Revenge: A Story in Three-ish Acts
Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2011 11:39 pm
Two nights.
One draft.
No revisions.
No spell-checking.
No editing of any sort.
Final Destination.
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Today is the day. Today.
Walking down the long hallway, listening to the muffled chatter from classrooms as I pass by, enjoying the feel of the warm, late-Summer air on my skin, I gather myself for the task at hand. Each step takes me closer to her door, the tea room door – the door to the rest of my life, perhaps.
No. I can’t let myself get excited. I can’t let myself feel too much. Last time I was in a situation like this, something terrible happened and I... ended up here.
The cold snow against my cheek a stark contrast to the burning in my chest; cold, cold and wet, but still not enough to allow me to hold onto consciousness.
I can’t hope. But I can pray.
A few more steps and I will be there. She is most certainly there. She is always in the tea room after school. Like the morning sun: reliable.
Hanako is… everything to me. Since I’ve been at Yamaku, her mere presence has helped me to learn to love myself again, to love life. Her quiet has never bothered me; it’s just how Hanako is. But she’s sweet, and surprisingly smart – insightful -- when she does choose to speak. She’s shown herself to be compassionate, and caring, and just plain intriguing. Her voice is like, to risk sounding too clichéd, an angel’s. I cherish the few words she lets me hear each day; her small, timid voice sends shivers down my spine. And when she laughs…
I don’t know how she’ll react to my confession. It worries me. It terrifies me. A thousand thousand scenarios have run through my head – she accepts my confession, and loves me back; she rejects my confession, and never speaks to me again; she loves me, but has decided to devote her life to religion – and each one has its own pitfalls, dangers. Maybe she won’t believe me when I tell her that I don’t care about her burns; maybe she is already engaged to a childhood friend, and has been keeping it a secret; maybe she’s a secret agent, and can’t get involved in any relationships. Maybe she simply doesn’t love me. This could go wrong in any of a million ways, and I’d be left, hurt and alone, without a friend in the world.
Again.
But I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t stand to spend every day near her without being able to hold her, to feel her warmth against my chest, to bury my nose in her hair and inhale her musky, rich, slightly floral scent. The ache in my chest whenever I’m near her has become unbearable. I have to tell her.
God send that it goes well.
A deep breath, and I open the door. “Hanako?”
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All afternoon, and nothing. Nothing will come out of my mouth, no matter how I try. The lump in my throat seems to be growing by the second, and my heart is pounding in my ears. Is it cold in here? Hot? I can’t tell; my hands are sweating either way, though, and my caffeine tremors shake my arm as I take another sip of my eleventh cup of tea.
Why can’t I just say it? I made the decision; I agonized over it all last night. The dreadful, crippling fatigue clinging to my bones is an indication of how I've thought about this day, this event. Too late, now, to back out. I've made a promise to myself, and I'll not break it. My word is my bond, even in my own head.
But why, then, won't my mouth work?
“Ah... it's getting late. Do you want to...?” I can finish the question; she doesn't have to say the last word. It's about time for us to be eating.
Her chair scrapes against the floor as she stands, assuming that I will agree.
“I love you, Hanako.”
Strange, hearing the words come out of my mouth so calmly. I'm certainly not as calm as I sound, all composure and certainty. But my body is on auto-pilot; it seems the choice to confess has been taken from me, somehow. “I... am aware that this is rather sudden, but I've known you since I arrived at Yamaku, and your charms were not lost on me.” If I had control of my body, I'd be wringing my hands nervously. As it is, I sit, back straight, shoulders square, head held high, and continue.
“Each day since we met I've fallen more and more in love with you. Your sharp mind, your beautiful voice, your soft hands...” She is silent, still; I refuse to allow for the possibility that she's uncomfortable. The conversations, sparsely-populated but deep nonetheless; the late nights, she reading silently and I just enjoying the night air; the nervous squeezes of my hand as we walk through crowded school hallways. Surely, surely she feels the same way about me.
“Though it sounds embarrassingly trite, I can't live without you. Every day, I wake up looking forward to seeing you; each evening, I go to sleep with thoughts of you in my head.” Still, the girl in front of me does not react. I soldier on. “Maybe I am being silly. Perhaps you don't have feelings for me.” PLEASE have feelings for me. “But I have feelings for you, Hanako, and I can't hold them in anymore. I love you.” The last words, the ones I had spoken only once before: “Will you go out with me?”
Silence.
Long
Painful
Silence.
Muscles begin to ache, and I realize I've finally started clenching my fists.
Still, nothing.
“B-But... Lilly, we're both g-girls...”
Sounds. A cacophony of white noise, drowning out Hanako’s words. Explosions, or perhaps the roaring of a fire, pockmarked with staccato pops as liquid in the wood boils. Of course. Hanako said something else, but I couldn’t hear her. Blood is thundering in my ears, drowning out all sound. How could I be so foolish? Months of subtle inquiries, subterfuge and innocuously prying questions: all misconstrued. I was wrong. She likes boys.
She’s obviously uncomfortable. I can hear the strain in her voice, even though I can barely register what she’s saying. Quite a long speech, for Hanako. Something about being happy? She doesn’t sound happy. She sounds positively mortified.
Suddenly the door closes behind her and I am left alone with my thoughts.
Damage control. There’s no way I can play this off as a joke. I was too descriptive, too honest. Too naïve. That's how it went last time, too. I moved before I knew all the facts, and I was punished for it. Even now, I can still hear her confused statement as if she is in the room with me. But she isn’t. And neither is Hanako.
I was so sure that Ran loved me back. We'd been friends for years. I helped her shop for her first bra, for goodness' sakes. Instead she had smiled. “But we're both girls,” she laughed nervously, trying to play it off as a joke. Far from embracing me and becoming my girlfriend, she had distanced herself from me, and I’d lost my best friend. She was disgusted by me, and by the thoughts that I can’t help but have. The way her scent, the soft skin of her hands, made me tingle deep inside. I thought she would accept me, accept my blindness, my occasional mischievous attitude, my likes and my dislikes.
Ran thought it was a joke. She even tried to act like my confession had never happened, for a while. But it wasn't a joke. I loved – LOVED – Ran. As much as I love Hanako now. Probably more.
But neither of them want me.
