Hurt Me

Chapter 1, Violet Dust

Setting aside his pen, Ichigo closed the notebook. He traced his fingers along the golden design embossed on the black leather, thinking of how he first started keeping a diary. It was so hard to start writing, even to take a pen into his hand or open the notebook, but after the first few words it was so hard to stop. His hand danced on the yellow paper, like the one of an artist that he was, putting all of his feelings into words until he felt tears streaming down his face. Since then, that thing was his personal psychologist, whom he told everything that came to his mind, good or bad.

Putting the diary aside he reached for his laptop, noting that the weather outside hasn't changed since he woke up that morning. The mist had covered almost everything outside: the trees in the park in front of his apartment building, the street, the street lamps. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of how nasty it should be outside. He hated the cold. And it was only the beginning of autumn. He took the laptop and his graphics tablet, a thing he worked for quite some time to buy, and, wheeling himself closer to his bed, put the laptop on the edge of the bed.

Starting the program he watched the naked figure on his bed, breathing in and out gently. She was lying on her stomach, her head tilted to Ichigo's side. Her left hand was hidden under the pillow, shoulder-length raven hair spread across the snow-white pillow and left cheek. The edge of the dark violet blanket was bunched near her waist, exposing her beauty. It was another hour or so till she woke up and Ichigo hurried to capture the sight.

It was always about the weather. It was forcing his mood, making his fingers itch to draw her. It wasn't the first time he did this while she was sleeping. And the position almost never changed, she always slept on her stomach, hiding at least one of her hands under the pillow. The only thing that changed were the colors he used. For this one he used all shades of violet and purple, and lavender. Staring at the finished drawing he couldn't help thinking how well those colors suited her. Her hair reminded him of the kind of roses that were such a dark shade of purple that looked almost black. It was so mysterious and depressing, and a tad bit violent. Her eyes were the color of amethyst. Her smooth pale skin that contrasted oh so well with her hair and the dark blanket.

She was so beautiful and so single.

After every time they had sex, he would wake up early in the morning feeling light-headed from all the thoughts spiraling in his mind like a tornado.

Would things be different if they actually dated? What would it be like to date someone at all? What if... what if let himself live?

But he knew it wouldn't work both way. He was just that kind of person, affections hurt him. Or so he made himself be. And she was his only friend, who didn't dare force him into something he didn't want. Besides, she loved her best girl friend since high school. It was her little personal drama she had no intentions to get rid of. But not many people could live long without sex, without getting all bitchy and restless, that is. And sleeping with another woman seemed wrong to her.

Yeah, what a drama-

"Are you going to stare at me whole day?" her gentle sleepy voice broke his musings, and he noticed that she was now resting on her side, the blanket covering her breast. He hardly noticed anything when he was that deep in is thoughts.

"Do you want something for breakfast?" he asked instead, saving the picture one more time and shutting down the laptop.

"Tea's fine," she yawned and stretched. "I'm gonna take a shower."

Ichigo nodded and wheeled himself into the kitchen where he set the kettle to boil and stared at the kinds of tea he had. Which to chose?

~*~*~

She hung her clothes on towel rail and turned on the water. Not waiting for the water to heat up she got under the spray, her breath hitched when the cold water hit her body.

Ichigo never noticed, but she always woke up somewhere in the middle of him drawing. She knew what he was doing, she felt it hearing the quite scratches of the pen. It felt like someone was caressing her body and it felt nice. But then the noise would stop, and she would open her eyes to meet Ichigo's unfocused gaze. It was rather unnerving, but it seemed that the man lived in a world on static images. He never noticed how the things around him changed, only the result.

The water was warm already, and she started washing her hair, her mind drifting off to the previous night's events. To some it may feel strange to have sex like they had. Considering that Ichigo's legs didn't function, she had to do all the work, but it was fine with her. She didn't need him to take her. She could take him herself.

She knew she was using Ichigo. Ichigo knew that too, but it never seemed to bother him.

Nothing bothered him, and she sometimes wanted to scream in frustration. But she never dared to argue with him. It was futile, because even her word never touched him.

Sighing, she turned off the water and dried herself with a towel. After putting on her clothes, she headed to the kitchen to see Ichigo sitting in front of the table, his back to her. On the table was a teapot covered with a yellow towel and two cups. She recognized the design on them as it was one of Ichigo's works. There were soft green tea petals that were falling down like snow.

She approached him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. One of her hands reached his right wrist covered with a black elastic wrist support. There would always be bandages under those supports, because Ichigo always covered the bandages either with supports or wore very long-sleeved t-shirts. She squeezed his wrist slightly and her heart stung a bit when she felt him wince.

"When would you stop hurting yourself?"

"When would you?"

She sight and went to sit on the other side of the small round table. It was so stupid of her to ask such a thing. Of course they won't stop any time soon. They both knew it.

She poured some tea into her cup and was greeted with the soapy smell of green tea and jasmine. The taste was the same soapy flavor, but was strangely calming.

"She's coming back next weekend," she announced between sips of her tea.

"Yeah, I know. She'd sent an email yesterday. It was half in French, but I got the idea."

"I sometimes wonder how did she get that job."

In fact, they did that often. Her friend was excellent in French, but half of the time she was so oblivious, that it was quite a big surprise that she got a job as an interpreter.

"I'm gonna go now. Have to open the dojo in an hour," she said, leaving the table to grab her jacket and her backpack. She was a karate instructor for almost a year now. Something she was very proud of, seeing as that dojo had been her second home since she was four.

He watched her put on her shoes and open the door. Then she leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, and was almost halfway down the hallway when he called her.

"Tatsuki," he waited for her to turn around, and then said something he prepared himself to say for a long time already. "I won't stop until you stop, until you forget her."

"Deal," she smirked and was gone. Only then did he notice a man with a strange hair color of blue staring at him.
"What are you staring at," he asked, even though he knew that everyone would stare at his wheelchair. But the man shook his head and disappeared behind the door of the apartment that was across from his.

He didn't know that Stark had any friends or relatives, aside of his daughter. Not that he cared.

He returned to his flat and back to his bedroom, where he turned on some classic music and moved himself onto the bed. A few more hours of sleep sounded good.

A/N: so, here's chapter two at last, yay! It's a bit too short, right? Sorry, but it was dedicated to Tatsuki and Ichigo's relationship only, and it was quite irritating to use 'she' so much, but it meant to be so. Look for a proper Grimmjow introduction in the next chapter.