Sanity's a brittle thing, no? Each time it rattles on its uneasy foundation, there's another crack in the shell. One crack too many and...
Author: Rhea Logan. That would be me. ::nodnod::
Pairing: Technically Watari/Tatsumi, from Watari's POV
Status: Standalone. Completed.
Summary: Sanity's a brittle thing, no? Each time it rattles on its uneasy foundation, there's another crack in the shell. One crack too many and...
Warnings: Language, somewhat suicidal thoughts, general insanity, and Watari in a lot of pain. x_x
If I said I didn't know where this came from, it would be only partly a lie. I kind of do. It's been in my head for a good few months now.
This is, of course, post-manga.
This story is actually part IV of the Gravity series. /But/. First of all, the series laughs the idea of linearity in its face. Which is why, on this site, I'm posting it first. Enjoy!
by Rhea Logan
"Your reason and your passion are the rudder and the sails of your sea-faring soul. If either your sails or your rudder are broken, you can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill in mid-seas. For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own destruction."
Tap... tap... tap...
Mmm... I think it's raining.
It's dark. Something's trickling down my face. Slowly. Makes me want to wipe it dry, but I don't think I can move. Fat chance, that. Not pretty.
Wait it out, Shinigami.
So I'm waiting. Waiting... For what, I wonder.
I wonder about many things. I'm curious like that. What would happen if the human mind was made of glass? How many times could it hit the ground before it broke into pieces? Sanity's a brittle thing, no? Each time it rattles on its uneasy foundation, there's another crack in the shell. One crack too many and-
Where has my voice gone? Lovely, I'm coughing up blood now. What a mess. Met my match this time, didn't I? Tough luck. I should start healing soon. Yes, Yutaka, think positive. Always positive, always charmingly bright, always so fucking happy. Be happy, Yutaka, for them. You'll cry for yourself later. Now show your happy face. For them, yes.
But they're not here, are they? You're alone.
Does that mean I can cry now?
'Alone' is such a strange word. It rhymes with 'gone'. Am I gone?
I don't know about gone, but alone it is for sure; that, and I'm injured too. But it doesn't really matter. It's not like I can feel much besides the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. And a concrete floor beneath me. I'm thirsty. If I didn't know better, I'd indulge myself in fantasizing about easing that burning thirst with my blood. I think I'm lying in it, anyway. Would that be insane enough? They all think I am, so might as well. Then again, no. It would be plain stupid. It's not like my stomach can process human blood anyway. Any blood, for that matter. Really, too much knowledge can sometimes spoil the fun.
Tap... tap... tap...
I remember now. It was raining when I came here. It's been raining for days on end now. I think this warehouse's roof is leaking. Maybe if I stay here long enough it will flood that damned immortal flame that supposedly is my life and put it out for good? Hey, that's a thought. It's not like I can go anywhere on my own, anyway.
Oh, I did know it was a suicidal trip - that is, it would be, if a Shinigami could die just like that. I went anyway. By the human standards I should have died three times over, at least. I wonder if there's one whole bone left in me. Probably more than one, though. I just like to think right now that there isn't, because it's more interesting that way. I know I have a body, but... I think I should be grateful? I can't feel much of it now. It's broken like that. Watari-puzzle.
'Broken' rhymes with 'open'. Am I open? A torn open box of puzzle. Gods, I wish I could laugh.
Maybe I am made of glass, after all. I'm a corked glass bottle, I hold my liquid well. Too bad I'm all unstable content now as well. Oh my, Tatsumi-san, I think you dropped me. What a mess. But Watari will take care of it, right? I wonder if you could take a glue stick and put me back together? Probably not. You'd shove it into my broken hands and tell me to do it myself; no sooner than after hours, too. You know, so that you needn't cut my pay.
Newsflash, Tatsumi-san. I don't give a damn about my paycheck, and I've spilled myself all over your hands already anyway. I give a damn about you, though. I think you're beautiful. There's 10,000 yen sticking out of your pocket. I bet this is why you have that enigmatic smile on your perfect face, not because I'm here.
Wait, I'm not "here". You're not "here" either. Where's "here", anyway?
I think my body's shaking. Does it mean I'm cold? I don't know anymore. I'm always cold, inside and out. Matches my theory, that, it does. Glass has no warmth of its own. It needs something else to steal it from. Like a glass of tea, you know? Oh, don't tell me I have to explain. You always have that odd look on your face when I start to explain anything. Like you only want to nod and smile and wait it out until I'm done and you can breathe a sigh of relief.