I wonder, sitting in this self-imposed tomb, if Hanako will do as Ran did, and start spreading rumors. This is not an all-girls' school; the backlash wouldn't be as bad as it was before, the stigma less severe. But if she were to do something like that…
Surprise, followed by the familiar sting of betrayal. Of course these girls don't actually want to talk. Stupid, Lilly. Always so stupid. Blows rain down on me from my perpetual darkness. It's all I can do to protect my head. Yelps leak from my foolish, young mouth. “Never let your enemies hear you scream.” Oddly, my father's voice floats through my head. “If they think they are hurting you, they will not stop.”
They do not stop.
A single kick to my back, and I arch my spine with a scream. My hands fly to my side. It's on fire, the entire right half of my back is on fire. Searing, scalding pain, unlike anything I've ever known before.
One hard boot to my chest, another to my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. Snow muffles my pained, panicked gasps. I relish the cool wetness against my cheek even as I gasp for air, even as I fight a losing battle with consciousness.
“Pervert!”
“Disgusting!”
“Get out of our school!”
Those angry, hateful voices echo in my head as I drift off to sleep. They have almost every night since.
But Hanako wouldn’t do that. She’s not the type of person to spread rumors, she’s not. I won't have to spend any more time on bed rest and I won't have to change schools again. I won't I won't I won't I won't I won't.
So what now? How do I face her again? How do I keep her from realizing how hurt I am, how afraid and embarrassed and angry? Is there some magic trick to steeling your emotions like Father? Akira was always so much better at that than I. Even Mother can do it.
No, that line of thinking isn’t going to help anything. I slap my cheeks lightly but firmly – Get a grip. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t be a victim anymore. That’s right. I’m not a victim. I made my choices and I’m sticking by them. I love Hanako, and part of the reason for that is that she’s such a kind person. She’d never spread rumors. Never.
All around, I can feel the darkness weighing down on me. A chill in the air; a sharp scent, crisp, as the temperature drops.
I'm not stupid. I know how long I've been sitting alone in the tea room. I know it's past 10 PM, that it's been two and a half hours since I broke the teapot and who knows how many cups, and that it's been a little less than five since Hanako walked out the door.
It's a simple matter of controlling my emotions. Such an easy task, in theory: just don't cry. And it is easy, for a couple of minutes. I've done my best to hone that skill, at least; I can put on a mask whenever the need arises.
But it doesn't last, today. The thoughts racing through my head, the pain in my chest, the thickness in the back of my throat – tears begin to well up in my eyes once more.
“We're both girls.”
More tears flirt with gravity, attempt to spill down my face and over my chin. I lower my head to the table, folding my hand neatly in my lap – “As a Lady should,” I can hear my mother say, sternly – and repeat my battle with the memories haunting me still.
It is a short-lived skirmish, engage and retreat. My stomach churns, protesting my earlier decision to skip dinner. Below, my bladder scolds me for drinking so much tea. Hands, not yet recovered from my earlier meltdown, throb dully, and heavy eyes threaten to send me off to the blissful retreat of sleep. It’s time to go.
But first, I have to pick up the porcelain shards no doubt littering the room. Smashing the teapot in anger is regrettable – it was a nice teapot – but I refuse to let Hanako know how much she hurt me. I will clean up the tea, and the mess, and the room will be just like new. She won’t know how long I sat here, by myself; no one will know how I howled, swinging my cane at the world that refused to let me be happy. No one will ever know.
I made a miscalculation, but I can still recover from this; our friendship is still salvageable. All it will take is some time. I laugh to myself quietly, squatting and starting to feel around for sharp pieces of earthenware even as the too-familiar sensation of wetness on my cheeks makes me shiver in the cool night air.
Hands and knees, a sobbing blind woman, picking up the broken pieces of her life.
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A cold fury burns in my belly. I’ve erased all traces of my earlier meltdown – the supernova is over, all my excess anger and hurt and confusion have been burned off. All that remains is a tightly packed ball of rage, spinning wildly, invisible except for small pulses of tightly-focused devastation. Hanako was first; next is Shizune.
The week of avoidance was understandable, if painful. I can understand why she might be uncomfortable around me. It’s stupid, it’s silly, but I get it. I had a week alone in the tea room to think about it, after all. And sleepless nights. And hours of dull, repetitive, interminable class.
But when people began to whisper about me behind my back – literally, which is a silly thing to do, I mean really – well, I began to get confused. Hanako couldn’t have, I assured myself. And I ignored it.
Then the whispers grew louder. The awkward silences whenever I would enter my classroom became more and more pronounced. My anger grew, as did my depression. My wastebasket filled with tissues, saturated with grief and no longer useful, I began to resign myself to switching schools once more. Best to get that done sooner rather than later, since I’m a senior.
I didn’t even want to talk to Hanako again; I’d said all I needed to say, and she didn’t need to talk to me anymore. She had obviously been speaking to someone. But the small gasp as I walked into the library to return a book – she shouldn’t have been there, she should have been eating -- brought something out, some venomous reptile living in the deepest part of my soul.
I’m not proud of the things I said. I’m not happy with how I reacted, and if Hanako could feel the welts those words left on my soul even as they passed from my lips, perhaps she would forgive me, somewhat. But. But but but.
The one word Hanako squeezed out before I shot away from the library like a bullet. Shizune. That deaf whore. Again, my mother’s voice echoes in my ears: “A lady does not show her anger.” Well I am no lady, mother. I am a foolish girl who loves too fiercely and lashes out when hurt.
Counting carefully to myself despite my anger, I reach the correct door, throw the door open with a crash. The rustle from within announces my prey. “You!” I shout, advancing, heedless of the unfamiliar territory. “Shizune!” Two chairs scrape against the floor; she and her interpreter steel themselves for battle. Ignoring the pain as my leg careens off of a table, I stumble only slightly as I continue to throw myself toward my quarry. “Do you enjoy the suffering of others? What game are you playing?”
“Risk,” comes Misha’s voice. Further to the right. I adjust my course and stumble over something, fall to my hands and knees. Only when I hear my cane clatter to the ground beside me do I remember that it exists. “What’s wrong, Miss Satou?” So innocent, that voice. It is never hard to remember that it belongs to Misha. Shizune’s voice would be darker, fuller. A shame. If she could speak, others would be able to hear her disdain for the world around her. As it is, only I truly know of her dark side. “Did something happen?”
