the-duel

Me preguntaron si ya te había olvidado, entonces les hable de tus lunares, de tu oreja sexy y la otra fea, de tu aroma y tu sonrisa, de la forma en como caminas y de tus inseguridades, y no preguntaron más.
Creó que les quedó claro que ya eres parte del pasado. (?)
—  Brenda ramirez. Tú
Ya no.

Hoy por fin puedo decir que ya se acabó, y no me refiero a lo nuestro, aquello terminó hace mucho, me refiero a mis sentimientos hacía a ti, ya no más, ya no dueles y lo digo en serio, no lo hago por engañarte ni por engañarme .
Sí antes te odié, en realidad no te odié, sólo anhelaba que me volvieras a querer.
Sí siempre pedía estar sola, no era así sólo quería estar contigo.
No te miraba a los ojos porque sabía que eso llevaría a volverme mierd* por dentro, ya que añoraba que me miraras con aquella ilusión de antes, no te dirija la palabra porque las conversaciones eran tan cortantes que me volvían trizas el corazón.
“Pide un deseo” me decían, y a pesar de todo pensaba en ti, en lo que fuimos, deseaba volver a eses momentos.
Pero ya no, ya ni siquiera dueles. No te odio y nunca te odié, de hecho no podría hacerlo aunque quisiera, te quiero tanto que se me hace imposible.
Ahora prefiero estar sola que contigo.
Creo poder mirarte a los ojos sin perderme en ellos.
Ya no me importa lo cortante que seas o que sean nuestras conversaciones, ya no me cortarán el corazón.
Si me hablas ya no me ilusionare y mucho menos me romperé al ver como cambias de un día a otro.
“Pide un deseo” ¿a quién engaño?  El hecho que no duelas no quiere decir que no te quiera.

-Natalia

A Man with an Iron Crown. Part 3.

Bit of a transitional piece to kick off the morning, and honestly the first bit that I’ve actually written in a while. The previous two scenes were in my backlog, basically, and now I’m forging ahead into unknown territory.

Well … sort of known territory.

Almost known territory.

“So then … okay, remember I told you about the chef’s complete obsession with that potato salad, right? Acted like it was the Holy Grail of side dishes and woe betide anyone who says otherwise. Well —”

Mokuba was cut off by a sudden, sharp ringing that felt like a blade slicing into the air. Ryou flinched, confused for a moment, until his companion flashed an apologetic look and reached into his jacket. Mokuba came out with a smartphone that probably cost more than Ryou spent in six months, put it to his ear, and his face assumed an expression that would have looked more at home on a king at war.

“Kaiba,” Mokuba snapped; even his voice had taken on a royal identity.

Ryou tried to go back to studying, thinking that the day was probably shot as far as prepping for an exam went, but he couldn’t manage to maintain any semblance of focus. He kept wondering, as he listened to his new acquaintance — friend? — talk, whether or not Domino City would be any different. Any better. Whether this school would stay standing after Ryou had attended for more than a month. Whether these teachers would do anything but shy away when Ryou entered the classroom. Whether this police force would —

“Stop with the jargon and tell me!” Mokuba almost shouted, and suddenly the tension in the room felt sentient. Ryou blinked several times, felt his breath grow heavy in him, and had to bend every faculty he possessed to maintaining a calm façade.

The shadows in the room, faded into obscurity when Mokuba had been laughing and gesticulating randomly with his hands as he soliloquized, were moving. Ryou could see them, like insects; like tiny reminders that moving to a new town didn’t banish the ghosts of old memories.

As Mokuba’s face shifted again, into a look of crestfallen shock, Ryou Bakura thought he could hear a voice, a familiar voice, whisper into the back of his head that it was happening again.

Already.

It was happening again.

“… Thank you,” Mokuba murmured softly, lowering his gaze to the table, then staring into the patterns in the wood grain. “I’ll be right there. No, that’s … that’s fine. I’ll drive myself. You know what to do.”

Mokuba slipped his phone back into his jacket, stood up, and drew in a deep, steadying breath. “I have to … cut this one short, Ryou. Sorry we didn’t get to the actual studying part of the program. Gotta get home.”

“What, um … what’s happened?” Ryou dared to ask, licking at his lips as his insides shriveled up like a desert. “Something … serious, I take it.” He berated himself for saying something so patently obvious and stupid, but he’d always had a habit of being unable to properly articulate himself when he was nervous.

Mokuba’s eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I’d … say this is serious.”

A pause.

“My father’s dead.”

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