Prompt Word: Untouchable
Time to Finish: 2 ½ hours
Listened to: Those Nights - Skillet, Face Down – Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
GR's Note: This...was an experiment. An exercise in descriptive writing, actually. The prompt my tutor gave me was 'Untouchable' and this was what my little mind cranked out. Be forgiving, this is pretty old , I just found it in my hard drive tonight and decided that I didn't hate it as much as I used to. That being said, I thought some people might find it nice that I updated with something, and I promise that I'll be back to my other fics shortly. Reviews are like cookies and candy, I love them in every color and flavor, so don't be shy about telling me what you think!
Part 1: Ethereality
Most people wouldn't say that it was a nice night, not by a long shot. He, however, wasn't most people. To him, laying in bed and watching white-hot electricity streak across a pitch black sky through his bedroom window was a relaxing and rare opportunity to lose himself in aimless thoughts. Listening to the relentless percussion of driving raindrops on his apartment roof and windows was calming enough for him to forget, for a moment, that he was an assassin, a murderer, a killer. No longer among those who still retained their purity, could still call themselves human. He no longer counted himself as such, he was too tainted, a demon only destined to rot among others like him in hell, when his bloodstained life finally ended.
To say that he was surprised when she appeared at his window and tapped on the pane frantically, a panicked plea for entrance appearing on her lips as she was illuminated in the dark for only fractions of a second at a time would be a dire understatement. The erratic lighting punctuated by complete darkness gave him the impression that she looked like some wondrously ethereal maiden, a faerie or an angel, but one who was losing her strength, one whose inner strength was waning and fighting not to completely go out. Why she was pleading entrance to his darkened sanctum at this hour, in this weather, with her seraphic luminescence threatening to be engulfed by the cloud covered night for good was beyond his very comprehension, his very ability to question as he approached the transparent barrier between them and opened it, wordlessly extending an invitation to the bedraggled faerie girl waiting on his windowsill.
"Can I come in, Kakashi-sensei?" Silently, he nodded and stepped aside, allowing her slender body to slip inside and drop gracefully to the wet floorboards, where she stayed, head dipped into her chest and breathing heavily. He shut the window once again, quietly watching the young woman trying to get a hold of herself while she dripped water onto the floor, completely soaked. She wasn't doing anything except breathing, yet she still mesmerized him, disallowing him the luxury of looking away, a power she possessed but had no inkling of.
"What are you doing here, Sakura?" Another flash of lightning rent the sky, illuminating matted locks that he knew were a pale pink, a perfect representation of the tiny blossoms that served as her namesake, yet under the blue-white bursts of light appeared lavender in color, almost completely white even, at times. She didn't raise her head to answer him, but he could still hear the impending tears on the girl's voice, the ones she was trying to hide from him.
"He's expecting me to go to Naruto and Ino, so I headed here. He would have stopped me before I even reached their apartment, I wouldn't have even made it to the door." His eyes narrowed as he listened to the hiccups interspersed between her words, as he watched the water dripping off of her face onto the bare skin of her thighs take on a dark hue, puddling until it reached the hem of her black shorts and start to disappear, absorbing into the already waterlogged fabric.
"Sakura, look at me." Obligingly, she pushed the hair out of her face and tilted her head upwards, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the copy nin. Her face was pouring blood from a prominent slash that had nearly caught her right eye, extending down on an angle from the innermost point of her eyebrow past the corner of her mouth and dropping off sharply when it reached the plane of her jaw. Wounds like that didn't belong on angels.
"What happened? That's going to scar, you know." She nodded, cracking a halfhearted smile at the odd observation. Dipping her head again, she brought up the hem of her red shirt to dab off some of the free-running liquid that just happened to match it exquisitely.
"We got into a fight." It was a simple answer, and yet he knew exactly who she was referring to in addition to herself as he brought her a dark towel to dry herself with and clean up her face, now stained with tears mixed in with the blood.
