Pedestal

God, what had he done? It'd just been a mistake. One tiny, miniscule mistake.

He knew more than anyone how devastating a mistake could be. That was why he always made sure to be responsible, why he locked all the pain and the guilt, the bitterness and the memories away, why he wrapped the mantle of his dignity and position around his shoulders and never let it falter.

But the night before it had just been too much. Two years, exactly, from the day he had killed his best friend and closest family member. And Central 46 wanted him to go back to the World of the Living—how could they ask that of him? Didn't they know what Karakura Town was to him, what had happened there, what it represented? Why couldn't they just leave him to his paperwork, to his internal investigations, to training his squad?

"We let you wait too long," Yamamoto had lectured. The bastard. "You can't hide forever, Toushirou."

He sure as hell could. They didn't know, didn't understand the extent of the fury, the darkness inside of him. Or if they did, they didn't know how fragile a hold he really had on it all or how much that hold depended on suppressing his memories.

So he'd given into weakness, just for the night. One night to fall apart, to drown his sorrows, then he'd wake up and resume his duties and go to Karakura Town and be responsible again.

He'd awakened naked with a pounding headache and a fuzzy memory. He knew he had gone to a bar, some nameless, faceless watering hole in Rukongai, and drunk until he barely knew his own name. And then a woman was there. Someone he knew. There was hugging, teasing, kissing. He took her home with him. He remembered thinking this would make it better, that she could help him forget.

The rest was a blur. He was pretty sure he had acted like a wild animal. Grabbing, taking, not waiting for an invitation or seeing to her pleasure. He wasn't even sure she had reached fulfillment.

Cursing, Toushirou finally dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. If only he knew who the woman was, he could apologize, make it up to her.

He didn't think he could feel any guiltier. Then he tripped over something on his way through the door.

He looked down at a crumpled pink scarf.

Fuck.

She never should have put him up on that pedestal. Why had she? He could be just as vicious as any other man.

It was like a dream that had suddenly turned into a nightmare. She'd thought if there was one man she could trust to treat her with care, it was Hitsugaya Toushirou.

She'd been wrong.

She'd found him in a bar. She supposed that should have been a warning. She'd hugged him and teased him about going all the way to Rukongai just for green tea.

Then he'd kissed her, the taste of whiskey as intoxicating as his own rich flavor on her tongue.

She'd thought her fantasies were coming true, that the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions, allowing him to finally show her that he felt the same way about her that she did for him.

She loved him, loved his strength and his wit and his unwavering loyalty. He was what she'd always wanted.

So when he'd pulled her against him and shunpoed away, she'd gone with him eagerly.

She should have looked the gift horse in the mouth.

In her dreams, he had always been gentle, loving, just a little bit timid and unsure. He saw to her pleasure foremost and often, made her feel safe, cherished, loved.

In reality, he'd made her feel cheap. He'd ripped her clothes off to roughly fondle her breasts, pushed her to her knees and shoved his length down her throat until she choked, tears stinging her eyes and staining her cheeks. He had cared nothing for her comfort, done nothing for her pleasure. When he'd finally softened and slid out of her, falling into a drunken sated sleep, she'd wrapped herself in the remains of her tattered uniform and slunk off to the bathroom to wash his touch off her body. She'd refused to cry.

Then she'd crept out of the taichou's quarters and returned to her own rooms, wondering what the hell to do next.

Rangiku shuddered, pulling a blanket closer to her body, subconsciously mirroring her actions from the night before.

She wished she never had to see him again, but she had to go into work. She wouldn't run and hide. She'd face his cocky smirk and knowing stare with her head held high.

Really, he had done nothing wrong. She'd been available, so he'd taken her in the way a man takes a woman. At no point had she struggled, told him to stop, or tried to leave. Her taichou was an honorable man; she was sure he would have stopped if she'd asked. Right?

So why didn't I? Because she'd wanted to sleep with him. She'd just had visions of it being beautiful, of it meaning something. She thought he'd be different. And she'd been disappointed.

Get real, Rangiku. You've been reading too many romance novels. Sex was rough. It always left you feeling used and dirty. And men were all the same.

As for pedestals, well, they were dangerous.