurts to see how much you don't trust me?" She asks quietly. "Do you, Gakushu?"
He tenses, muscles tightening, rendering him unable to produce a single movement. He knows, of course. He knows that the quieter she becomes, the angrier she truly is. He knows how much it hurts that she no longer trusts him like she used to.
But then again, he doesn't deserve that trust anymore, does he?
"Do you know how much it hurts to see that you never knew me, that you never remembered who I really am? Do you know how much it hurts to know that you see me as someone who plays on others' feelings, when in truth you're the one who plays with mine? Do you know how much it hurts to try to hate someone you love?"
'I know.' He wants to say. He had tried to hate her when he discovered what he had thought was the truth. He had tried to hate her for pushing into his boundaries, breaking down his walls even when he didn't want her to.
Yet he doesn't say those things; he doesn't need to—she can see it in his eyes. She had always read him better than anyone else.
But he doesn't understand. Why are you smiling like you used to? He asks—no, screams deep inside as Aoi inclines her head, that same smile upon her lips.
The same—broken, sorrowful, heartbreaking—smile she had given him during that stormy night.
"Isn't it enough pain for me when you broke that promise nearly four years ago? Isn't it enough for you to break me completely, irrevocably? Isn't it enough for you to know that I became a 'monster' just to protect you? Isn't it enough for you that I kept the truth from you because I loved you?"
He remains quiet as she stands unsteadily, unable to look as she cries.
"Why isn't it enough?" Aoi questions softly as she turns away.
"Why am I never enough for you?"
Gakushu stands, opening his mouth to speak, to weave something out from his proclaimed 'silver tongue' in order to fix the things he'd broken, to fix what had been shattered between them.
"You can't fix everything, Shu. You can't fix what's already been broken so many times only to break it again." She whispers, "I loved you once." Her hand brushes away the tears which gather in her eyes—those eyes which had looked at him with joy, with acceptance, with understanding, with love, with agony and sorrow.
Those eyes which belonged to the person who understood him better than he understood himself. Those eyes—those eyes of azure—which he knew better than anyone else.
"I still love you—and maybe I always will. But I can't let myself be broken again."
Aoi smiles—and for a moment, he sees the little girl he had tried, time and time again, to push away. He sees the girl of his memories.
He sees the girl he loves.
I watched those tears fall on that stormy night, those tears in your eyes of azure, and so I watched you walk away.
He remembers that night as if it were yesterday. He remembers that night, and wishes that he can change it, that he can still take back the tears, the pain, the lies, the betrayal. But he can't.
He watches her walk away from him once again.
He lets her go, because he knows that she will be happier if he doesn't ask her to stay by his side like he used to.
-To be continued.
[Date written: May 5th-20th, 2017. Word Count: 2,819. (Notes not counted.) 3,008. (Notes counted.) Song: "Breakeven" by The Script.]
Author's Corner:
The author is sorry for the delay. And she hopes that you enjoyed this short chapter anyway. (Rhyme unintended xDD) ((*goes back to sniffling because her immune system is uncooperative at the worst of times*)
[1] "The More Loving One" by W.H. Auden, 1907-1973. As referenced from https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/more-loving-one .
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.