Chapter 3: Fallen angel, is the trend this year.
Ending 1 of 2 (alternative ending coming soon!)
By: Eternalukyou
This is the ending I first intended to write, but it's not the one I wanted to write. Some time you have to do what right for the story before you do what you want to do for the story. Sorry this update took so long, but I had to wait for just the right mood to come around before I could write it. I also plan on writing a squeal story to which ever ending is most favored. It will be most angst-y and full of heaviness, which is only really hinted in this story, but thick in many of my other writings.
In another note, I don't own Ouran, if I did you probably wouldn't like it very much. Comments are welcome but flames will only be used to cook my House of Pain Stir-fry!!
Thank you and enjoy the show!
Tamaki fell into a strange trace as he rode home. He held this hat in his
hands, the satin shone in the dim light that came through the tinted
windows, and it made his hands seem pale.
He thought of her hands, so cold, laying on floral pink sheets for days on end with out so much as a twitch. How he had spent so many long nights holding that hand, head down beside her chest, waiting, praying for
movement, for even a sign that this was in God's plan, and that it would all be okay. He didn't want to admit that, perhaps it was, as so was her eventual death.
He did not hear the driver speak to him, or the noise of the traffic around him. He could only hear himself, and the strange voice he
swore was speaking to him from just beyond his shoulder.
"Maybe I'm loosing it… maybe… I've finally gone over the edge"
he thought, staring at his hands. "Maybe, I want so badly to be her prince
that I've finally lost it all, and this is simply a dream…a nightmare.
Tears welled in his eyes and blurred his vision, never once in his life had
he felt this horrible sinking feeling in his whole being, this heaviness in
his chest that went all the way to this toes. He felt ill, and wanted to vomit, to curl up on the seat and sob.
What was this? Where did this feeling of intense sadness come from so suddenly? The world felt so dark around him, as if all light and goodness had gone farther away than the stars, and he was so alone. And
would always be alone, if… he couldn't save her, he knew, he would feel like
this forever.
And for the first time in his life, Tamaki curled up on the back seat of his car and sobbed whole heartedly in to his ruffle sleeves and wondered why he had never felt so sinfully unhappy before.
His trance did not seem to break as he stepped out of the car;
he did his best to wipe the tears from his face, but not to hide his red
eyes and flushed cheeks. Rain began to fall, and for the longest moment, he
stood there in the downpour and looked to the sky. Drops ran off the brim of
this hat and soaked the shoulder of his velvet jacket. The clouds overhead
where huge, and some of the darkest he had ever seen. It would be one hell
of a storm tonight. He wondered if the host club had gotten out of the rain in time, and mourned that by morning the Sakura would be gone, and Haruhi would not be able to see them this year… or perhaps any other.
Just as Tamaki stepped into Haruhi's room, changed and dry he
was greeted with a surprise of a familiar face. Kyoya sat in one of the high back chairs, and was actually speaking aloud, looking intensely at Haruhi.
"What are you…?" Tamaki's voice was soft, almost too soft to be heard above the driving rain on the window.
"Nothing…" he closed the notebook he was holding and set it in his lap. "You really upset some of the customers by leaving."
"I know, I'm…I'm sorry." He sat down across from him, Haruhi's corpse-like body between them. "I had to… go…" He hung his head, in shame and in sadness.
He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "It's alright, it started
to rain just after you left, so we had to get everyone to leave in a hurry anyways. "
Tamaki watched his gestures, at Kyoya's hands, as they moved.
His long fingers well suited for musicals talents. His perfect sandy skin,
the very same shade as Haruhi's. He looked at his own trembling hands, pale
in the moonlight. He would never be the same as them. Kyoya's dark hair that
shown in the light like halo, his unusually tal build favored by the
Japanese women. Looking at Kyoya and then to Tamaki was like looking at day and night. And sitting on either side of Haruhi they look liked angels from either side of the afterlife waiting to tempt the soul of one so near death.
"I'm… I'm afraid Kyoya…" Tamaki would not look at him, and brought his hands to his face.
"Tamaki?"
"I'm afraid you will rescue her…" His voice cracked "And I will be left…"
Kyoya was taken aback, never had head such despair in his friends voice. Never such sorrow. Tamaki had a flair for the dramatic, this
was so. He was constantly in a perpetual state of highs and lows, but not like this. The darkness in his tone; the hopelessness in this voice; the way
he sat hunched like a freighted child, trembling like a scared rabbit. This was not the Tamaki he had ever known. This was not the Host Club King so full of life and expression, and all the other good things in life. In fact it seemed like life itself was slowly draining out of him. One tear, one rain drop at time, he was slowly fading away, and soon he would be nothing
at all but a hollowed shell of what he once was.
Kyoya looked upon Haruhi, her cheeks sucked, hair lack-lustered,
and her skin sheet white in the moonlights. She looked like a princess frozen in time, on a bed of pink and flowers. If she only knew what she was doing to Tamaki, how her selfish suicide was killing him too, maybe she would change her mind. Not that she cared as much for Tamaki was Tamaki
liked to think she did, Kyoya knew she would never want to hurt him like
this, that's why she never…
Never mind, that wasn't important now.
He closed his eyes and thought back to that night.
The phone call had come just as Kyoya was about to lie down for the night.
As his private line rang, he expected it to be Tamaki and picked it up
rather rudely. But then the panicked voice came over the line. It had been
Ranka, sobbing, crying so loudly he could not understand the frantic father.
After a few moments of trying to calm him down, he got the story out of him.