It's funny to be lying facedown and still feeling dizzy. I'm spinning. 'Round and 'round. Just like that.
But I'll explain anyway. Because it annoys you. Because you see me when I'm annoying, so I'll tell you. Imagine you pour scalding hot tea into a cold glass. Given it doesn't break right away, it gets warm, yes? The liquid exudes warmth and eventually, it and the glass strive to level out. I'll spare you extra things like air temperature and all, it's not a lesson. Bottom line is-
Gods, I'm going to be sick.
Where was I... Oh. Look at it that way and the glass becomes something like a parasite of sorts. A leech. It only takes and takes and takes but it has nothing to give. Cools down the tea so you don't burn your tongue... when was the last time I did that? This morning? Anyway... You might like it in small doses but cold, really, is a double-edged sword. Nobody wants to be cold all the time, now do they?
Will you be my tea, Tatsumi? With honey and lemon. Be sweet to me? I promise to break before I take all your warmth away. I'll break and let you go before it happens. Promise.
But you're not here. There was someone here before, but now I'm alone.
I wish this was a story of some dramatic sort that I could later tell. But it's simple, really. Same shit, different day. You won't believe me when I get back and write my report. If I draw cute little hearts all over it, will you get the hint? Or no, I have a better idea. I'll draw a glass of tea, little arrows to point at you and me and all. A slice of lemon, too. Loving you does have that sour taste.
No, wait. It's still only blood in my mouth. I want to kiss you. Bite your lips 'til they bleed so that it's not just my blood I'm tasting. But that would hurt you, wouldn't it? Forgive me. I didn't mean it. I really didn't. Please hurt me back. I've been bad. So very-
I can't breathe.
Gods, it /hurts/. There goes the bliss of being numb. Shit.
My hands are caught in someone's hair.
Oh, it's just her. I had to touch her for my summoning spell to work. Not enough energy left in me after I was done with the hellspawn that rode her. Well, it's gone now. They both are. Why can't I be gone, too? Hey, wait for me. Don't leave me alone. I want to go, too.
Hm. You have soft hair. Like mine. Why can't I remember your name? Then again, it doesn't matter anymore. You're dead. You should have been for a while now, but that's besides the point. But it's okay; everyone fears death the first time. Your ride home's on me tonight.
Dead - check. Cold - check. Still - check. All's right in the world.
But wait. So am I. All three. Why don't I get to rest, then? It's unfair. I want to be dead like that too. I can't be, now can I? I'm alive. Well, the peculiar Shinigami sort of alive, anyway. But I'm hurting while you're not. You score. I'm almost positive I'm crying, too, but it could be the rain.
I can't open my eyes. How funny is that.
I think someone is holding me.
Does that mean I don't get to drown here? Too bad. One can hope.
No, no. Don't touch me. Let me go. I want to be alone.
I wonder if you're Tatsumi. I love you, Tatsumi. I love saying your name. The way it rolls off my tongue is all kinds of sweet. Even if you're not Tatsumi, I still love you. I love you because you're here. I hate you because you're here, too, but scratch that. It doesn't matter. I think my heart is breaking. It hurts so beautifully. I don't want to think it's my shattered ribs that cause the pain. So unromantic. It's you and me in a quiet room.
Too bad I can't hold you like that. I wish...
Oh, I'm sorry. I think I cut into your skin. See, that's what happens when you play with broken glass. Keep talking. I know your voice... it sounds so broken, now. No, don't do that. Two of us like that... too much to stitch back together. Sorry, Watari can't help today. But come again.
That soft hair is slipping away from between my fingers. Too bad I can't grasp it; I think they're broken. I want a souvenir. Why is it that whoever goes on a case brings something for everyone but myself? I'll break the habit. This time, they get nothing. Well, nothing save one broken Watari, but that's for you exclusively. Tatsumi-san. From 'Taka, with love.
I think I bit my tongue. I think I'm losing my mind, too.
No, scratch that. My heart's gone. If I lose my mind, is there anything left? I am such a mess. So what that in a day or two my body will patch itself up again. I don't want it anymore. You don't want it, why should I? I think I wanted-
There's a hand on my face. Another in my hair. Why has the rain stopped? I wonder where I am. Mmm... something warm and damp is wiping my eyes. I don't want to look. Don't want to see.
Oh, to hell with it.
Tsuzuki? Is that blood on your face?
I haven't been this warm in decades.
Did you take me home?
Wait. What is home, anyway? How did that proverb go... Home is where the heart is? Well, so I'm fucking homeless, then. Too bad you dropped me, Tatsumi. Too bad my heart was made of glass.
August 29th 2005