Summary: Maka was too far in, too far gone, and too far in love with Soul "Eater" Evans.
What am I doing?
Why am I watching him like some kind of creepy stalker?
Because I am a creepy stalker, the little voice in my head says.
I shake my head, like a dog trying to shake off water, my pigtails slapping me in the face.
This is crossing about 50 billion lines in the Meister/Weapon relationship.
This is my life now.
Stalking Soul and his hot girlfriend.
The Demon Whip.
They met three months ago at a Weapon-Only International Training. She had planned on transferring to Shibusen anyway. Meeting Soul just solidified the decision. Soul told me was terrified at the prospect of that girl moving half way across the world, practically just for him. He didn't think he was worth it. I couldn't bring myself to correct him. It wasn't my place anymore. He even looked at me like he was waiting for me to hit him, to tell him off for being stupid. But I wasn't up for the role of supportive pseudo-girlfriend. Now there they were, chatting away, unaware that each exchange of words brought a sledge hammer into my heart.
Ugh. Melodrama. I am becoming my father.
I lifted my head from the locker and let it fall back onto the metal, creating a soft bang. The sound slowed my heart, the rhythm of my head gently colliding with the locker was soothing. Soul is going to happy now, I think to myself. That's good. He'll have someone else to ride his motorcycle with, to watch football and talk about music and play basketball all freaking day… The tempo of my head banging increased. I needed to drown out my own thoughts. I tried to keep my brain from giving me a play by play of all of our times together. I banged my head a little harder, the metallic this ringing out in the hallway. I barely noticed.
Soul and I needed go back to being weapon and partner only. I wasn't sure how to do that. Were Soul and I ever just weapon and partner? Since the beginning he was so much more than that.
When I first entered Shibusen, I was 12 and adamant about hating men. I hated them all. They were worse than dogs (they both might smell and roll around in their own filth but at least dogs are loyal). I let my father's betrayal taint my view of men. I was determined never to get hurt again, and never as hurt as my mother was.
But then I met Soul.
He proved that he was different time and time again.
I have been stabbed, beaten, bruised, flung across rooms, blown up, dropped seven stories, and none of that, nothing hurt worse than watching Soul smile at the Demon Whip. The kind of smile where the corners of his eyes crinkle and all of his shiny shark teeth are visible and now he's throwing his head back, laughing and—
Which reminds me. I am being creepy. I know I am. Watching them go out on their dates is not healthy. I can't help it. I want to know why her. Although I have a feeling it was her 34Cs that contributed….
Ugh. No. I can't afford to be catty. It's not her fault. She's actually a very sweet girl, beautiful of course, definitely up to Soul's standards. She's tall, with jet black hair and dark eyes, she's even tempered, tutors Soul Studies after class, patient and kind.
Basically, the complete opposite of me.
Our first kishin soul, after which he yelled at me for recklessly throwing him aside when the kishin got too close…
The first time we tried soul resonance, where I got glimpses of his soul, mottled layerd of twisted and sarcastic, with thin gauzy layers of caring underneath…
Finally holding the resonance, deeply connecting and holding on to the feeling, the electrifying crackle on my soul, thrilling and frightening.
Soul dragging me out to play basketball with our friends, when all I wanted to do was read
Soul holding up the vintage record I bought him for his birthday, located after months of extensive research. His eyes got shiny, shark grin wide. He hugged me, so tight, and whispered "thank you" in my ear, his hot breath ghosting over my face and neck. If he noticed me shiver, he didn't comment on it.
I blinked. Soul stood in front of me. His hands were on my shoulders. I guess he had tried to call my attention and took to shaking me when saying my name wouldn't work. The dark shadows under his red eyes called out to me, asking me to touch them and smooth them out with my fingertips. When I didn't respond (I couldn't; I was too busy trying not to touch him) he tightened his grip on my shoulders.
Relief flooded my body. It was the least tense I had felt all month. He hadn't touched me, or held my hand at all, since he started dating the Demon Whip (Ayla, I reminded myself. Her name is Ayla). My shoulders were completely dropped from their previous position, practically near my ears. I had been carrying them high for three months. The only time he touched me what when he was in scythe form. Somehow, it wasn't the same.