Kyoya had never dressed so quickly in his life. The car ride across town was
a frantic swarm of phone calls to every one of his personal doctors. Only the best, the most gentle, the most educated. Only the best for the host
club princess. For his princess. But all the while, his face and town remained as calm and smooth as a water-worn stone. And perhaps that's what he way. He let the water of panic and water wash over him and fall away. He was an island of serenity in an ocean of turmoil.
He arrived at the Fujioka residence before any other. He did not even knock, but burst right in. Ranka was cradling the body of his daughter.
"Put her down, don't touch her." Kyoya said calmly, but Ranka stood up, about ready to yell at him. "The less you touch her the more the evidence will be intact. It will be the only way to find who did this." He
went down on his knees beside her and leaned close to listen. He breaths
where shallow, and labored, almost a wheeze. Her heart beat was steady, but
slow. She was alive. Her father had wrapped her in a blanket since she was
bare, save for a necklace and a pair of socks. Her nudity did not phase him,
however the blood on her thighs did, and the growing stain on he blanket. He
told Ranka to get something plastic to put under the blanket so as not to
stain the tatami. This cool tone and attitude seemed to calm Ranka down
tremendously. Kyoya explained, the doctors and ambulance where on the way,
that she would be given the best of care, free of change, and in complete secrecy. He knew how scandals could affect the working class just as much as they could affect the high class.
Kyoya wanted to reach out and stroke her face, but instead he periodically leaned over and listened to her breathe. The simple sound of
her troubled breathing calmed his pounding heart. She was breathing; she was alive. There was hope.
At one such moment, she moaned softly and her eyes fluttered open a little and she looked at him. "K-Kyo…ya..." He reached out with a shaking, feeble
hand and grasps his wrist. "please… make it… stop hurting." Tears where slowly welling in her eyes. "And… don't… don't tell… the others, especially Tamaki… He would be… so… upset. Please… Kyo- ah" she winced with pain and cried out shrilly before nearly going limp. "… Don't look at me with… such pain…"
She fell limp again, only a blood stained hand print on his shirt remained of what was once the child known as Haruhi. He saw, for that moment, the childlike innocence that once lit up her eyes like a brilliant candle, and had been extinguished, perhaps forever. She was no longer with sin, with shame or remorse. It had all been stolen from her, as does happen
far to often in this world.
Kyoya's mind was brought back to the present by his friend's
cries. He felt sorry for Tamaki, for giving into the darkness within him.
He had always thought Tamaki was so strong, covering up his unhappiness with
that princely mask. Hiding from the evil in his mind at the host club. But
here he was. He had thrown away his crown, and walked away from his club,
and he was a sobbing, broken wreck. All over a woman, that may never return
the feelings he had for her.
Just as he began to think it had been an awfully stormy year,
the sounds of distant thunder rolled softly, just loud enough to be heard by
those listening to the external world, instead of the internal one.
Tamaki was crying and whimpering and talking to himself in a soft, self indulgent babble.
"I love you… I love you Haruhi…"
Thunder clapped far away. Kyoya stood up and walked towards the window. He looked into his own reflection's eyes and smirked.
"If not tonight…" he said in a hushed whisper, and ra his fingers over the cold glass. "Then never at all." The drops slid down the
windows in sheets. The world was cast in darkness, and despair. It was as if, in Tamaki's fit, he had sucked all the color from the world, except for
the pretty pink sheets Haruhi lay upon.
The lightening flashed again, getting closer. It light up the
sky in white-purple light for a moment, making the shadows hard and long.
And as it died the shadows chased it away in a strange game of
hide-and-seek. This reminded Kyoya, of his friend and how it seemed Tamaki
was always chasing the shadows, but she always ran from his light.
He reached for the curtain to pull it closed, to shut away the
dreary world, when lighting struck the iron fence in front of the house.
For a moment, Kyoya was blinded by the light, and deafened by the sound of
splitting metal and screams of the house maids. He stood clutching the
curtain in one hand and his ear with the other. His eyes where closed
tightly, watering from the sting of the light.
As the ringing in his ears faded, Tamaki's sobs come back to his hear. But… wait! Those wasn't Tamaki's sobs!
He turned, and his breath caught in his lungs. The chair had
been bawled over backwards and there on the floor was Tamaki, holding her
more tightly than he had ever seen him hold anyone, and Haruhi was curled up
in a light ball in his arms, and she was sobbing. Shocked and stunned, he stood there, watching with wide eyes as Tamaki's broken heart was slowly mended and re-crowned. He stroked her hair and hushed her softly and spoke sweet nothings into her ear. She did not pull away, or tremble. She only cried a deeply mournful cry and gripped his shirt in her hands.
"I stayed by your side Haruhi. I brought you to my home and I kept you safe. I won't ever let you be in danger again. Shhhh... hush
princess, you are safe now. Shhh, shhh, it's alright…" He softly pressed his
lips to her soft forehead. "I'm you're prince, and I will always rescue you,
because princess, I love you…"
Owari
That's the original ending to "would you say it to save me?" I am working on
a second ending and then a sequel about how Haruhi and Tamaki work through
this touch time that is to follow.
On a very serious note: Rape is not something to be taken lightly. I write
these stories as a victim, and as a survivor. If you or anyone you know is a
victim of rape SPEAK UP! DO NOT sit quietly! It is not your fault and love
is not supposed to hurt! I know it is hard to stand up, but you have to. And
if you know someone, say it to save them! Tell them you love them, and then
tell a teacher, a cop, a counselor, rape hotline, anything, you can even
e-mail me Don't let rapists get away with it
any longer! Protect your friends and your loved one and speak out!