Disclaimer: No, I don't own Cardcaptor Sakura. CLAMP does, and for good reasons. They're geniuses. (Have you read Tsubasa or xxxHolic?!)

Please enjoy reading! Eh.....I don't quite know how the style on this one worked.....I was listening to 'I don't wanna be in love' by Good Charlette, and thinking about Cardcaptor Sakura....and well....yes, this happened. So please be truthful, and TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT YOU THINK OF IT!!!


I don't want to be in love. I don't want to be in love.

I don't want to deal with this.

I wish, I wish....

...I don't want to be in love with you.

~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~

Another dinner reservation cancelled. Another bouquet of red roses sent as an apology. It doesn't even surprise her anymore.

Sakura realizes Syaoran doesn't enjoy any of it. The business trips are long and exhausting, the meetings boring and tedious. He has just as much fun sending his countless apologies as she has receiving them. It's been ages since she's seen him without bags under his eyes and exhaustion evident in his slumped stance.

When he comes home (where she's sitting staring at the clock, waiting anxiously for his arrival) he's too tired to talk. As she opens her arms wide in a welcome, he wants to sleep more than return the gesture.

She thinks (knows…somewhere in the back of her mind) that he still loves her, but the doubt is overwhelming and her hand is shaking as she cancels yet another scheduled date. It's become an expected part of her life, and she doesn't even think about her actions as she calls up the restaurant. (The one with the yellow and white daisies out front that he's been promising to taken her to for ages.)

He's never told her what she wants to hear. ("I love you, I love you, I love you.") When she tells him (constantly, as if she's afraid he hasn't already caught on) he replies with a smile without actually saying the same.

A smile, a hug, a kiss…(public displays of affection are no issue for him)…but never the words she's dying to hear. It's killing her, slowly and painfully, to think that every little act of affection he does for her is simply an act….or maybe he's just trying too hard to love her. Every time he skips over the words ("I love you") she feels like he's stabbed her with the sword she hasn't seem him draw for years.

And so, she decides she's had enough (enoughenoughenough of everything she's put up with before); she's fed up with the countless stories, excuses, and half-assed attempts to make things right again.

The roses have all been thrown away, as she sees no reason in keeping constant reminders that he's so sorry it didn't work out. The vase they're both so used to seeing on the counter is put away, and some of the scarlet petals float to the ground (she doesn't bother to pick them up) as they're hurled viciously into the trash, followed quickly by the cards and most of his expensive presents.

He spoils her, treating her like royalty; she supposes she should feel lucky, as all her friends insist, but she could care less about the overly expensive, store-bought items that only waste his money. For once, she would like to receive a simple and cheap sentimental gift.

She's tired of fighting over pointless things (when it's not this, it's that, and vise versa), and the sight of the calendar scribbled across in red is making her sick to her stomach.

Exhausted from everything, she wonders when they lost the carefree love of their youth, where there were simple dates and heartfelt gifts. How could she have ever believed it would last?

Her mind is muddled with sleep and broken promises; she makes up her mind, a little unsure whether or not it's the right decision.

His amber eyes are wider than she's ever seen them when she tells him.

She feels her stomach drop with the horrible feeling (shemadeamistakeshemessedeverythingup) that she made a mistake. Swallowing the lump in her throat and avoiding looking at his horrified expression, she forces the rest of her words through her choked throat.

Her mind is finally made up after days of going back and forth with her decision (though part of her is still unwilling) and she has her sights set on a new town, where the calendar won't be covered in scribbles to hide away the plans that didn't fall through. She's never gone far from Tomoeda (besides the few times she's been to China) and she sees this as her chance to explore the world she has yet to see.

Somewhere she hasn't been; anywhere really, as long as it's away from him. She's more delicate than she appears, and she's close to breaking. It's not the cancellations, (she forgives him every time) but her heart aches every time he seems to gaze at her without the love she has for him. (She's dying to think he doesn't love her the way she feels for him…that she's wasting her love on someone who could care less.)

He's hurt her, more with his silence than his words, and she wonders if this is all there really is to romance. The high school years seem so far away now, so different from the present, and she hates remembering every promise he's forgotten.