Soul gave me another shake, one I felt this time. "Oi, bookworm. Snap out of it. You're scaring the kids." He jerked his head towards a group of NOT students clumped together tightly, terror on their small faces. I guess they weren't used to seeing someone snap. He let his hands drop, and put them into his pockets. At the loss of the physical contact, the sorrow rushed back.
It felt wrong.
I missed him.
I didn't bother covering up my misery. I'd let it hang on the corners of my mouth.
Soul smirked. "Stop making that face. It'll get stuck like that, jeez." That smirk. The half smile that haunted. The familiarity broke me, melted my frozen blood.
"I'm fine, Soul."
Yeah? Last time you looked like that was when your mom didn't send you a post card for six months."
He must have noticed because he put a hand on my arm.
I tightened the grip on my book.
There was his touch again. So rare now, so precious. Three months ago, there was a point where we would both sleep on the couch, the nightmares of the Kishin Asura, and Crona invading our dreams and making our nights hell. We would meet there almost every night, where his screams broke the silence of the night or my sobbing created a horrifying atmosphere. But since the demon whip—ah Ayla- It felt wrong and we haven't tried it since.
"Sorry. She hasn't, huh? Sent you anything?"
My Mama hadn't sent me a postcard in 6 months. Three months ago, I would have been fine; I had Soul.
Now I didn't have either.
"No it's not that. I'm fine seriously." I shrugged his hand off my shoulder. His warmth was like an addictive substance. It was better go to cold turkey than to give in to momentary pleasure.
I can't stand how much I need him! I was never like this before. What gave him the rights to come into my life and destroy my way of thinking, my lifestyle. How could he make me trust him, fall in love with him, leave me, and then leave me alive?
It wasn't fair.
It would have been easier to find a female partner. Or a guy who cheated, that way my expectations would have been grounded. Or if I had been born a weapon.
I tried to date, I really did. Last month, I went out with Harvar. He was severe, a hard worker, and stickler for rules. We had that much in common, but we were so different. I'll be honest: I'm a total hot-head, ruled by my emotions. Impulsive. Harvar obeyed the rules without fault, and obeyed authority unquestionably.
I remember in Baba Yaga's Castle, when he was willing to end Kim's life while she was possessed. Harvar told me he felt like it was a mistake to not end it there, especially now that we all know she's a witch.
I didn't go out with him again after that.
It was all Soul's fault, that bastard.
He had to make me more flexible, make be find a balance between life and books.
Soul had changed me, irrevocably.
I shook off his hand, harder this time. He drew back quickly, but then smirked and poked me.
"Maka, come on. Don't be so emo! Why don't you come with us? We're going to play ball." He gestured behind himself. Ayla stood in the middle of the hallway, bouncing a basketball. She looked up at the word 'basketball." She stopped bouncing the ball, balanced it on her hip, and gave us a friendly wave.
I wanted to hate her.
It would have been easier it she was the jealous type, if she had given Soul an ultimatum: Me or Maka. She didn't even care that we lived together! She was a weapon; she understood the attachment between a meister and a weapon.
I waved back, trying to summon enthusiasm.
I didn't work.
"Yo," Soul said. "If you stay at home and read too much, you'll grow mushrooms out of your head."
He almost looked hopeful. Was he looking for a chop?
Did I really look that pitiful?
"I'm fine, Soul. I have a ton of stuff to do back in the apartment. Cleaning, studying, cooking. You know normal productive stuff. I might even pop in a documentary, to get really wild, you know." I was babbling. The blood rushed to the surface of my skin. The misery flooded my face.
He stared at me.
"Why are you crying?"
I touched my cheek. My hand came away wet.
I rubbed my face with my forearm. "Haha. No, I just have a something in my eye, like a branch. Or a tree."
It wasn't fair.
"Maka, come on? Come play basketball with us-"
I never asked him to come into my life.
"I'm going to go ok? I'll see you at home." I turned on my heel and ran.
I could feel myself burn.
Spot the Easy A quote!
Something short and emo and unedited because this site is confusing.
Planning a second chapter, from Soul's POV, so stick around for that.
Love and/or constructive criticism welcome.