Disclaimer: I do not own 'Digimon: Digital Monsters'.

Summary: Sora, depressed by the thought of her parents' divorce, finds comfort in Tai. Then there's Matt, who understands her pain. But the road to love and recovery isn't painless, as Sora will come to know. Sorato/Taiora

Crisscross
Written By: Stained In Negativity
Prologue:
Darkest Corner

From my dark corner in my room, I watch as she noiselessly shuts the door, a hand placed on the knob and another pressed against the edge. When she hears the low click that assures her that of the closed door, she does not hesitate to lock it.

I manage to stifle a scuff. How many times have I had to see the girl repeat the same procedure once everyday? She can be so predictable. But who can hold her responsible? I always become aware of everything she does. She can't scramble into out of the room, she can't hide from me.

Now the second step commences. The girl stands in front of the door, hands on her hips, a grimace formed on her gorgeous face. Orange strands frame her face and illuminate the suspicion in her auburn eyes. They glide from object to object in the room, searching for anything that seems out of place.

She was furious one incident where her mother had stepped into the room merely to collect the dirty clothes. When the sun kissed girl found out, she frantically searched her room, attempting to find anything misplaced, something that her mother would have come across and taken. Then she demanded that her mother ask before entering her room.

Obviously, the sun kissed girl does not like trespassers.

Something always tells me to hide when the auburn eyes float into my corner, penetrating. It constantly seems as if the eyes stare right into mine, as if she's aware of my presence but in no way mentions me. However, I show no unease and return the glare. After a few seconds of that, the eyes move along to inspect the rest of the area.

This room was where she spent most of her days in. At times, she will not even leave the safety of the fours walls that surrounded her. She will only leave for school, and when it was out she scurried back to the fortress.

These four walls also kept her prisoner.

A crash echoes from somewhere in the apartment and the girl winces, her unfailing suspicious gaze at last broken. Turning on her heel, she strides back to the door. With nimble fingers she tucks a few ginger locks behind her ear and then presses the side of her head against the crack in the door.

That was not necessary, though.

Her mother, I presume, was yelling at her husband. The two had never had the successful marriage they hoped for. In my many years of resident in the darkest corner of the Takenouchi dwelling, I've learned every detail of their past. The husband moved out a few years ago because it was more convenient for his career, but he and the misses remained married. The sun kissed girl never understood, thus causing her distant relationship with her mother.

This somehow amuses me to no end. Though, the sun kissed girl would think the contrary.

The rest of the arguing is a blur. Some moments are of full yelling, some moments are of calmness. Just like being in the eye of a tornado. The sun kissed girl furrows her eyebrows in confusion, maybe in fear, the concern reflected in her bronzed eyes. Then the arguments reaches critical mass and words of hate are shared between the parents.

Nothing hurt more than the silence that followed.

I could actually feel the sun kissed girl solidify, the affectionate blood that flows in her veins cease being so warm and alter into something that reflected the arctic.

She pushes away from the door, her only main support system. It's as if she does not know what to do with herself. The decisions are so vivid in her psyche that they're unreadable and blurry. Moments exceed as she numbly stands there, frozen like a grey comatose sculpture.

I notice that her auburn eyes are filled with clear tears. She is careful not to let them escape, not to let them dash down her features. I'm not sure if those are tears of apprehension, sorrow, or self disgust.

Her breath seems to also cease. Maybe it's because when she exhaled, a bit of her core fractured, and with every inhale corruption enters her soul and there was no way to cleanse it. Now she's faint, but it's far better than defeat.

She's standing so motionless that I am able to sense her trembling deep within.

Coming out of her trance, she gracefully, yet hesitantly, walks towards her desk. She uncomfortably glances around, as if searching the area has not out her at ease yet. As if her parents, anyone, can see her every move. An arm extends from her body and its fingers enfold around the top left hand drawer's handle and it slides open. Hands reach inside and come out with a polished knife.

The auburn eyes shine at the sight of the weapon like a city at night. I'm petrified of what she's thinking, but deep down I'm afraid that I do know what she bears in mind, what her tactics are. This is a perfect example of times when I detest my secure, cloudy corner because I am immobilized.

The feet tiptoe into the corner that's parallel to mine. Crashing her back alongside the wall, she sinks down until she's positioned on her legs. The blade then runs along the inside of her arms, her auburn eyes in deep thought once again as they obverse the facts. From my cloudy corner, I can see sore scars crisscrossing each other in the inside of her arm. The cold blade of the knife continues to trace these crisscrosses from previous wounds.

An urge to flee from my comfortable, vague corner ascends in my mind. The need to draw the weapon away from her grasp becomes unavoidable. Yet I cannot do any of these.

Something has condemned me to the darkest corner of the sun kissed girl's sanctuary.

Even though the sight of her makes me unwell, I have this need to rescue her, to assist. How can I both hate her, yet want to be her rescuer? I would say that I'm not a very decisive individual.

From my position in the shadows, I've grown to despise her so. She's so weak and fragile. A mere paper cut and she would drown herself in her own tears. The sun kissed girl would mope for says, layering forlorn thoughts on top of previous ones.

No matter how much I despise that girl, I by some means know what she is undergoing. Some weak aspect in my body posses the vigor for sympathy. I'm able to feel the disdain of the blade as she yearningly drives it into her wrist. An inexplicable blueprint of ache and bliss explodes like fireworks in my chest as the unwanted blood seeps out of the cut. Suspense builds up mutely as the girl vacuously watches it drool down her arm and onto the floor.

What she did next didn't render me speechless.

The sun kissed girl swept her bleeding arm towards her mouth. Her long eyelashes crisscross as she closes her eyes. A faint cherry tongue brushes against the dripping blood, scooping it into the girl's mouth. Just like a chef sampling his food, the girl flavors hers. Something about it reminds her of milk. It could be high-quality, or it could be spoiled. However, the girl would not label her blood along those lines. She decides that the saying, 'Girls are made out of sugar, spice, and everything nice' wasn't the recipe they had used in her creation. Instead it was 'Salt, ennui, and everything raw.'

She abruptly lets her arm drop into her lap, uncaring of the open wound, uncaring of the blood that stained her skin and the floor. The bronze orbs drift away from the scene and unemotionally gazes out of the uncovered window.

She had never told anyone before, but she had often dreamt of soaring the cyan skies. There was something about the heavens that always caused her to marvel. Like the ravens, with their lusciously black wings, she wished to fly. Perhaps then she would be able to escape. She had come close to revealing this dream. But in her mind, the idea of letting the words reach anyone's ear drums would be worse than a bomb.

The sun kissed girl unexpectedly sighs resignedly as she rests her head against the wall, shaking the dreams and thoughts out of her mind and heart.

It was best to keep thoughtless.

So she sat there, positioned on her legs, a bleeding arm on her lap and a scarred one holding on to the desk's leg. Dark ginger strands of hair framed her gorgeous face as she rested her head on the wall, bronzed orbs drifting from object to object in the room, as if she had never been there before.

Now as I view her clearer, I'm made positive that I would love to see her dead. Nothing less, nothing more.

Just why do I scorn her so?

Because she is just like me. Every detail and cell is similar to me. She knows how I feel, and I know how she feels. When I wish to be alone, I never can be because she is beside me at all hours. I even have a private corner in her room, the darkest one. She's condemned me here. It's my purpose in life to keep her company. A silent colleague. My function is to reflect things that others see. I hate that sun kissed girl, because she is me.

I am Sora Takenouchi, and my life is falling apart.