She ignores the aching in her chest (it isn't worth paying more attention to now) as her car roars to life, and she wonders if he'll come chasing after her.

She hopes, prays he will so that they can make-up (they're so good at it) and they can still find 'happily ever after'.

But she doesn't see him coming.

The tires kick up dust, leaving behind a house full of memories, a trash can full of roses, and most importantly, Syaoran.

As she drives away, Sakura desperately wants to fall out of love.

~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~

Tomoyo fakes a (yet another) smile as she's complimented on her boyfriend. Handsome, intelligent, promising. She's heard it all before. What a catch for the sole heir of the Daidouji Company.

They catch each other's gaze and a heartfelt smile lights up Eriol's face. She doesn't see how he finds it so simple to smile at her like that; it makes her feel guilty to see his love for her so clearly displayed. In his expressions, his actions and his countless gifts for her (that have made him hated by many men who long to steal her away) she's smothered by his unmatchable affection.

She's said it before of course ("I love you."), but even she can't tell if it's a lie or not. He's always held a special place in her heart, of course, seeing as he's been a good friend of hers since elementary school. But it's so easy to see that his feelings far surpass 'friends', and she feels guilty knowing that she's not quite sure where she stands.

She can't be truly sure that he is the most important person in the world to her.

And she hates thinking that she's deceiving him.

Another dinner party come and gone and another night spend curled up beside him. There's silence between them, the television talking instead. Comfortable. She can admit to that at least, but she's afraid to commit to something more.

She's afraid there isn't anything more.

She hates herself every time she lies straight to his face, faking feelings she's afraid aren't really there. But she's even more terrified of being alone again. Her first love never felt the same for her, and she's scared (sosososcared) of not having someone who loves her in return.

She knows she's using him, twisting him around her finger for her own selfish reasons. He's pouring out love she doesn't think she even possesses for her, and she puts on a smile, sprouting lies with ease.

Just as long as he….oh, god, anything just so he doesn't leave her alone. Alone with the maids and the bodyguards in a house much too large for just her.

He's smarter (of course, he has a maturity decades older than he should) than she gives him credit; even she, as observant as she is, was unaware he was perfectly capable of seeing through her Barbie-doll smiles. She wonders if he was just ignoring the blatantly obvious truth for all this time, trying to find his own happiness just like her.

His solution leaves her shocked, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. The glass previously in her hand shatters, her unfinished wine staining the carpet. But worse than shock, she's frightened. Terrified.

The tightening of her chest unnerves her, and she suddenly finds herself unable to calm her staggered breathing. (When has she ever lost her composure like this?)

She has no right to keep him here, and she knows it. If she asks him to, he will probably stay (and they both know it), but she can't stand the thought of keeping him trapped with her make-believe romance.

He (as he always has) deserves someone who truly loves him. Someone who can love him with the intensity that he loves her with, and not someone who will parade him through parties and dinners with a fake smile and a fake love.

And so, she watches in silence as Eriol pulls away, leaving her over-sized mansion (far too large for a young woman and some of her maids) and life for possibly (probably) forever.

She makes no move to clean the stain, but quivers as salty tears flow down her face. Her mascara and eye makeup is smearing down her cheeks, her nose red and stuffy; her petite body is trembling and quaking with sobs, and she wonders when the last time was that she cried like this.

When was the last time that she lost her calm, collected façade and bawled like a child?

She crumples to the floor, unable to stand when she has a sudden realization, a heartbreaking epiphany.

And suddenly, Tomoyo truly wishes she was not in love.

~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~

The stereo is loud, blaring electric guitar in her ears, but the shrill ringing of her cell phone reaches Sakura's ears anyway.

She holds her breath as it automatically switches to voicemail. A normal and familiar routine to her, she waits a few minutes before picking it up slowly (her hand trembling so she almost drops it) and listening to the message.

He is frantic.

There is the noise of traffic in the background (he's chasing her!) as he rushes through his words. His voice is so full of emotions, and she can feel each one of them as if they were her own.

He's afraid (sososcaredohgodsoscared) of losing her, so terrified she'll slip through his fingers (he realizes now that he should have held onto her tighter.) He's furious as well, and so full of hate and rage. But for himself, always for himself (like every time he's broken one of his promises), never, never for her.

