Maka and Soul ~ A new Madness

Urge(ncies)

Soul P.O.V.

I went into Maka's room and looked through the alphabetically organized books for her favorites. She always reads her favorite books when she's sad, and you can tell which ones they are, because they're the most worn out on the spine. I ran my fingers along the tall shelf she had. Originally, she had her mothers old bookcase, with only two shelves that was in such a sad state that the wood that was holding the books was sagging. It became so over piled with books, that I insisted that we go out and find another bookshelf. I was always getting Maka new books too, which probably didn't help. They were always overflowing our apartment, and sometimes I would get so irritated with them that I would force a box onto her, and tell her to pick her least favorites. I smiled at the memory of her saying, "But-but they're all my favorites!" she had insisted, adding in "you got them for me, so I can't just get rid of them," I shook my head, chuckling to myself. This year, she had reached 437 books. A ridiculous amount in my opinion, because some of them where children's books yet, mementos from her younger years that she refused to pack away. She had began to run out of space again, as there were books occupying most of underneath her bed, on top of other books, and scattered on shelves meant to hold knick-knacks. There were even some on our coffee table and in my room!

In the end, I picked out "The Catcher in the Rye", "The Perks of Being a Wallflower", "A Tale of Two Cities", "A Prayer for Owen Meany", "Virals" and "The Fault in Our Stars," I grabbed her iPod, figuring she would want to listen to music. I also decided to call up Tsubaki, Black*, Kid, and the Thompson sisters, and let them know of our current situation. I explained to them what had happened, and that Maka was currently in a stable situation. They all agreed to visit the hospital later today, as it was only 10 am. After talking with them all, I grabbed Maka's book-bag, and filled it with her clothes, bathroom necessities, books, and iPod. I don't know why, but I felt the need to listen to Maka's music for once. She had a password, but I knew Maka better than anyone, and thought that it would probably be her favorite word. (It's cognitive by the way) I opened her music, and looked through her playlists. She had several based on moods, and time. I decided on "Detached," I put in her green headphones, and put on her black backpack as well.

Each song was slow and melancholy, broken, infatuated people singing about common woes. It was heartbreaking.  I decided to walk so I could listen to all of the songs.

"Every Little Thing She Does is Magic," by Sleeping At Last came to play.  It was happier than the rest, but it still sounded sad.

I wanted to run to Maka, to be at her side and protect her. We weren't kids anymore, and in all honesty: I'm terrified of the future, of losing her. I don't know what I'd do without her. Sure, I talk big, but I'm loyal to Maka and only Maka.

"Please, don't let her leave me," I silently prayed to some omnipresent power.

Maka's P.O.V

When Soul came through the door, I put up a mental stronghold and barriers.

"Don't get emotional," I told myself, "You can't feel anything."  But that didn't stop me from feeling the butterflies, or my heart pounding. I curled up my toes and scrunched the blanket under I was under subconsciously.

Soul offered up the bag and I ripped it out of his hands, digging through it ravenously to ignore the feelings I had for him. Thoughts moved by as if they were insects: erratic and pesky. "Kiss me," , "Hold me," , "Keep me safe," and the worst one, "Tell him what you really are,"

I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. Tears welled up in my eyes and I tried to blink them away. 

"I brought everything you asked for," he paused and looked at me, "Are you okay, Maka?" And he placed his hand on mine. I reluctantly pulled my hand from his grasp.

"C-can I just have some time to myself?" My words came out cracked and hoarse.

"Yeah-Yeah of course Maka. But I'm here if you need anything. He planted a kiss on my forehead and I involutarily shuddered when he did so. He seemed downtrodden when he left the room.

I sat there in the brightness of the afternoon, quietly as I could masking my sobs.

"Stop, stop, stop,"

"You'll trigger it,"

But it didn't matter anymore. If I couldn't feel, what was the point of living? I wanted to feel.  I wanted to be happy. This was 10x worse than living any Kishin hell.

"Help me,"