This thing just took me while I was driving. Although a guessfic,
it's pretty easy. Warning: It really is @$%&ing depressing...
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* The Blade *
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By Freemage
I enter the bathroom, slip the robe off and sit on the stool.
I suppose they'll blame him.
It won't be fair, but that is seldom an issue around here.
I finish rinsing off and step into the furo, slowly sinking into the
hot water, feeling the heat work out the kinks in my muscles. I set
the blade on the edge of the tub, for now. Everyone will be out late,
so there's plenty of time.
It isn't his fault, not really. He had no choice, or at least no
tolerable one. How cold I have asked him to stay, when staying would
have forced him to abandon everything, his whole life? No, it was
better that he leave. At least one of us could have a life, then.
They tried to be supportive--in their unique way, of course--after
he was gone. For them, this mainly meant trying to keep from
upsetting me, which meant avoiding the subject altogether. And so we
all carried on as if nothing had happened, never discussing my shame.
I pick up the blade and study it, silvery metal fogged by
condensation.
I hold the blade to my left wrist, using just enough force to break
the blood vessel. After going so long, not allowing myself to feel
anything, the pain is as sweet as a lover's kiss. I extend the
intimacy of the moment, slowly drawing the razor's edge down my
forearm. When I am finished, three red lines--two horizontal, one
vertical, just like his books said--mark the blade's path.
I lower my arm into the water and watch, fascinated, as crimson
ribbons surge from the vein and dance in the hot water of the furo.
Some of them will probably blame each other, or themselves, too.
And again, not rightly, but such is the way of this odd menagerie.
I switch hands, and bring the razor to my right wrist. This time, I
drive it deeper into the flesh. If the first cut was a kiss, then
this is the final consumation. I complete the same three-line pattern
in a passionate frenzy, as I want to finish before my left hand grows
too weak.
Finished, I let the blade drop into the steaming water, watching it
tumble as it falls through the rapidly darkening liquid, as I lower my
arms into the water for a final time.
I hope they will forgive me for my selfishness, my cowardice. I
tried so hard, after he left, to live for them. But as the days, and
weeks, and months passed, I realized that I was dying anyway, being
replaced by some grotesque doppelganger, an absurd caricature of
myself. I had to do this, before all that is me was gone, replaced by
a souless husk masked by a vapid smile.
The darkness is coming, now, and I can see something (someone?)
taking shape on the other side of the veil. I wonder what (who?) it
is?
Oh, my.
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Author's Ramblings:
Although I'm relatively new to the ML, I don't think Kasumi's gotten
much treatment like this. We've all seen the clueless Kasumi, the
subtle Kasumi, even the psycho Kasumi. But this struck me as the most
likely explanation for two mysteries of R.5: Whatever happened to
Tofu, and why does Kasumi grow dumber? Even as late as Volume 10,
the Tendo caregiver is seen arming Akane, "just in case" Ranma tries
something. Silly and overreacting, sure, but at least she takes an
active hand, and does influence events, as her comments eventually
lead to Akane's interpretation of Ranma's hug as an outright assault.
It seems likely to me that the emotional infants of R.5 would have
no idea how to handle Kasumi's abandonment by the good Doctor. Trying
to pretend it never happened would be very much IC for this group,
IMNSHO.
Since this is my first "real" fic (that Gosunkugi spamfic
notwithstanding), I would really appreciate feedback of any kind,
including flames (as long as they have some kind of point to them).
Thanks for reading!
--Freemage
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