I dig the tip of my cane into the hard floor and launch myself to my feet, refusing to show weakness by fumbling for a piece of furniture. “Don’t give me that, Shizune.” She always stands to Misha’s right. Focus on the voice. “Tell me why. What do you have to gain from this?”
These silences kill me, every time. Sign language – a useless crutch for the deaf and dumb. “I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.” There.
With all the speed I can muster I launch myself toward Shizune. A split-second of warning – a small sound, chair against linoleum – but I am able to stop most of my momentum even as my shins run into the hastily-assembled barrier. But it is just a chair. I thrust my hand out and take hold of the silent girl’s shirt forcefully, knuckles white with rage bringing her toward me. (I feel the full breasts beneath that thin fabric and grit my teeth. Inside, I die a little bit more.) My other hand comes up to grab the back of the girl’s surprisingly-short hair. She struggles, and I hear Misha yelp. There are now four hands struggling to remove my shaking arms from my enemy.
“Shizune.” Forcing her to face me roughly, I lock my cold, dead eyes onto hers. I can’t tell if she is actually looking at me; but, she is facing me. That is enough. “You cannot hurt me any more than I have already been hurt. But I can hurt you.” Misha and Shizune stop struggling. “Translate!” I shriek, and two appendages fly off of me.
I wait as patiently as I can. It takes all my willpower to avoid tightening my fist in her hair, yanking out as much as I can and going back for more. “Are you done?” My cane hangs limply from one wrist. Oh, if I could use that.
“Y-Yes.”
“I can hurt you, Shizune. And I will.” Another pause for translation. Shizune begins to tremble slightly. “You will not know when it is coming. It may be me; it may be someone you have never met before. But rest assured that you will pay for hurting Hanako.”
Hanako? My world slows down; the air around me ceases crackling with fury. Did I say Hanako? It has been too long. Misha has surely translated by now. Words, confusing and frightening, well up from within me. “You can try to hurt me, and I will ignore you. You are beneath me.” Said through clenched teeth, my words become a hiss. “But if you DARE to hurt the ones I love, you will pay.”
Clarity hits like a bucket of cold water. I do still love her. Intellectually, I know she had some part in spreading the rumors. But in my heart, I can’t come to believe she did it out of malice. Somehow, this student council bitch pressured her into it. Somehow, she used Hanako’s weakness against me. Against the frail, burned girl herself.
Pushing tears down deep within me, I muster up one last fiery spray of rage – and spit in Shizune’s face. “Take care of yourself.” Shoving against that full bosom (oh, how I hate myself!) I launch myself out of battle and toward the door.
She will pay. I will make sure of it.
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Warm vapor bathes my face in a myriad of complex, slightly bitter odors. Letting the liquid touch my lips slightly, I sip, and sigh contentedly even as that pleasant heat retreats and I set my cup down on the table in front of me. “The tea is exceptionally good today, don’t you think?”
“Is it? I can’t really tell.” Akira can always make me smile, somehow, even when she’s not trying. “I prefer coffee, anyway.” She is trying, now. I catch the smile in her voice that I can’t manage to see.
“You always have.” Cold wind howls outside. Snow ricochets off of the glass with soft tinkles, almost musical. “How late is it? I admit that I’ve lost track of time.”
A rustle of cloth, the creak of a chair. “It’s about 20:45. I should probably get going, soon.”
Another sigh, sad this time. “I suppose so.” Deciding against one last sip of my drink, I reach to my side and retrieve my scarf, wrap it around my neck. “Will you be all right getting back on your own?” The little snort-laugh that lets me know exactly what my sister is thinking. “I will be fine, Akira. I could navigate my way back to the school blindfolded.” A full-out laugh, now. I allow myself another smile.
Suddenly, the air grows tense. My sister stops gathering her coat; I strain my ears.
It does not take long. “Miss Satou?”
Cooly, calmly, slowly, I fold my hands in my lap. “Mikado.” Deliberately leaving off the honorific; deliberately pausing before, “Hakamichi.”
“No,” comes the voice quickly, and I can hear her hair sway as she shakes her head. I have always wondered why I can hear her hair, but no one else’s. “I’m alone tonight.” To avoid sucking my teeth in frustration I gather my quickly-cooling tea and take a sip. “I had something I wanted to say to you. Something I-“ Surprising. She seems nervous. “Something I want to ask you,” the girl finishes after taking a breath.
Again, I let the silence hang. Warmth against my fingertips, nose; soothing heat in my throat. “Akira?” I ask without preamble. “Would you mind giving us a moment? I will be along shortly.”
“No.” I didn’t expect her to leave, anyway. “You can say what you want; I won’t interrupt.” She settles back into her seat with a creak. I have no doubt that if she had an extra chair, Akira would have put her feet up just to punctuate her determination. This smile I smother.
“Very well.” Finally, I turn my head toward Misha’s location. “You may speak.”
Like a ghost, the hollow echo of wind creeps in from outside once again. I wait, patiently.
“I want to apologize.” Akira snorts. Not now, Akira. Too confrontational, my sister. But, I suppose, that is what makes her so strong. “I know you must hate me for my part in the business earlier this year-“ Another snort from across the table, and she shifts her weight forward in the chair. “…i-in the business earlier this year,” Misha continues, flustered, “and I realize that a mere apology won’t make up for it, but I want to say it anyway. I was wrong to go along with Shizune on that. It isn’t any of my business – or anyone’s business – who you love.”
Hands on teacup. I… never expected this. Misha is ever Shizune’s lap-dog. I remain silent.
Obviously uncomfortable at my lack of response, my erstwhile enemy ploughs forward. “I know it was wrong. I know it isn’t your choice to like girls, and it’s…” Father told me that people usually close their eyes during difficult situations. Are Misha’s eyes closed?
“Excuse me if I’m being forward – and I know you don’t have to answer this – but… When did you know you were… different?”
I blink. I blink. Twice. “I do not think I understand your question.” But I do.
Akira finally reads the mood correctly and stands. “I have to pee. Excuse me.” Her footsteps fade as she walks across the café.
