𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 | 𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 [MINOR EDITING]

𝟏𝟑 | 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬

I slide a shaking, bloody hand down my face, immediately removing it when the wetness registers. What have I done? Things just happened so suddenly, so fast...! I was only trying to go to the washroom! If only I had been a little more drunk, maybe I wouldn't have heard her scream. Maybe she would be alive in front of me, instead of lying there; a blank-eyed, lifeless, blood-covered corpse. She should be the one holding this baby! Not me!

"What have I done?!" I cry, vocalizing the nightmare in front of me. I can barely hear it over the newborn's wailing. "Oh god... Sōjun... What have... I done..."

I have to find him. I have to tell him; tell someone what's happened. What I've caused. Whose life I've ended. I want nothing more than to leave this scene behind, leave the child, leave the Soul Society... Just, leave.

And suddenly, like an anvil, reality crashes down over me and sends thought-crippling waves through me. I'm still just a child, myself.

This isn't the kind of life I desired to live. Why did I have to die? Why do I deserve this? Is it because of how terrible and selfish I was to all the servants back in the World of the Living?

Just look at me, wallowing over myself, when it's this girl who has just lost her second chance at life... when it's this child who's lost his mother.

I mentally damn myself, at the same time I hear several pairs of footsteps coming toward the room from down the same hallway. The doors slide open with a bang, and standing in the threshold is Tanuma, and Sōjun.

I bite down on my lip.

"Abaron, what's happened?" Tanuma demands. But I'm at a loss. I don't know what to say to them. "Abaron!"

So I watch Sōjun stumble over to his deceased wife, instead, cradling their child to my trembling body. I had only just met the man, but I hadn't thought it possible for him to make such an expression.

"Sōjun," I manage to spit out. "Sōjun, I-I... She was... She just... I'm... I'm so sorry!"

The baby starts to cry again. I let out a series of strangled hisses, meaning for them to come out as gentle shushes through my grief, and Tanuma kneels beside me. He reeks of alcohol, but does his best to console me by stroking the back of my head.

"You..." I shut my eyes, and wait. "You had everyone attend that farce of a party, even though you knew she was due any day now, even though you knew she was ill..." Surprise overwhelms me, and my head snaps back up to look at him. His wife's head in his lap, he brushes her hair back, combing his thin fingers through her hair in longing. "... this is all your fault."

"Sōjun, don't blame your brother," I say, before things can escalate. "I encouraged her labour, I-I didn't know she was ill... she didn't say anything..."

Sōjun looks over at me, his eyes dark, his face, glistening with his silent tears.

"You're not to blame, Abaron," he says quietly. "You didn't know. You tried to help. I... am grateful for your presence."

"N-No, Sōjun--""Did she at least name him?" he asks.

"Y-Yes," I stammer. I think back to her final words. "... Byakuya. She said, Byakuya."

"Byakuya," Sōjun repeats. He looks out the doors, and outside. It's gotten dark out. I hadn't noticed it until now, considering the doors had been closed, but it's been snowing.

"'Winter's Night'," I say. Sōjun bends forward, and presses his lips to his wife's head. I watch him, the tears building in my eyes, when he lays her back down, stands, and walks toward me. Tanuma excuses himself from my side, and rushes out of the room.

"How is he?" he asks me.

"He's okay, don't worry," I say. "Here, come hold him."

"Please," he says, his voice hoarse. Carefully, awhile supporting his head, I pass Byakuya over to him, and collapse against the wall behind me.

When I wake up, it is no longer night. The sun has risen, and shines painfully bright through... my open window?

I sit up, my memory foggy, but as soon as I've adjusted to my consciousness, I remember the events of the previous night. I make a fist, trying to shake the sensation of the baby having been in my arms. But as time drags on, it only intensifies. I can still feel his small head in the crook of my elbow; hear his cries echoing in my ears; see his pale eyes and soft, black hair.

"Well, would you look at that," I say, my voice trembling. "I'm turning out just like you, mother. Already responsible for taking someone's life..."

Updated October 10th, 2022 | 841 words