Pita Ten Fan Fiction ❯ Just Keep Walking ❯ Chapter 1

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Just Keep Walking
Disclaimer: Don't own Pita-Ten.
Just keep walking.
He had to get to the Council. Had to tell them what they already knew. He wrinkled his nose in utter disgust with himself. He had failed. His one duty and he'd failed it.
Anger bubbled in his chest, filled his mouth with a foul taste.
He was a failure.
Just keep walking.
All of this was because of this stupid charge. She'd gotten to him, gotten past the barriers he'd worked tirelessly to erect, created something in the cavity of his chest that pattered and fluttered and beat. She'd tended to it, helped it grow. It thrived off every word she spoke, flourished with every gentle touch. This disease that she'd plagued him with made him feel. He felt! And not only that but he felt many, many things! Sorrow and pain, hope and happiness, and… and even…
No, he would not say it, would not think it. Either would make the feeling real to him. And the feeling would not be real to him. He would not allow it to be.
Just keep walking.
This fluttering, beating thing in his chest was annoying him. It was wrenching, threatening to tear in half, shatter into a million pieces. All because of the stupid girl in his arms.
She was so much more trouble than she was worth.
Just keep walking.
He wanted to look at her one last time. He wanted to touch her, caress her cold, pale face, run his fingers through that dark, dark hair just as she'd done to him on numerous occasions. His hands trembled with the strain it took to keep them from doing so. But that trembling, fluttering thing! That horrible, disgusting deformation of beating tissue in his chest! It wanted to do those things. It insisted on it. And it seemed to be so much stronger than he could ever be.
But that can't be so!
Just keep walking.
How could something inside of him be controlling him? He should be the one in control. He ruled his body, no one and nothing else. But he couldn't stop as his fingers edged into the dark, dark hair, skimmed over the soft, smooth skin of her neck.
He shivered at the sensations. She was so perfect in every way. But she was cold. She was so very cold.
He wondered absently if her lips tasted the same way in death as they did in life. He'd only taken a little taste last time, just a tiny test. But in that little test he'd become addicted. He wanted her as any addict wanted his fix. And he'd waited so long for his drug.
Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, his blond hair sweeping across his vision to touch her forehead just as lips met lips. The taste was the same. Soft, just like everything else about her. But she was still so cold. It increased the wrenching of her creation in his chest to the point of pain.
He drew his lips away and it was only then that he noticed it. He'd stopped walking.
So he took a deep breath, hardened his gaze and ran the words like a mantra in his head.
Just keep walking.