Cruel to be Kind

Thu, 06 Oct 2005 19:49:09 GMT

Saionji stared at the patches of white that remained on the paint strewn canvas. Dark eyes were fixed on the gaps, amethyst depths narrowed but unseeing. Tendrils of hair rested against the sides of his face and neck, locks that had slipped free of the low bound ponytail held in place with a strip of black leather. He shifted, the slightest motion, a drop of paint fell from the end of the paintbrush to stain the newspaper covered floor beneath bare feet. The rustling of the paper was followed closely by movement in the bed behind him and the sleepy murmur of a husky voice. 'Go back to sleep fangirl.' He thought silently towards the young, self proclaimed devotee. They all were, inlove with a infamous painter Kyoichi Saionji who's surreal renderings, supposedly, captured their hearts.

But they all seemed no more but shallow imitations of what women should be. That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a true princess. It's what he craved, and what he didn't deserve. His violet gaze fell on the bottle of pills by the nightstand and he sighed, setting the brush down on the canvas ledge. His prescription; recomended by his therapist to control his anger. But taking them only roused all the more anger and with it vicious memories. And how damning the things he remembered, the loss of everything he cared about. Himemiya, but last he heard she was living with Tenjou...in one place or another. But the fixation had long past, or so he hoped. There was a new figure that haunted his dreams now, and amber haired princess he'd once hurt.

Again there was motion from the bed and a petite blonde lifted a gleaming head, flaxen curls gleaming innocently in the moonlight that came through the huge windows. "Kyoichi? Come back to bed."

"Can't you see that I'm busy." the words were harsh, scathing and he offered only one glance at the look of surprise and injury that appeared on her pretty face. "Go to sleep. You're bothering me."

It was a cold thing to say, but it was better she not develop deeper feelings for him. In only a short time they'd get tired of each other, as it always went, and when that time came he wanted his freedom. No strings. He picked up the paintbrush again in time with the sound of the girl pulling the black silk sheets up over her head. One hand went to massage his forhead while the other moved to fill in the blank spaces with deeply defined autumn leaves that framed the rendering of the princess with hair like maple and eyes of deep almond.

He didn't notice the strangly jade shaded rose that appeared on the windowsill. There one second, gone the next.

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Cruel to be Kind