The standing girl makes no move to sit. But she is past the point of no return, now. Perhaps she realizes that I understand what she’s really asking; I don’t know. Regardless, she clarifies. “When you knew you were a lesbian.” There. The word is out, now. “Was it in middle school gym? Did you have an older friend who helped you study? Did you always just… know that you weren’t like the other girls, that having a boyfriend didn’t make any difference to you? But-But that maybe your best friend could spend the night, and you’d feel warm and safe, like you’d never felt before, even in your wildest dreams?”
She’s breathing heavily. Oh, Misha.
The warmth of my teacup left behind, I stand; I slowly reach out, guessing at the location of Misha’s shoulders. Putting as much sympathy into my voice as I am able, taking hold of her shoulders slightly, I squeeze and breathe the only thing I know she wants to hear.
“There is nothing wrong with you, Misha.” The girl begins to tremble. “There are many things I do not know in this world; but, one thing I do know is this: there is nothing wrong with either of us. We are who we are; nothing more, nothing less.”
As I expected they would, her tears come hot and heavy.
It does seem rather rude to take advantage of Yuuko’s kindness, but Akira returns and we order another pot of tea along with a simple request that she give us some time before she closes. Misha needs time to gather herself, to tell her story. Akira and I do our best to listen.
Midnight comes, and Misha apologizes once more before excusing herself. The snowstorm has subsided somewhat; I can still feel flakes melt on my face, but the wind is gone, and the town is almost eerily silent.
“So.” Akira speaks from next to me, sighing as she does so. “I suppose your revenge is off, then?”
I did say I would make her pay. “Yes.”
But perhaps acceptance is needed sometimes, too.
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EPILOGUE
“Hold her down. Hold her down!” Akira is always much better at this than I. I admit that I’ve not the stomach for it, most of the time; but Akira takes after father, and I after mother. I suppose this is how it was fated to be. “God damnit, what- Grab her arms! You’re men, she’s a teenaged girl!”
Soon, the scuffle is over and done with; soon, she is backed against a wall. Soon, I will have my satisfaction. “Shizune.” My voce echoes in the small, concrete room. “I hoped you would learn your lesson.” A small lie; I smirk with the thought. “You seem even more hard-headed than I had originally thought.”
Clack. Not my cane, for once. The thick heels of my shoes sound noisily as I walk toward Shizune, each staccato burst bringing her judgment ever closer. She struggles; I hear her captors grunt and struggle to keep her under control. “Yes, I understand; you don’t like pain, do you? Yet,” I stop in front of her with a final, thundering strike of my heel, “you have no problem bringing pain to others, do you?”
Wetness impacts my face; she has returned my favor from some months before. “Now, now, Shizune.” Refraining from wiping my face, I instead place my hand on the side of hers. “My mother always said that it’s impolite to spit. Didn’t your mother teach you the same thing?” I can feel her gaze shift to the interpreter we brought to this little meeting. Communication is the key to a lasting relationship, after all.
A smile filled with teeth. I pray it looks as fierce as I intend.
“Do speak up, Shizune. Surely your mother told you to answer questions when they are asked of you?”
Teeth graze my wrist and I recoil, narrowly avoiding a vicious bite. “Oh, dear, Shizune. That won’t do at all.” I finally deign to wipe the spittle off of my face, then return my attention to the helpless girl in front of me. My hand – long, pianist’s fingers extending hungrily – return to her body. She is slender. Soft around the stomach, but not unpleasantly so. She is the enemy. Do not forget.
I slide my fingers into the waist of her skirt ever so slightly and am rewarded with a small gasp. “Very nice,” I coo softly as I begin untucking her shirt. “You’re quite the beauty, aren’t you?”
Again, Shizune bucks against her captors; again, they restrain her easily. “Please, Shizune, I am busy. You can speak in a moment.”
There is no need for words as I undo each button of her school uniform. One, by one, by one, I work my way up, over the swell of her chest, and to her neck. She attempts another weak snap at my arms, but she is growing weak, tired. I am growing stronger, bolder.
With a flourish I rip her shirt wide. I sincerely hope the men in the room take a good, long look.
Well, it won’t be long before they’ll get to see more.
“Akira.” Out goes my hand, in anticipation; I close my fingers around a cold, metal weight.
“First,” I smile, turning back, I need to get this out of the way.” Teasingly, seductively, I run my hands up Shizune’s stomach – firm, quivering – and to her bra. “Aw,” I pout theatrically. “I expected more from you – something lacey, at least. This plain cotton bra just doesn’t suit your image.” Her trembling becomes more pronounced, and I feel a warm tear drip onto my right hand.
Yes, Shizune. Cry, for all the good that will do you.
Slipping the cool blade of my knife in between her breasts, I relish her gasp of horror. A quick tug, and she is freed. Her bra falls open. “There we are, Shizune. Don’t you feel better, now?
“I do want to make one thing clear, my dear. Soothe your fears, if you will.” Her cool breast is welcome relief for my warm hands. Very large; maybe larger than mine. And the nipples! Small, I might even say cute; strong, defiant in this cold, concrete room. Such a shame. “I am not going to rape you, Shizune. I think that is a terrible, terrible thing to do to someone. I doubt that there is anything in the world I hate more than rape.
“Except,” I grab a hold of her erect nipple and pull with all of my strength, stretching the skin, testing its tensile strength, “perhaps you.”
I place one finger on the top of Shizune’s breast – wet, now, with terrified sweat and tears – and let my knife touch her skin lightly as well. Guiding the steel blade toward the summit, taking my time to savor her fear, I allow myself another toothy grin. “I do hope you are okay with formula, Shizune.” My fingers find the areola. “Should you ever find a man willing to bed you after this, of course.”
Like a hot knife through butter.
Warm blood; I refuse to let myself gag. “Now, now, Shizune,” I toss her nipple to the floor and smear her cheek with her own blood even as she kicks against the concrete wall, desperately trying to get away. I can almost see her mouth open in a silent scream. “That was only half. As I recall, there were two victims of your little machinations.” My hand trails blood down her neck, across her chest, and to her other breast. “And, again, I recall saying something to you.” Her nipple in my hand once more, I yank. “Can you tell me what that was?”
Silence, except for shuddering gasps. “Let me help you. I said that you couldn’t hurt me; but,” and I twit her nipple hard, raising my bloody knife, “if you dare to hurt the ones I love, you will pay.”
One draft.
No revisions.
No spell-checking.
No editing of any sort.
Final Destination.
