[html] 
--
cradle me in your crooked heart
It was strange what came to him then. The first thing, the first thing always, was nostalgia. That first time they had made love, beside an old piano in an old library, the taste of tears in his mouth and someone else's fur under his hands, and that wonderful warmth surrounding him. The smell of the hybrid, permeating the air like nothing else existed, nothing in the world. The way it felt to care while fucking someone -- was that why they called it making love instead? The way it felt to share something physical but still intangible and unspeakable, not because it was sacred or holy, or dirty and inappropriate, but because there just weren't any words. The English language wasn't vast or descriptive enough to explain that feeling, and everything else gentle and desperate (at the same time) that had followed in the eighteen months after that. And even if these words were invented, they would just be cheapened over time. Love had been cheapened over time. Almost worthless now, really. That nostalgia -- and fuck, it hurt, like a knife to the chest, left for a thousand years as a reminder of that same old once upon a time -- it went away when Tsunami found his eye resting on Laruku's. Those weren't Laruku's eyes. He had seen these once before, and then, too, he had felt the same.
The second thing that came to him was that this was less like that second time they had met, and more like the first time. That time he had taken his pregnant rape-victim sister -- the lovely Ophelia, the lady he'd once considered his best friend -- to Clouded Tears to see the lake. He had thought Ceres wouldn't mind and as it turned out, Ceres wasn't the issue. Instead of seeing the lake, he'd faced a pair of angry red eyes. And he had left that day with a torn-up ear and a little bit less blood, and an angry little sister. (Who, by the way, had still been pregnant.) God, how insecure he had been. Both of them; all three of them. This was more like that time, wasn't it? Funny how history repeated itself.
There was a moment of absolute calm, then. Tsunami felt it sink into his mind and soul as he looked up at the figure who was, all at once, so familiar and yet so strange. This wasn't his Laruku, and who knew if his Laruku would ever come back, and even if so, that Laruku still wasn't his, and never would be again. That era was over, and Tsunami felt too old in mind and experience to keep fighting for something that was so in vain. His logical mind and emotional side often strongly disagreed, and there was nothing he could do about that. listen. just listen... shh.
And then it was Hazel and Muse and Moxie. Hazel and Moxie, who had gotten along so well. Partners in crime -- or maybe crimefighting. And Muse, the lonely one, who had tagged along behind. The worried father, then two-eyed and happy about it, hadn't been able to do much as the bear closed his jaws around Hazel's neck. Her head came off like she were under a guillotine. And then Muse. All the damn blood. The horror and fear that had beset him then had been too much to take. His teeth and claws were his choice weapons, and all he had ended up with was a handful of new scars, a fucked up leg and a month or two in recovery. There was something about watching your children die. There was something about losing a child.
In the eye of the storm, he could see the tornado approaching. For the moment, the sturdy gray wolf didn't move; he remained sitting, looking up, aware and alert but relaxed. When it hit, that was when he would deal with it. Maybe he would die -- maybe he would become a murderer again. The way he saw it, the latter was more likely than the former. Tsunami wasn't about to die. He had made a promise to Phasma, the dark angel with the eyes that spoke silently to him of a place to hide, a place to call home. He had to go home. Because with God as his witness, Nirupama Tsunami kept his promises. Barely any of the hybrid's twisted words were absorbed into Tsunami's psyche. He didn't want to hear this, and so he didn't. When he finally spoke, it came out tinged with sadness. Is there anything of Laruku left in you? And just beyond the vision in his head, the furious storm raged, roared, screamed for release. It would destroy something that morning.
|
|
[/html]
|
