A long while passed after she had been seated in a quiet room. It was too long for her to be alone with just her thoughts. Her memories, insecurities, traumas, and fears clawed to get to her through the darkness. How would her mother deal if she also went missing like her father, she wondered. Would dying be scary, or would it be over before she even knew it? Which of the many religions was correct; would she go to an old-world god after death, or would the Great Programmer just reboot her? Maybe her kidnapper was ruthless? A shudder ran down her spine. Dying painfully was not on her bucket list, but as life had made it known, time and time again, her fate was out of her hands.
Then, it was all over.
Her vision was returned.
She was left sitting in a dim room. The windows were darkened just enough not to let any light in but not excessively dark so that she could see a cloudy sky behind the cover. Clouds, she hadn't seen the sky in so long. Standing up from the chair, she made her way to the window. Placing a hand on the glass. She wanted to reach through the glass and touch one. It was such a childish thought, but the view in front of her made her smile. At least she got to see the sky before she died.
“I had hoped you’d show me some interesting expressions.” A familiar but distant voice called out from the other side of the dark room. She blinked and tried to look around. Her heart dropped; the nausea returned. This time, she was confident that the man standing in the shadows was the cause of her sickness.
Did she have to look at him?
He walked, his steps quiet, eloquent, confident, rhythmically thudding against softwood because, of course, it had to be wood. It couldn’t be anything less than the best. She looked out the dimmed window. She knew that if she looked, she would first see those glowing eyes, and then it would be hard to turn away.
“What do you need?” she dared not look at him, her eyes fixed on the window. If she looked, the anger would melt. He deserved her anger.
She remembered the feeling that many times had welled up in the pit of her stomach before, the vile anger. An anger that transcended violence, turning into sorrow and sadness. Her emotions brewed like a storm.
Don't look at him, her mind screamed, but she wanted him to see. She wanted him to hear and feel what she had felt all these years.
“Don’t come near me!” she spat, finally turning to look at him. For a split second, the anger wavered. Oh, how he had changed.
He didn’t listen—he never listened. He took the last few steps towards her with a cool and unchanging expression. When he reached a hand out to her, she slapped it away.
“Do not touch me,” she growled. Anger, sadness, chaos. Emotions she had kept within herself for the last three years spilled out. They were now unable to be kept within the confines of her body.
“Send me back!” She stepped away from him, and he followed, those calculating, cold eyes never leaving hers.
“You have no right to show your face to me!” Tears welled in the corner of her eyes. She took another step away, her back slamming against a wall.
“Get away!” she yelled. Sobs followed; she closed her eyes with her hands. This was not the anger she had expected. She wanted violent outrage directed at him, not this. It was all those eyes. She always wavered when she looked into them. In a moment, they had calmed a violent storm and turned it into bitter disappointment. If feelings could manifest physically in the body, they did so now. Her heart ached, her stomach turned, her hands shook
“Get away,” she repeated.
“You left me to rot; you have no idea what I went through all these years,” her voice cracked.
He took one of her hands, forcing it away from her eyes. She fought back, but her strength was not enough. He was gentle but firm. She glared at him. He brought the hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on top of her fingers where his lips touched burned.
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“But I’ve come back, haven’t I?” he replied. With his other hand, he traced circles on her palm. She desperately tried to yank it away.
“Came back?” She all but yelled.
"You can't just do as you please. I am not some object to be thrown away until some whim makes you do this," she waved her hands, unable to articulate thier current situation. "What are you even trying to do?" she yelled.
“I’m not your pet; you can kidnap me and bring me here,” she whispered. Reassuring herself more than anything. Yes, she was her own person. She was not his.
He stopped, “On the contrary, I remember you really enjoyed that label.” He let her hand go. She stared at it in disgust. The nausea only grew.
They sat on opposite sides of the room. He had finally let more light in, and she soothed herself by staring at fluffy cotton clouds. The silence between them was cold. It couldn’t be anything but cold. As always, she could feel his stare. Even in anger, his presence soothed her at least enough to restrain her. She hated him, but he was stubborn. He wouldn’t let her go, even if she yelled and cried. Nothing she did could make him do something he did not want to. If he had kidnapped her all the way here, leaving would not be so simple. She was sure that behind his cold eyes, there was no soul. How could there be?
She wanted to ask why he hadn’t looked for her, why he had abandoned her when she needed him. She wanted to know why she had let his influence slip into her heart. At first, they were using each other, and then she got lost. At one point, the mutual benefit, money, and power stopped mattering. He had stolen her heart, and he knew it. He had used this fact more times than she could count. She had willingly given the devil her heart. Then, she was discarded, and he never came to look for her. She took a deep breath; there was no point in mulling over useless things now. She had to figure out what he wanted.
“Why now?” she asked.
“I want you to return,” he answered.
Her eyes wandered over to his sitting form. He had changed so much in the last few years. His dark mahogany hair was sleeked back, his shoulders were broad, and his features were so perfect that plastic surgeons must have used him as an example. His lips were lush, and his eyes were cold. Colder than they had been when he was younger. He was sinfully beautiful, and there was an air of power to him.
“Once more, Ryuu. I am not an object for you to use and discard,” she ran a hand through her hair, relieving invisible pressure. “You never searched for me. You never even tried to send me at least a message. My father had disappeared, framed for a terrorist attack, and we were sent to level 1. Where were you when I had to kill? Where were you when we went hungry?" She stopped momentarily and searched his dead expression for some version of regret.
"I would dig through trash just to find something to eat, and I had no one to lean on. Where were you when I needed you?” she stopped, once again trying to keep her emotions down. “To say that I hate you is an understatement.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his own hair, “I need you.”
Once, those words would have put a smile on her face now- they made her shudder. Selfish bastard, she wanted to say but kept herself contained.
“You are the most selfish person I have ever met,” her hands itched to slap his expressionless face. She wanted him to feel what she had felt. She wanted him to show some sort of emotion in that calculating stare. It undressed her to the bones.
“You can hate me, but I need you. I can move you back, give you money, a house, a planet, anything you want.” He got up from the armchair he was sitting in and walked towards her.
“Do you think I want to come back to this filthy place?”
He knelt beside her, “With my power, you could do anything.”
He took her hand and placed it to his face, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. “I haven’t slept in years. Since you've been gone, I have lost a bit too much of my humanity.”
She pulled her hand away, his warmth lingering. Once, she would have been so happy, so hungry for his affection, for his touch. Now, she did not know how to feel toward the person kneeling beside her. His touch brought on conflicting feelings. She hated him, but at the same time, she still loved the man in front of her.
“Do you think I care?”
There was a flash of anger or maybe hurt in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with nothingness. It riled her to see the hurt. His poker face had gotten better, and his emotions were quickly replaced with dead eyes. “You’re so cold towards me,” he whispered, hurt laced his words.
Trying hard not to react, she averted her gaze away from him. She wanted him to feel more pain.
He stood up, “Nothing is waiting for you at level one, and even if there is, you cannot change that shithole without my help. I’ll help you. You’ll come back to high society, have my support, and be able to make a difference. Maybe someday, teachers won’t have to kill their students. Maybe someday you won't have to fight your students to survive, " He paused, searching for something on her face, "What was his name? Xer?" he asked. "It must have hurt when his hand melted off,” a maniacal grin spread across his face.
Hot red anger filled her, “How dare y—" She sprung out of her chair, and seconds later, her hand met his face. Leaving her hand sore and his cheek red.
He smiled, “that was what I was waiting for.” He returned her hand to his face, “If this is what it takes for you to be mine again, take your anger out on me.”