His voice is coming out in choked pleas as he attempts another apology. Begging, pleading. He can't live without her.

She wishes (she could take it back and rewind time an hour or so) she had seen it before. She wishes she hadn't let her doubt and fear cloud her judgment, and that she had opened her eyes before making such a stupid mistake.

Her fingers are trembling as she dials his number, praying to God he'll pick up and let her back into his life (maybe he won't, maybe he's decided to give up on her.)

She wants it all back, because she never (not even for a second) stopped loving him with all her heart.

He's shaking if fear (paranoid of forever losing her) when he picks up, and the young man listens in silence to her sobs.

'Stupid', 'foolish', she calls herself over and over, crying and trembling in a parked car in the middle of nowhere. Begging and pleading like he did before that they can make this work. That they can just put this behind them, because she loves, loves, loves him, and can't stand the thought of leaving.

She finally opens her eyes wide, taking off her blinders, and sees all of the feelings that were hidden away from her before in every childish act, in every jealous rage, in every bouquet of red roses and every apology he's ever said. She wonders how she could have been stupid enough to ignore it before. He's in love with her.

It's not at all romantic (like the fairytales and stories of princes and princesses and magic and happily ever after endings) like she's dreamed; Syaoran's hoarse voice is barely audible over the static of the phone and her own choked sobs as he finally says the words she been dying to hear.

"I love you."

And Sakura believes him.

~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~

Eriol doesn't pick up when Tomoyo calls. She can't really say she's surprised, she never really expected him to. Why would he listen to her pleas?

He gave her everything he could (willingly, so willingly) and she had been unable to fully return the feelings. She had played him, used him, and even though she knows she loves him now…..it's not enough. It doesn't make up for the time he's spent pretending she loved him as well.

Why would he ever even trust her again?

She wonders now if mistaking lust for love would have been better than mistaking love for lust and giving him away (like he was nothing to her, like she didn't care.)

The stain is all she can see, and so she avoids the room where he said his goodbyes (she sees a ghost of him repeating that moment in time, over and over), and pulls out an unopened bottle of scotch (just another gift from him.) He's one of the only people who knows how hard she normally drinks (simple wines are saved for public parties when appearances need to be maintained); alcohol is one of her stress-relievers, and she's knows her bad habit would be much worse if he didn't keep her in line.

But he's not here to stop her now.

Downing another shot, her violet eyes stare intently at the phone before her as if daring (pleading) it to ring.

It doesn't, and she feels herself tremble slightly.

Foolish, how very foolish to hold your most cherished thing in your grasp and willingly give it away. Foolish, how very foolish of her to let him slip through her grasp.

A bitter laugh rings through the silent house; the alcohol is sweet (like a drug) on her tongue, the drink numbing her body and her senses (such a sweet escape) as she laughs again.

Ironic, how ironic, that she is the one crying over him.

Her eyes drift closed before she can finish dialing again (like the number of drinks, she's lost count of how many times she's tried now) and the shot glass falls from her limp hand.

She must have cried in her sleep, because when she awakens her eyes are swollen and she can feel dried tears on her cheeks. She's lying in bed, wrapped safely in the sheets, and the black dress she hadn't changed out of has been exchanged for her comfortable sweats.

Slowly, she runs a hand through her long, tangled hair, wincing as her head pounds; she wonders if she's ever drank that much before, and finds herself unable to regret it. The horrible hangover must be nothing compared to what he's dealt with every time she smiles a fake smile.

Through bleary vision, she watches as he enters the room (concerned about her?) and she breaks down in tears. Holding her close, he whispers reassurances she doesn't deserve while she chokes out apology after apology.

He came back, afraid when he saw the countless missed calls and no one answered at the house. Again, she realizes she doesn't deserve him (any of him) and she cries harder. He's never seen her break down like this, her calm mask always perfectly in place before.

Still sobbing like she hasn't in years (decades) she stutters over the words she's had no problem saying before.

"I love you."

And this time, Tomoyo's sure of herself.

~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~•¤•~°~

I love you, I love you, I love you. Oh god, I love you more than you could ever know.

Please, whatever you do, never leave me. Never, never slip through my fingers.

Because I can't live without you. I love you, I love you, I love.....