Clichéd title or what? I wrote this because thirteenth division doesn't get enough angst or something? It probably doesn't make sense, even to Bleach fans who have watched episode forty-nine. Insanely shippy. Should be reconsigned to the imagination box from whence it came
at first there is nothing
then
thunder fills me like my own power
dissipating into rain, rain, dripping at the window
oh.
and I am warmsoftdry
hairy
his hairy arm brushes my jaw
it is raining
and he is holding me
and he is asleep
when did I get here?
thunder!
(real thunder)
jumping despite myself
I nuzzle closer
he stirs and
-in his sleep-
he lifts me without knowing
I do not struggle
Memories ripple, their dark pool stirred by the falling water.
It was on a rainy night, of course.
Raindrops blossomed on the lake
The leaves were refreshed
I couldn't be angry at the leaves. They didn't know.
The adrenaline left my body then, and
A dull ache. As if I had been punched in the stomach.
I wanted to be sick. I think it would have helped.
In any case the fire in my lungs-
should have cleansed me, but it couldn't.
Nothing on my hands. No blood. The rain washed my blood away.
It wasn't mine that mattered.
(My veins were filled with rainwater)
No, in keeping my hands clean I dirtied them
irretrievably.
A horrible, messy end.
(The rain lied and said it wasn't-
washing his blood into the earth
I knew the plants would grow strong through his pain and
already
so soon!
I knew that anything I planted there would grow in the fertile soil
in his memory and flesh)
And the one true testimony to his ridiculous end
was borne away by a child
not half his size
Rukia, you are the rain.
Thirteen is inauspicious, I said back then
I joked it should be fourteen
after me.
I wanted
I wanted-
to find her, tell her,
throw myself at her feet.
See the boy.
Leave myself to their mercy.
but
with every step my sodden sandals
dragged me down into the earth
where his blood had fled.
My clothes stuck to me. I was drowning where I stood.
If I cried it wouldn't matter
The rain could swallow that too.
I saw the girl embark
wanting to follow her
I waited until she left my vision and then I threw back my head
and screamed.
Darkness blotted out the edges of my vision.
I couldn't move but tremble.
I was swaying in the wind, I was a hundred feet tall and as wide as the land my leaves caught the water and I was the storm
I shrieked and sobbed and fell forward
(ruining my coat, I might add, for even now money matters)
and I spilt my blood into the earth that it might join his
the smallest sacrifice I could make, and far too late
I closed my eyes.
That night
(oh, that night)
I remember still
warm hands
standing, without seeing
naked, stripped bare of clothes that burnt with rainwater to my icy flesh
the warmth
as water gave me its love again
and I could breathe
and I cried and sobbed and called his name
and the strong fingers worked the mud from my hair
and there was blood in the water
swirling on the surface
and I was absurdly glad that it hadn't faded.
Tea was pressed into my hands
(I was dry? These clothes were not mine)
and I knew nothing more than to drink deeply
and feel my blood begin to flow once more.
That night, I stayed in his bed. His hand caressed my head
(his other pressed me to him)
and my feet were warm upon his legs
(they had to throw the socks away).
And every time I heard the rain my tears began to flow
with a direct link to my eyes, it seems,
for there was no concious decision to break
down.
but there we are.
Eventually,
the rain stopped.
And there was a morning. And bright sun.
And his hands, giving me hot tea.
And never a word, for we did not need to speak.
My toes felt for the edge of the mat
and I knew that they were warm
(and thought of those that would never be warm again).
I was offered a hand.
I took it. Stood. Felt the air move through the room.
(I took him in my arms and kissed him)
And then I led my division as only I knew how.
It was hard,
but the one who had departed was a luxury in my life, after all.
I gave up small things, like sick leave
and somehow
life went on.
(On some rainy nights I wake to discover that somehow I am no longer in my bed, alone. For this I am eternally grateful, and I still have not said thank you).