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Today is the day. Today.
Walking down the long hallway, listening to the muffled chatter from classrooms as I pass by, enjoying the feel of the warm, late-Summer air on my skin, I gather myself for the task at hand. Each step takes me closer to her door, the tea room door – the door to the rest of my life, perhaps.
No. I can’t let myself get excited. I can’t let myself feel too much. Last time I was in a situation like this, something terrible happened and I... ended up here.
The cold snow against my cheek a stark contrast to the burning in my chest; cold, cold and wet, but still not enough to allow me to hold onto consciousness.
I can’t hope. But I can pray.
A few more steps and I will be there. She is most certainly there. She is always in the tea room after school. Like the morning sun: reliable.
Hanako is… everything to me. Since I’ve been at Yamaku, her mere presence has helped me to learn to love myself again, to love life. Her quiet has never bothered me; it’s just how Hanako is. But she’s sweet, and surprisingly smart – insightful -- when she does choose to speak. She’s shown herself to be compassionate, and caring, and just plain intriguing. Her voice is like, to risk sounding too clichéd, an angel’s. I cherish the few words she lets me hear each day; her small, timid voice sends shivers down my spine. And when she laughs…
I don’t know how she’ll react to my confession. It worries me. It terrifies me. A thousand thousand scenarios have run through my head – she accepts my confession, and loves me back; she rejects my confession, and never speaks to me again; she loves me, but has decided to devote her life to religion – and each one has its own pitfalls, dangers. Maybe she won’t believe me when I tell her that I don’t care about her burns; maybe she is already engaged to a childhood friend, and has been keeping it a secret; maybe she’s a secret agent, and can’t get involved in any relationships. Maybe she simply doesn’t love me. This could go wrong in any of a million ways, and I’d be left, hurt and alone, without a friend in the world.
Again.
But I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t stand to spend every day near her without being able to hold her, to feel her warmth against my chest, to bury my nose in her hair and inhale her musky, rich, slightly floral scent. The ache in my chest whenever I’m near her has become unbearable. I have to tell her.
God send that it goes well.
A deep breath, and I open the door. “Hanako?”
----------
All afternoon, and nothing. Nothing will come out of my mouth, no matter how I try. The lump in my throat seems to be growing by the second, and my heart is pounding in my ears. Is it cold in here? Hot? I can’t tell; my hands are sweating either way, though, and my caffeine tremors shake my arm as I take another sip of my eleventh cup of tea.
Why can’t I just say it? I made the decision; I agonized over it all last night. The dreadful, crippling fatigue clinging to my bones is an indication of how I've thought about this day, this event. Too late, now, to back out. I've made a promise to myself, and I'll not break it. My word is my bond, even in my own head.
But why, then, won't my mouth work?
“Ah... it's getting late. Do you want to...?” I can finish the question; she doesn't have to say the last word. It's about time for us to be eating.
Her chair scrapes against the floor as she stands, assuming that I will agree.
“I love you, Hanako.”
Strange, hearing the words come out of my mouth so calmly. I'm certainly not as calm as I sound, all composure and certainty. But my body is on auto-pilot; it seems the choice to confess has been taken from me, somehow. “I... am aware that this is rather sudden, but I've known you since I arrived at Yamaku, and your charms were not lost on me.” If I had control of my body, I'd be wringing my hands nervously. As it is, I sit, back straight, shoulders square, head held high, and continue.
“Each day since we met I've fallen more and more in love with you. Your sharp mind, your beautiful voice, your soft hands...” She is silent, still; I refuse to allow for the possibility that she's uncomfortable. The conversations, sparsely-populated but deep nonetheless; the late nights, she reading silently and I just enjoying the night air; the nervous squeezes of my hand as we walk through crowded school hallways. Surely, surely she feels the same way about me.
“Though it sounds embarrassingly trite, I can't live without you. Every day, I wake up looking forward to seeing you; each evening, I go to sleep with thoughts of you in my head.” Still, the girl in front of me does not react. I soldier on. “Maybe I am being silly. Perhaps you don't have feelings for me.” PLEASE have feelings for me. “But I have feelings for you, Hanako, and I can't hold them in anymore. I love you.” The last words, the ones I had spoken only once before: “Will you go out with me?”
Silence.
Long
Painful
Silence.
Muscles begin to ache, and I realize I've finally started clenching my fists.
Still, nothing.
“B-But... Lilly, we're both g-girls...”
Sounds. A cacophony of white noise, drowning out Hanako’s words. Explosions, or perhaps the roaring of a fire, pockmarked with staccato pops as liquid in the wood boils. Of course. Hanako said something else, but I couldn’t hear her. Blood is thundering in my ears, drowning out all sound. How could I be so foolish? Months of subtle inquiries, subterfuge and innocuously prying questions: all misconstrued. I was wrong. She likes boys.
She’s obviously uncomfortable. I can hear the strain in her voice, even though I can barely register what she’s saying. Quite a long speech, for Hanako. Something about being happy? She doesn’t sound happy. She sounds positively mortified.
Suddenly the door closes behind her and I am left alone with my thoughts.
Damage control. There’s no way I can play this off as a joke. I was too descriptive, too honest. Too naïve. That's how it went last time, too. I moved before I knew all the facts, and I was punished for it. Even now, I can still hear her confused statement as if she is in the room with me. But she isn’t. And neither is Hanako.
I was so sure that Ran loved me back. We'd been friends for years. I helped her shop for her first bra, for goodness' sakes. Instead she had smiled. “But we're both girls,” she laughed nervously, trying to play it off as a joke. Far from embracing me and becoming my girlfriend, she had distanced herself from me, and I’d lost my best friend. She was disgusted by me, and by the thoughts that I can’t help but have. The way her scent, the soft skin of her hands, made me tingle deep inside. I thought she would accept me, accept my blindness, my occasional mischievous attitude, my likes and my dislikes.
Ran thought it was a joke. She even tried to act like my confession had never happened, for a while. But it wasn't a joke. I loved – LOVED – Ran. As much as I love Hanako now. Probably more.
But neither of them want me.
