Unsaid

I was capable of love once. It was so long ago, it just makes you realize how heartless one can be. But Haku. He gave his love and devotion to me so freely, so openly. It pulled at my heart, made me feel guilty about how I continued to treat him. Call it a defense mechanism, call it whatever you want. I never asked him to love me, I didn't need that. When I thought about it, I always wondered why. Why did I take him in? Why didn't I leave him to die, or even put him out of his misery all those years ago? I didn't know the answers to those questions, I always just went with it being obtaining a weapon to fulfill my desire to rule the land of water.

It didn't work out the way I wanted it to, but he never left my side. Even when I pressured him into things he didn't quite get the concept of. Things like sex, and lust. He never questioned me, he always went along with it, though I know that he didn't understand. He grew up to be very beautiful. I know that he didn't exactly like the way he looked, but I did. He outshone any woman I've ever looked twice at. I found myself looking at him the way I looked at women in the past. Pale skin, long, silky black hair, large brown eyes, and feminine facial features. He was very small, even for his age, but that didn't take away from his appeal.

He said it was because he was born premature, and that malnourishment stunted his growth, but he was far more mature mentally than physically. There was something about him that melted the thick layer of ice around my heart. I couldn't help but smile at times, especially when he would talk about such things as love and devotion. I knew how he felt about me, and I still continued to use him without feeling. Without remorse. After so long, he was used to it, and since he turned fifteen, he came to me rather than waiting for me to go to him. It was tiresome at times, but I could never say no, not to him. The pleading look in his eyes, seeking relief from the pressure building up between his legs. He told me it was almost painful, and he didn't like the build up of pressure and the tightening in his belly he felt just before orgasm.

But he did, however, like the feeling of everything surging and forcing it's way out of his body. He said it felt like heaven. He liked the relaxed feeling after, as well.

I watched him closely those days. Every move was graceful, as though he were an angel floating through the air, gliding across the ground in careful steps. One would never know he was there, he moved so silently. There was no sound, no shifting of fabric. The only time he had really made any noise while moving was when I had let him have sake for the first time. He had actually stumbled loudly down the hall, giggling and shushing himself, braced against the wall to keep from falling. The boy was a lightweight. I had actually ended up carrying him to bed, where he promptly buried himself in a pile of blankets and pillows, and then passed out. He awoke hungover the next morning.

I continued to watch him, just as he watched me. There were many things I wanted to tell him, so many turmoiled thoughts. But most of all, I wanted to thank him, for everything. For not leaving my side, for providing me comfort and company when I needed it. He knew me better than anyone, he understood the pain and turmoil of my life. He knew what I had done, and never once turned his back to me. My dream was his dream, something he fought to protect. There were so many things that I wanted to say to him.

But I never got the chance. He died on a bridge that day, as it was destined to be. Ten years before, I had found him on a bridge. It seems that one thing, in two different places, linked us together forever.