Chapter 16

[[ TW: self harm ]]

“I’m skipping class today,” Satou moaned the next morning. You could have guessed that for yourself. She didn’t get up and perform her usual morning ablutions. Instead, she stayed in bed, curled around your back like she wanted to be carried in her sleep. “You should stay too.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t.” Staying with Satou was fine and dandy, but Oshiro would be home as well and you hated her. Plus it might give Minoru ideas, like how nice it would be to have her little babies home all of the time. College and, by extension, classes were freedom to you.

“Tell Yuma I miss her. She’ll like that.” You made a face. You didn’t want to hang out with Yuma without Satou. What was the point of that?

“Can’t you just text her saying we won’t be over today?”

“I cooould,” she drawled, rolling into your vacant spot once you left the bed and burying her face in your pillow. “But I want to know how she reacts to my not coming. Does she cry? Throw a fit? It’ll give me a clue as to whether or not she’s addicted to me yet.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

…

You knew something was up when Yuma wasn’t at the door on your arrival. Usually she didn’t even wait for you or Satou to knock, just threw open the door as soon as one of you passed by.

You never knew how long she waited, looking out the peephole for some sign of her friends. It was a sad mental image, though, so you tried to come at the same time every day to minimize the time she spent waiting.

“Yuma?” You called, knocking on the door again in case she hadn’t heard you the first time.

“Coming!” She shouted from somewhere inside her apartment. You heard the pitter-patter of rapid footsteps on the other side of the door before it swung open, revealing-

“What… What’s that on your face…?” You asked, unable to believe your eyes.

There, on her face, were the inked words of Satou Wannabe, Satou Wannabe, written over and over again as if it were a script in a diary entry. You looked down and found Satou’s name written in black ink over every inch of exposed skin.

Your gaze caught on her left forearm, where she had a red-stained towel tightly clamped.

“Let me see.”

“Where’s-“

“Let. Me. See.”

She blinked at you rapidly as tears started to well up in her eyes and trickle down her cheeks.

You reached out and grabbed her arm, gently but firmly, and peeled away the damp towel. Carved into her inner arm were the same words written on all her body. Satou Wannabe. You sighed, closed your eyes and let your head fall back.

“Where’s Satou?”

“She’s not coming today,” you told her. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

She was too busy sobbing inconsolably to be any real help.

You stepped into the flat and let the door swing shut behind you. Then you dragged her by her wrist to the bathroom, where the first aid kit was already out and open. There was blood on the floor, on the sink, on everything in the first layer of the kit. You decided to focus on Yuma first and leave the clean-up for later.

You took charge, did everything for her as if she were a doll you were taking care of and not a person. You kept the towel pressed to the wound until it stopped bleeding. Next you rinsed the cuts under the tap, washed around them with hand soap.

Only then did you turn to the first aid kit. The wound didn’t appear to be deep enough to warrant stitches or butterfly sutures, so you applied a thin layer of antibiotic ointment to each cut before rolling a length of gauze around her entire forearm.

When everything was said and done, you couldn’t help but ask, “Why? How could you do this?” Your questions came out chidingly, as if you were a disappointed parent lecturing her for having a party when you weren’t home and not… Whatever this was.

“She has such a beautiful name,” she said at last, talking into her chest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I tried writing it over and over again to get it out of my head, but it didn’t work. When I couldn’t find another scrap of paper, I started writing it on my hands, my legs, my arms… But it still wasn’t enough. So I grabbed a kitchen knife and cut it into me. And, finally, my brain quieted down.”

Yuma’s yandere tendencies were starting to manifest. It must seem to her as if she were going crazy. You couldn’t help but feel bad for the poor girl.

You reached out and hugged Yuma close to your chest, shushing her and stroking her hair and back until she finally stopped crying.

“Do you feel better now?”

She shook her head.

You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth before nodding. Then you grabbed a clean towel, put some soap and warm water on it, and started rubbing away the Japanese characters on her face.

“No!” She said at first, jerking away. You held her in place by the nape of her neck like she was an unruly kitten and scrubbed until her cheek was as close to clean as it was going to get.

“Listen. I know you love Satou, but this isn’t the way you show it. She wouldn’t want to see you like this.” Something was telling you that this was a lie, that Satou would be thrilled to see her name carved into one of her conquests… But you were working off of normal person logic and a normal person wouldn’t be.

“I don’t know what to do,” Yuma hiccuped. “How did you woo her?”

You stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb! I know you two are an item.”

Did you and Satou come off as a couple? You frowned, scrubbed Yuma’s forehead a bit harder than was absolutely necessary. “Write her a love letter.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No, I’m really not. You love her? Say it. Show it. Be romantic as shit. Clean your apartment for the next time she comes over. Get her flowers. Make a fucking effort.”

She gaped at you for a long time before closing her mouth and nodding numbly. Suddenly, she lurched forward like a marionette whose strings were pulled, threw her arms around you, and held you close.

“Thank you, Aina.”

You hugged her back the best you could, given your awkward position.

“My pleasure.”