"Apparently. What could have caused you to fight so badly that he needed weapons?" Gratefully she took the soft rectangle of terrycloth from him, her eyes darting to the glinting of metal on her finger as another flash of lightning split the sky outside, before burying her face in the dark fabric to obstruct her view.
"He found out why we weren't conceiving and he didn't take the revelation well." Her voice was muffled up until the moment her fingertips started to emit a soft green glow and she let the towel drop away from her face onto her lap. The ethereality the glow imbued upon her appearance as she made an effort to close the cut on her face was stronger than the luminescence that the light outside had given her and only served to anchor the young woman's place as an otherworldly visitor in her current companion's mind. In his mind though, otherworldly maidens didn't get wounded by their husbands and they never sought refuge in a demon's lair.
"You know why he married you, you knew that from the moment he asked you." They both knew. Her husband had asked her right in front of him, and even at the time the question wasn't really a question, it was very nearly an order, cold and unfeeling, controlling and manipulative. Very much like the man himself had become, in fact.
"I told him that I wasn't going to have children before I was ready, I was quite up front with him." As the glow of her fingertips crossed to a different part of her delicate face, reflecting directly into her celadon eyes and infusing them wit the illusion of a spark they had long since lost, he noticed the darkening bruises scattered across the portions of porcelain colored flesh visible to him. The rage he felt building up within him at the sight was almost unknown to him, one normally so in control of his emotions. Yet, he found that he couldn't stand the thought of anyone laying a hand on the delicate creature in front of him in anything other than kindness, caring and love. More primitive emotions had no place in her presence.
"You've been the only girl on our squad for ten years. You know that we men only hear what we want to." He dodged as something small and metallic went flying past his ear, landing with a deafening clatter behind him in the next room as she scowled at him.
"You don't have to say it like that, you jerk." One look at her hand revealed what he had already known and he smiled softly behind his mask, unbeknownst to her. He took a moment to hand her the smallest shirt he had been able to find, a perfect match for the pants that he had outgrown a long time ago and bore a permanent bloodstain on the cuff of the left leg, clothes he had never realized why he kept up until this happened.
"Prove me wrong. Look at what your husband did to you because he didn't want to listen. As a collective, men are thoughtless, selfish and insensitive, which you should have realized by now." She stood finally, with a little difficulty and a helping hand as she regarded the older man with a genuinely caring gaze.
"Some of you have your moments." The kiss she placed on his masked cheek was as sweet and delicate as the girl herself and inwardly he found himself lost in his musings once again as she shut the bedroom door and he vaguely heard her flop out on his couch. Was that small gesture a blessing, a sign that somewhere, somehow, god had forgiven his misdeeds and sent him an angel as proof that light could break through the black clouds blanketing his existence? Or was it merely the confirmation of his accumulated sins, this shining beacon which he could see but never touch, a tease sent by the devil himself to remind him who he belonged to?
To her, his heart was nothing, a plaything that she had no idea she even possessed, yet to him, she would ever be the reason he didn't completely shut down, the symbol of why he continued to be. As he resumed his position on his bed, looking out the window, the clouds broke for the first time that night, allowing a beam of silver moonlight to fall across the floor and strike the door, open just a crack. Just enough to see her, sprawled on his couch, wearing his shirt and bathed in the ethereal light of a nearly full moon.
In the morning she would pick up her wedding ring from where it fell on the floor and she would put on her own clothes again. She would leave before she thought he was awake, leaving a note in her delicate, fine handwriting saying thanks for being such a good friend. She would see their friends and put on a cheerful face, saying perhaps that her injuries had been caused during training, that they would heal in a couple of days, that they didn't bother her. She would come some other night, same as she had tonight, she'd make her excuses and he'd pretend to believe them, they would continue where they left off. He would never touch her though. No demon has the right to touch someone so pure, and no angel would ever want to be touched by someone so tainted.
Things would remain as they were, a picture of ethereality.