I wonder, sitting in this self-imposed tomb, if Hanako will do as Ran did, and start spreading rumors. This is not an all-girls' school; the backlash wouldn't be as bad as it was before, the stigma less severe. But if she were to do something like that…
Surprise, followed by the familiar sting of betrayal. Of course these girls don't actually want to talk. Stupid, Lilly. Always so stupid. Blows rain down on me from my perpetual darkness. It's all I can do to protect my head. Yelps leak from my foolish, young mouth. “Never let your enemies hear you scream.” Oddly, my father's voice floats through my head. “If they think they are hurting you, they will not stop.”
They do not stop.
A single kick to my back, and I arch my spine with a scream. My hands fly to my side. It's on fire, the entire right half of my back is on fire. Searing, scalding pain, unlike anything I've ever known before.
One hard boot to my chest, another to my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. Snow muffles my pained, panicked gasps. I relish the cool wetness against my cheek even as I gasp for air, even as I fight a losing battle with consciousness.
“Pervert!”
“Disgusting!”
“Get out of our school!”
Those angry, hateful voices echo in my head as I drift off to sleep. They have almost every night since.
But Hanako wouldn’t do that. She’s not the type of person to spread rumors, she’s not. I won't have to spend any more time on bed rest and I won't have to change schools again. I won't I won't I won't I won't I won't.
So what now? How do I face her again? How do I keep her from realizing how hurt I am, how afraid and embarrassed and angry? Is there some magic trick to steeling your emotions like Father? Akira was always so much better at that than I. Even Mother can do it.
No, that line of thinking isn’t going to help anything. I slap my cheeks lightly but firmly – Get a grip. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t be a victim anymore. That’s right. I’m not a victim. I made my choices and I’m sticking by them. I love Hanako, and part of the reason for that is that she’s such a kind person. She’d never spread rumors. Never.
All around, I can feel the darkness weighing down on me. A chill in the air; a sharp scent, crisp, as the temperature drops.
I'm not stupid. I know how long I've been sitting alone in the tea room. I know it's past 10 PM, that it's been two and a half hours since I broke the teapot and who knows how many cups, and that it's been a little less than five since Hanako walked out the door.
It's a simple matter of controlling my emotions. Such an easy task, in theory: just don't cry. And it is easy, for a couple of minutes. I've done my best to hone that skill, at least; I can put on a mask whenever the need arises.
But it doesn't last, today. The thoughts racing through my head, the pain in my chest, the thickness in the back of my throat – tears begin to well up in my eyes once more.
“We're both girls.”
More tears flirt with gravity, attempt to spill down my face and over my chin. I lower my head to the table, folding my hand neatly in my lap – “As a Lady should,” I can hear my mother say, sternly – and repeat my battle with the memories haunting me still.
It is a short-lived skirmish, engage and retreat. My stomach churns, protesting my earlier decision to skip dinner. Below, my bladder scolds me for drinking so much tea. Hands, not yet recovered from my earlier meltdown, throb dully, and heavy eyes threaten to send me off to the blissful retreat of sleep. It’s time to go.
But first, I have to pick up the porcelain shards no doubt littering the room. Smashing the teapot in anger is regrettable – it was a nice teapot – but I refuse to let Hanako know how much she hurt me. I will clean up the tea, and the mess, and the room will be just like new. She won’t know how long I sat here, by myself; no one will know how I howled, swinging my cane at the world that refused to let me be happy. No one will ever know.
I made a miscalculation, but I can still recover from this; our friendship is still salvageable. All it will take is some time. I laugh to myself quietly, squatting and starting to feel around for sharp pieces of earthenware even as the too-familiar sensation of wetness on my cheeks makes me shiver in the cool night air.
Hands and knees, a sobbing blind woman, picking up the broken pieces of her life.
----------
A cold fury burns in my belly. I’ve erased all traces of my earlier meltdown – the supernova is over, all my excess anger and hurt and confusion have been burned off. All that remains is a tightly packed ball of rage, spinning wildly, invisible except for small pulses of tightly-focused devastation. Hanako was first; next is Shizune.
The week of avoidance was understandable, if painful. I can understand why she might be uncomfortable around me. It’s stupid, it’s silly, but I get it. I had a week alone in the tea room to think about it, after all. And sleepless nights. And hours of dull, repetitive, interminable class.
But when people began to whisper about me behind my back – literally, which is a silly thing to do, I mean really – well, I began to get confused. Hanako couldn’t have, I assured myself. And I ignored it.
Then the whispers grew louder. The awkward silences whenever I would enter my classroom became more and more pronounced. My anger grew, as did my depression. My wastebasket filled with tissues, saturated with grief and no longer useful, I began to resign myself to switching schools once more. Best to get that done sooner rather than later, since I’m a senior.
I didn’t even want to talk to Hanako again; I’d said all I needed to say, and she didn’t need to talk to me anymore. She had obviously been speaking to someone. But the small gasp as I walked into the library to return a book – she shouldn’t have been there, she should have been eating -- brought something out, some venomous reptile living in the deepest part of my soul.
I’m not proud of the things I said. I’m not happy with how I reacted, and if Hanako could feel the welts those words left on my soul even as they passed from my lips, perhaps she would forgive me, somewhat. But. But but but.
The one word Hanako squeezed out before I shot away from the library like a bullet. Shizune. That deaf whore. Again, my mother’s voice echoes in my ears: “A lady does not show her anger.” Well I am no lady, mother. I am a foolish girl who loves too fiercely and lashes out when hurt.
Counting carefully to myself despite my anger, I reach the correct door, throw the door open with a crash. The rustle from within announces my prey. “You!” I shout, advancing, heedless of the unfamiliar territory. “Shizune!” Two chairs scrape against the floor; she and her interpreter steel themselves for battle. Ignoring the pain as my leg careens off of a table, I stumble only slightly as I continue to throw myself toward my quarry. “Do you enjoy the suffering of others? What game are you playing?”
“Risk,” comes Misha’s voice. Further to the right. I adjust my course and stumble over something, fall to my hands and knees. Only when I hear my cane clatter to the ground beside me do I remember that it exists. “What’s wrong, Miss Satou?” So innocent, that voice. It is never hard to remember that it belongs to Misha. Shizune’s voice would be darker, fuller. A shame. If she could speak, others would be able to hear her disdain for the world around her. As it is, only I truly know of her dark side. “Did something happen?”
I dig the tip of my cane into the hard floor and launch myself to my feet, refusing to show weakness by fumbling for a piece of furniture. “Don’t give me that, Shizune.” She always stands to Misha’s right. Focus on the voice. “Tell me why. What do you have to gain from this?”
