It wasn't quite like jet lag, Kenshin thought as he lay in bed, staring at the sunlight striping patterns across the unfamiliar ceiling. It wasn't quite like anything, really - how many people got to check 'crossing realities' off of their bucket list, after all?
He just felt tired(more), worn out, wrung-out - there was this big splotchy hole in his memory that didn't feel right, this blankness that niggled at him like it was important. He remembered taking Edward's hand, he remembered waking up in a pool of blood not his own, but there was this black spot of nothing in-between.
That nothingness was his passage through the Gate.
He knew that, Edward had held his shoulders, stared at him, asked what he had remembered, did it speak to him, did it TAKE anything - but he couldn't remember. There was nothing there. The relief on Edward's face outweighed Kenshin's disquiet so he said nothing about how that strangeness weighed on him.
And now, he couldn't sleep because of it.
Not that he had ever been a morning sleeper, even at home. (This was home now, he told himself firmly, this was Edward's home and now it was his too, there was no going back from this, he had already DECIDED.) Kenshin sighed deeply, as a breeze stirred the curtains and threw the sunlight on the ceiling into disarray. The warm summer air smelled so much cleaner here. No wonder Edward wanted to come back.
Speaking of, Edward rolled onto his side, his breath warm across Kenshin's bare shoulder. Kenshin smiled and put his arm around Edward, pulling him closer. Ultimately, it didn't really matter, did it? The Gate, the blankness, all of it. He left it all behind for Edward, and that was something he would never regret.(less)
some time, five years in the future, i will wake up and realize i have no future. no, it won't be because i devoted my teenage years to booze and drugs, or promiscuity, but it will because i wasted it away. i went to school, but didn't apply myself,(more) i got good grades, but not good enough. i played sports, but not well enough. nothing was ever better than mediocre. (less)
The promise of the morning opening with the new day and announced by the sun rising over the ocean sparkling through the open window. The wafts of the coffee, already brewing, brought a feeling of purpose and clarity I hadn’t felt in a while. I grabbed a large mug and(more) made my way to my favorite chair to write.
Lost in thought - philosophizing. About what I don’t quite remember now.
I must have been taken with whatever it might have been as I didn’t hear the gurgling from the toilet until it was too late. By this time, the crap was backed up, stalled from its ultimate destination and making its way out into the hallway.
Maybe that is what I had been thinking about.(less)
She yanked herself away, appalled. How could he? This was never part of her plan. She had never felt like she was perfect, but this was too much. Looking at his angry, but smug face, she felt her insides burn with shame, or anger. She couldn't tell.
''I kno(more)w I am not perfect, but I certainly don't deserve all this''
He looked annoyed now, and said, still with resentment dripping from every word, ''Look how you made it about you. All I want is for you to butt out of this one''.
Anger bubbled up in her, she felt the electricity in her body, her arms light with the notion. She forced herself to exhale and said in a more controlled, but not less angry, voice, ''Look, I just want to help you, ok? Is that so bad?''
He stared at her.
''Yes. You're so fucking arrogant. Who do you think you are? You tell me to not make your mistakes, but can't you see the fucking irony? Mom, your life is one big mistake, I would never listen to anything you had to say. Not anymore''.(less)
What was that? What time is it? Was I dreaming? No, I wasn't dreaming, I can hear it downstairs. I can hear someone downstairs. I can hear their footfalls. They are very slow and every other step creaks a floor board. I can't move, I am so scared.(more) Who is this in my house? What do they want?
I follow the sound and I know they are in the kitchen which is right underneath my bedroom. I can hear a drawer opening and they seem to be rummaging in it for something. The cutlery is being swished around and the noise it's making is very loud. Do they not realise I am upstairs or do they not care? Then the swishing sound stops and I hear the drawer close again. Then the whistling starts. I know that song, it's the Funeral March, by Chopin I think. The bastard. The fucking bastard. I need my phone. Where is it? Shit, it's in my bag downstairs.
He is still whistling that fucking song but his footsteps have stopped making noise. He must be on the carpet, that is right at the bottom of the stairs. He is coming up the stairs. I am so scared. The whistling is getting louder and closer. That fucking song! Shit, oh shit, he is right outside the door. He is coming in! He is nothing but a shadow and I can see a kitchen knife. He is still whistling to me. Fuck off, leave me alone, don't hurt me!
He said he just needed money. Take the fucking money, it's in my purse downstairs. He promised that he wouldn't touch me if I stayed put. He kept his word and took $130 plus change. I heard the door shut. All I could say was thank you.