My eyes opened to darkness. Black shadows that engulfed my eyes to take me prisoner. The curtains tapped against the edge of the window, again and again as the wind tried to push it aside. As the darkness adjusted to create defined shapes, blocks of furniture and objects, I felt warmth pressing against my back. I stiffened, not recognizing the presence. Turning slightly, careful not to wake the other, I brushed my hand across the person's face.
A forehead, eyebrows…as I touched the closed eyelids, he moved. Because of the close proximity, I could see his eyes flutter open, his dark eyes, reflecting the small amount of light present in the room. He blinked several times, trying to ward off the sleep beckoning him. Sheets rustled beneath, and he brought his hand up to the side of my face. His hand was shaking.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
Silently, I wondered why he was the one to ask the question. I wasn't the one whose hand was shaking. But instead of saying my thoughts out loud, I nodded, wishing it wasn't so dark. His hand relaxed, drawing back. I heard him sigh, and run his fingers roughly through his hair to wake himself up. Lifting himself from the safeness of the bed, he straightened his bare back against the head board.
Silence, and silence. A void that stretched and flattened itself out to wrap around us. My head was still resting against the pillow, so I could no longer see him. I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered what we had done. I wondered, what I had done.
In the darkness, I couldn't recognize the image of the blonde haired boy with glasses drifting slowly past my mind. In the darkness, I couldn't remember his name. I tried to think, to remember, to recognize how important the person must have been. But the darkness pushed, harder and harder until it was too difficult to concentrate. I closed my eyes instead.
I kept my eyes closed.
"I didn't…it wasn't meant….to be like this." He touched my shoulder, shaking me as if I were asleep and needed to be woken. "Hatsumi. I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say."
He took my silence as revulsion at what had taken place. I wanted to say something, words of comfort, words of reassurance, anything. Anything other than the silence that spoke for me. I heard him quietly leave the bed, picking up his clothes strewn about on the floor along the way.
Light streamed into the room, and now I could clearly see his face. He looked over in my direction for a moment, his expression, broken. Empty. I didn't know what to say. He closed the door behind him, and with a soft click, I heard his soft footsteps fade.
I curled up in the bed, trying to keep the warmth of his fading presence for as long as I could. I'd hurt him. I hadn't meant to.
I'd taken advantage of his kindness. His touch demanded nothing, always gentle, never with an underlying thought. I was the one who took the initiative, touched him first, embraced him first, kissed him first. I used his feelings towards me to forget.
But if it was to forget, I'd forgotten for only too short of a time. The haziness of the memory of the scene was sharpening, and soon, the image would no longer be a blonde blur close together with a brown haired girl. It would only be too real again.
I pressed the sheet of fabric against my eyes. I could still see his dark eyes, reflecting the darkness of the room. Warm eyes silently asking why there were tears in my eyes.