These silences kill me, every time. Sign language – a useless crutch for the deaf and dumb. “I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.” There.
With all the speed I can muster I launch myself toward Shizune. A split-second of warning – a small sound, chair against linoleum – but I am able to stop most of my momentum even as my shins run into the hastily-assembled barrier. But it is just a chair. I thrust my hand out and take hold of the silent girl’s shirt forcefully, knuckles white with rage bringing her toward me. (I feel the full breasts beneath that thin fabric and grit my teeth. Inside, I die a little bit more.) My other hand comes up to grab the back of the girl’s surprisingly-short hair. She struggles, and I hear Misha yelp. There are now four hands struggling to remove my shaking arms from my enemy.
“Shizune.” Forcing her to face me roughly, I lock my cold, dead eyes onto hers. I can’t tell if she is actually looking at me; but, she is facing me. That is enough. “You cannot hurt me any more than I have already been hurt. But I can hurt you.” Misha and Shizune stop struggling. “Translate!” I shriek, and two appendages fly off of me.
I wait as patiently as I can. It takes all my willpower to avoid tightening my fist in her hair, yanking out as much as I can and going back for more. “Are you done?” My cane hangs limply from one wrist. Oh, if I could use that.
“Y-Yes.”
“I can hurt you, Shizune. And I will.” Another pause for translation. Shizune begins to tremble slightly. “You will not know when it is coming. It may be me; it may be someone you have never met before. But rest assured that you will pay for hurting Hanako.”
Hanako? My world slows down; the air around me ceases crackling with fury. Did I say Hanako? It has been too long. Misha has surely translated by now. Words, confusing and frightening, well up from within me. “You can try to hurt me, and I will ignore you. You are beneath me.” Said through clenched teeth, my words become a hiss. “But if you DARE to hurt the ones I love, you will pay.”
Clarity hits like a bucket of cold water. I do still love her. Intellectually, I know she had some part in spreading the rumors. But in my heart, I can’t come to believe she did it out of malice. Somehow, this student council bitch pressured her into it. Somehow, she used Hanako’s weakness against me. Against the frail, burned girl herself.
Pushing tears down deep within me, I muster up one last fiery spray of rage – and spit in Shizune’s face. “Take care of yourself.” Shoving against that full bosom (oh, how I hate myself!) I launch myself out of battle and toward the door.
She will pay. I will make sure of it.
----------
Warm vapor bathes my face in a myriad of complex, slightly bitter odors. Letting the liquid touch my lips slightly, I sip, and sigh contentedly even as that pleasant heat retreats and I set my cup down on the table in front of me. “The tea is exceptionally good today, don’t you think?”
“Is it? I can’t really tell.” Akira can always make me smile, somehow, even when she’s not trying. “I prefer coffee, anyway.” She is trying, now. I catch the smile in her voice that I can’t manage to see.
“You always have.” Cold wind howls outside. Snow ricochets off of the glass with soft tinkles, almost musical. “How late is it? I admit that I’ve lost track of time.”
A rustle of cloth, the creak of a chair. “It’s about 20:45. I should probably get going, soon.”
Another sigh, sad this time. “I suppose so.” Deciding against one last sip of my drink, I reach to my side and retrieve my scarf, wrap it around my neck. “Will you be all right getting back on your own?” The little snort-laugh that lets me know exactly what my sister is thinking. “I will be fine, Akira. I could navigate my way back to the school blindfolded.” A full-out laugh, now. I allow myself another smile.
Suddenly, the air grows tense. My sister stops gathering her coat; I strain my ears.
It does not take long. “Miss Satou?”
Cooly, calmly, slowly, I fold my hands in my lap. “Mikado.” Deliberately leaving off the honorific; deliberately pausing before, “Hakamichi.”
“No,” comes the voice quickly, and I can hear her hair sway as she shakes her head. I have always wondered why I can hear her hair, but no one else’s. “I’m alone tonight.” To avoid sucking my teeth in frustration I gather my quickly-cooling tea and take a sip. “I had something I wanted to say to you. Something I-“ Surprising. She seems nervous. “Something I want to ask you,” the girl finishes after taking a breath.
Again, I let the silence hang. Warmth against my fingertips, nose; soothing heat in my throat. “Akira?” I ask without preamble. “Would you mind giving us a moment? I will be along shortly.”
“No.” I didn’t expect her to leave, anyway. “You can say what you want; I won’t interrupt.” She settles back into her seat with a creak. I have no doubt that if she had an extra chair, Akira would have put her feet up just to punctuate her determination. This smile I smother.
“Very well.” Finally, I turn my head toward Misha’s location. “You may speak.”
Like a ghost, the hollow echo of wind creeps in from outside once again. I wait, patiently.
“I want to apologize.” Akira snorts. Not now, Akira. Too confrontational, my sister. But, I suppose, that is what makes her so strong. “I know you must hate me for my part in the business earlier this year-“ Another snort from across the table, and she shifts her weight forward in the chair. “…i-in the business earlier this year,” Misha continues, flustered, “and I realize that a mere apology won’t make up for it, but I want to say it anyway. I was wrong to go along with Shizune on that. It isn’t any of my business – or anyone’s business – who you love.”
Hands on teacup. I… never expected this. Misha is ever Shizune’s lap-dog. I remain silent.
Obviously uncomfortable at my lack of response, my erstwhile enemy ploughs forward. “I know it was wrong. I know it isn’t your choice to like girls, and it’s…” Father told me that people usually close their eyes during difficult situations. Are Misha’s eyes closed?
“Excuse me if I’m being forward – and I know you don’t have to answer this – but… When did you know you were… different?”
I blink. I blink. Twice. “I do not think I understand your question.” But I do.
Akira finally reads the mood correctly and stands. “I have to pee. Excuse me.” Her footsteps fade as she walks across the café.
The standing girl makes no move to sit. But she is past the point of no return, now. Perhaps she realizes that I understand what she’s really asking; I don’t know. Regardless, she clarifies. “When you knew you were a lesbian.” There. The word is out, now. “Was it in middle school gym? Did you have an older friend who helped you study? Did you always just… know that you weren’t like the other girls, that having a boyfriend didn’t make any difference to you? But-But that maybe your best friend could spend the night, and you’d feel warm and safe, like you’d never felt before, even in your wildest dreams?”
