Words Will Never Hurt Me

> So sorry this took so long! I have no idea what happened last time, but apparently AFF at my chapter. >_< Thanks to antilogicgirl for letting me know!

>antilogicgirl: Sorry to cause you distress over Iwai-kun, but I promise things will get better...just not right away, lol.


Chapt. 2: Tears and Tatters


Iwai sat huddled on the floor, knees to his chest and back against his bed. Two weeks. It had been two weeks since he’d heard Shinomiya’s cold opinion of the supposed relationship Iwai had thought they shared. Two weeks since Shinomiya had come to check on him. Two weeks since Iwai had effectively pushed Shinomiya right out of his life. He still couldn’t believe his friend had bought that cheap lie. Shinomiya was never one to buy Iwai’s excuses before, why now?
‘Because I’m only another duty to him.’ Iwai thought derisively.

He’d assured Shinomiya that he was fine and simply had a project he was working on. Iwai had always been particular about people seeing his unfinished work, and it wasn’t unusual for the artist to lock himself away in order to complete a project. Iwai supposed that was why Shinomiya had let his recent behavior slide. But two weeks? Iwai couldn’t remember any time when he’d taken so long to finish anything or when Shinomiya would let him hole up with a project for so long. The only conclusion left was that the archer was avoiding him.

‘But really, who could blame him?’ Iwai thought morosely.

He had always known how trying he could be. He was often ill, and when it wasn’t that, he was depressed. Iwai knew no one could deal with that for too long. At first, he had tried to push the well-meaning Dorm Leader away, trusting that Shinomiya would eventually grow tired of him and leave anyway. But over the months, Shinomiya had shown nothing but enduring patience and a kind of understanding that Iwai couldn’t help but begin to believe in. He had even started to gradually widen his circle of friends and trust. But now it seemed that he had been right all along.

Iwai sighed deeply, more of his almost gray-blonde hair falling into his face as his stomach growled stubbornly. He glared down at the offending organ, willing it to cease so he could better ignore it. Iwai hadn’t been down to the cafeteria more than a handful of times in the last couple of weeks. He wished he could say that food just didn’t interest him right now, and maybe that wasn’t entirely untrue, but in the back of his mind, Iwai knew it had less to do with his appetite and more to do with Shinomiya. It sounded so petty, even to his mind, but Iwai had really hoped Shinomiya would notice. That the archer would grow concerned and once again shove his way into Iwai’s crowded dorm and insist that he eat.

Shinomiya hadn’t noticed though, or if he had, he simply hadn’t cared. It was a bitter sting to Iwai. Shinomiya had become a constant in his life. They ate together, spent time together, and shared their deepest feelings and insecurities with one another. At least, that was what Iwai had thought. Had he not heard Shinomiya’s words himself, he still would. He hadn’t wanted to believe Shinomiya really felt that way about him. That his friend considered him a duty or a job, but the fact that Shinomiya didn’t care enough to know he had been lying about having a project proved it. Any friend would know better and would have come. Shinomiya was no friend to him.

The small artist hugged his knees a little tighter to his chest as that thought entered his mind, the bitterness that filled the idea almost a novelty to someone who was so characteristically meek. He had always wanted to believe that Shinomiya would be the one person in his life who would always be there. Iwai had never let himself believe that about anyone else. He had a few other friends among the students of Bell Liberty, but none knew him the way Shinomiya did. No…Shinomiya had never really known him, had he? Iwai felt another surge of anger and this time embraced it, the emotion twisting his delicate features, features never meant for such an expression.

The anger seemed to fuel him and Iwai suddenly stood, casting pain-filled golden eyes across his room and the paintings that littered it. The comforting horizon that lived in those paintings now only incited feelings of rage. Iwai glared at those mocking canvases, lip quivering as he tried to fight down the wave of sentiment that threatened to come.

‘No, I won’t miss them…don’t miss him!’

Iwai chanted it like a mantra, feeding his anger and resolve as he stalked over to the first stack of paintings leaning against his wall. The first one was destroyed with trembling hands, but the more painted blue ocean views he tore into, the easier it became. Hands meant for creating were now tearing into canvas, spreading colorful shreds across the floor of his room like streamers. Wooden frames were thrown and smashed apart, leaving their skeletons to lie among the increasing carnage.

One last painting remained standing above the wasteland of art. The yet unfinished landscape Iwai had started two weeks ago after the dinner he had shared with Shinomiya. How strange, looking back, to think that it was the last meal he would ever share with his friend. This brought a bitter laugh from the artist as his gaze panned over to his easel and the painting resting upon it.

Picking through the debris, Iwai came to stand before the easel. He glared down at the painting, pouring all the hurt and malice he felt towards the man who had inspired it into his gaze. There was none of his earlier hesitation as he tore into that incomplete landscape with satisfying ripping sounds. There was no regret when he hefted it from its place on the easel and hurled it across the room. Iwai simply stared after it in grim delight as the frame split into broken splinters.

He sunk to his knees in the middle of his room, panting, a sardonic laugh bubbling from him. Debris lay scattered around him; rainbow colored shreds of canvas, brushes and an overturned easel. Tubes of paint, some opened, sat in smears of color on his carpeted floor. It was ironic really, that in the destroying of his art, Iwai felt more expression than he ever had painting flowers or anything else for that matter. The carnage surrounding him now was true art.

So great was his satisfaction that Iwai paid hardly any mind to the way his breathing was coming in short, labored pants. His hands throbbed sullenly at his sides, splinters from he canvas’s frames digging into his delicate skin, but the artist didn’t care. He knew he had pushed it, but it was so rare for him to give in to his feelings, especially anger. His mind felt fuzzy with familiar exhaustion, but the pleasure and release he felt overshadowed it all.

Iwai’s body seemed wrapped in warmth and satisfaction at his deed despite the pounding of his heart that rang in his ears. Shinomiya would have been upset that he had exerted himself so much, but what did it matter now? Shinomiya wasn’t there anymore, and even if he had been, Iwai doubted his display of rage would be noticed. After all, he was only a duty, a job to Shinomiya. All the Dorm Leader would see was a mess to clean up.

The pounding in his head grew stronger though, as the moments passed, and his breathing refused to return to normal despite the fact that he was now simply resting. Instead of the almost pleasant fuzziness that had taken up residence in his brain, a dizziness started to creep in, bringing with it a sense of nausea. That dizziness spread out and clouded his vision, turning the littered floor of his bedroom into a colorful swirl. Iwai watched it, almost hypnotized as he tried in vain to focus. But the more he fought to focus, the more clouded his vision became. Darkness crawled along the corners of his vision, like spilled China ink. He watched it spill further, gradually blotting out the room around him, until finally, the last bit of light was snuffed out.