She’s breathing heavily. Oh, Misha.
The warmth of my teacup left behind, I stand; I slowly reach out, guessing at the location of Misha’s shoulders. Putting as much sympathy into my voice as I am able, taking hold of her shoulders slightly, I squeeze and breathe the only thing I know she wants to hear.
“There is nothing wrong with you, Misha.” The girl begins to tremble. “There are many things I do not know in this world; but, one thing I do know is this: there is nothing wrong with either of us. We are who we are; nothing more, nothing less.”
As I expected they would, her tears come hot and heavy.
It does seem rather rude to take advantage of Yuuko’s kindness, but Akira returns and we order another pot of tea along with a simple request that she give us some time before she closes. Misha needs time to gather herself, to tell her story. Akira and I do our best to listen.
Midnight comes, and Misha apologizes once more before excusing herself. The snowstorm has subsided somewhat; I can still feel flakes melt on my face, but the wind is gone, and the town is almost eerily silent.
“So.” Akira speaks from next to me, sighing as she does so. “I suppose your revenge is off, then?”
I did say I would make her pay. “Yes.”
But perhaps acceptance is needed sometimes, too.
----------
EPILOGUE
“Hold her down. Hold her down!” Akira is always much better at this than I. I admit that I’ve not the stomach for it, most of the time; but Akira takes after father, and I after mother. I suppose this is how it was fated to be. “God damnit, what- Grab her arms! You’re men, she’s a teenaged girl!”
Soon, the scuffle is over and done with; soon, she is backed against a wall. Soon, I will have my satisfaction. “Shizune.” My voce echoes in the small, concrete room. “I hoped you would learn your lesson.” A small lie; I smirk with the thought. “You seem even more hard-headed than I had originally thought.”
Clack. Not my cane, for once. The thick heels of my shoes sound noisily as I walk toward Shizune, each staccato burst bringing her judgment ever closer. She struggles; I hear her captors grunt and struggle to keep her under control. “Yes, I understand; you don’t like pain, do you? Yet,” I stop in front of her with a final, thundering strike of my heel, “you have no problem bringing pain to others, do you?”
Wetness impacts my face; she has returned my favor from some months before. “Now, now, Shizune.” Refraining from wiping my face, I instead place my hand on the side of hers. “My mother always said that it’s impolite to spit. Didn’t your mother teach you the same thing?” I can feel her gaze shift to the interpreter we brought to this little meeting. Communication is the key to a lasting relationship, after all.
A smile filled with teeth. I pray it looks as fierce as I intend.
“Do speak up, Shizune. Surely your mother told you to answer questions when they are asked of you?”
Teeth graze my wrist and I recoil, narrowly avoiding a vicious bite. “Oh, dear, Shizune. That won’t do at all.” I finally deign to wipe the spittle off of my face, then return my attention to the helpless girl in front of me. My hand – long, pianist’s fingers extending hungrily – return to her body. She is slender. Soft around the stomach, but not unpleasantly so. She is the enemy. Do not forget.
I slide my fingers into the waist of her skirt ever so slightly and am rewarded with a small gasp. “Very nice,” I coo softly as I begin untucking her shirt. “You’re quite the beauty, aren’t you?”
Again, Shizune bucks against her captors; again, they restrain her easily. “Please, Shizune, I am busy. You can speak in a moment.”
There is no need for words as I undo each button of her school uniform. One, by one, by one, I work my way up, over the swell of her chest, and to her neck. She attempts another weak snap at my arms, but she is growing weak, tired. I am growing stronger, bolder.
With a flourish I rip her shirt wide. I sincerely hope the men in the room take a good, long look.
Well, it won’t be long before they’ll get to see more.
“Akira.” Out goes my hand, in anticipation; I close my fingers around a cold, metal weight.
“First,” I smile, turning back, I need to get this out of the way.” Teasingly, seductively, I run my hands up Shizune’s stomach – firm, quivering – and to her bra. “Aw,” I pout theatrically. “I expected more from you – something lacey, at least. This plain cotton bra just doesn’t suit your image.” Her trembling becomes more pronounced, and I feel a warm tear drip onto my right hand.
Yes, Shizune. Cry, for all the good that will do you.
Slipping the cool blade of my knife in between her breasts, I relish her gasp of horror. A quick tug, and she is freed. Her bra falls open. “There we are, Shizune. Don’t you feel better, now?
“I do want to make one thing clear, my dear. Soothe your fears, if you will.” Her cool breast is welcome relief for my warm hands. Very large; maybe larger than mine. And the nipples! Small, I might even say cute; strong, defiant in this cold, concrete room. Such a shame. “I am not going to rape you, Shizune. I think that is a terrible, terrible thing to do to someone. I doubt that there is anything in the world I hate more than rape.
“Except,” I grab a hold of her erect nipple and pull with all of my strength, stretching the skin, testing its tensile strength, “perhaps you.”
I place one finger on the top of Shizune’s breast – wet, now, with terrified sweat and tears – and let my knife touch her skin lightly as well. Guiding the steel blade toward the summit, taking my time to savor her fear, I allow myself another toothy grin. “I do hope you are okay with formula, Shizune.” My fingers find the areola. “Should you ever find a man willing to bed you after this, of course.”
Like a hot knife through butter.
Warm blood; I refuse to let myself gag. “Now, now, Shizune,” I toss her nipple to the floor and smear her cheek with her own blood even as she kicks against the concrete wall, desperately trying to get away. I can almost see her mouth open in a silent scream. “That was only half. As I recall, there were two victims of your little machinations.” My hand trails blood down her neck, across her chest, and to her other breast. “And, again, I recall saying something to you.” Her nipple in my hand once more, I yank. “Can you tell me what that was?”
Silence, except for shuddering gasps. “Let me help you. I said that you couldn’t hurt me; but,” and I twit her nipple hard, raising my bloody knife, “if you dare to hurt the ones I love, you will pay.”
. And although I'll accept a lot of things, Lilly cutting of Shizunes nipples and possibly raping her seems a itsy bitsy teeny weeny over the top, even considering the situation at hand. After reading the epilogue I actually like Shizune more than Lilly, who seems like a total psycho bitch to be honest.