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Rei buys her a box of bandages.
They stand outside. It’s summer and it’s ungodly hot and the crickets outside the shrine feel like they’re screeching. There are beads of sweat bunching against the back of Minako’s neck, sinking into her hair.
“What the actual fuck is this,” Minako half-snarls and honestly, she doesn’t mean it. The box of bandages squeeze between her fingers and Rei doesn’t even entertain her. “I hate when you get like this,” Minako insists. Like it means something.
Rei barely bats an eye.
“You’re going to need it soon,” she says.
-
For the record:
Minako does believe in superstitions. It seems stupid, even irresponsible, given what she’s been through up until this point.
“She never told me what they were for,” she tells Usagi. Hopes for someone in her corner. If it’s going to be anyone, it’ll for sure be Usagi. “Which probably gave her way too much satisfaction, for sure.”
Usagi looks amused. “Stop it,” she says. Then gently, “You know she usually has a good reason when she gets like this.”
Minako hates that she’s right.
“But I’m way too paranoid for this,” she mutters from her spot on the floor. “Like I go over my week a thousand times. Did I do something to someone? Did I forget to take the trash out? Or is this a past life thing - like who did I accidentally murder?”
To her credit, Usagi only rolls her eyes. She is sitting at the edge of Minako’s bed, her long legs swinging lightly, the backs of her heels tapping against the bedpost. She’s only been here a little under twenty minutes and Minako feels her anxiety edge off just a little bit. That’s another mystery, she thinks. The days where Usagi comes and goes and really just knows more than she is really willing to give.
She seems a little different today too, Minako tells herself. Studies the other girl and tries to pinpoint what is going on.
“I-“
“How long have you known?”
Minako freezes.
“I don’t want to guess,” Usagi murmurs. She pushes herself up off the bed and moves to Minako’s spot. She sits right in front of her. “Because if you wanted to tell me - and I would hope that you would want to tell me - that I would already know.”
Her response is gradual. Her fingers flex and tremble, then bury themselves over her knees. She scrapes a little at her skin and tries to swallow. She doesn’t know what to say.
"I don't know," she says.
Minako also believes in lies.
(She tries to save herself.)
-
They met once.
It was a long time ago; a family party and Minako might have been six, wide-eyed because according to her mother "she is really, really great with energies!" because all her mother wanted to be was a stage mom and telling people she could see energies seemed exotic.
But he was there. With a name she no longer remembers. With a family he wasn't supposed to have and a connection that shouldn't haunt her, but was already waiting to.
She wishes there was some grand, obscene story she could tell. That she saw him across the room and just knew even though she was six or seven and might have seen his face, maybe even heard him talk. Children remember things strangely sometimes with smells and colors and that chocolate cake she wasn't supposed to eat, but made her so, so sick.
What she does remember is this:
Venus, larger than life, dim in the back of her mind, telling her as if she was supposed to understand her: "You'll understand later. I promise, but I'm going to need you leave. If you don't, he'll see you." It was an odd sensation because, even as a child, Minako knew she was talking to herself but not really talking to herself and that she should trust her instincts, just like the pretty colors she could suddenly see from time to time.
So she moved. She left. Snuck outside and climbed a tree. Told herself that the higher she went, the safer she would be. Scrapped her knees. She tore a hole in the skirt of her dress, watching the fabric ribbon into a scrap and dirt. Told herself that there was no such thing as the Boogie Man and her mother was scarier and would probably kill her because the dress she was wearing was already ruined.
At the bottom of the tree, a boy was watching her. Depending on when she tells the story, he's ten, then twelve, and maybe even thirteen. He waves, never yells, at her to come down. She won't remember his eyes or the length of his hair, or even the shape of his mouth as it moved to talk to her to get down.
"That's him," Venus had told her. She is always honest.
That was all Minako needed to know.
-
"It's complicated," she tells Usagi. Mostly, she feels guilty. "I don't really remember anything beyond what I've already told you."
Usagi flicks her fingers against her nose. "You don't have to tell me."
"Yes, I do." Minako bats her fingers away, scoffing. "You're the only one that I have ever felt like I've owed anything to."
"Mina-chan."
"Yeah, yeah. I know, I know." Minako feels her face flush and she looks away because god this embarrassing and painful and as much as she wants to say things like yes, I haven't thought about him because that would be the right thing to do and Usagi would let her. "I know you don't like when I get this," she starts to ramble, "but look, like, I know he killed me. I know he was part of the reason that you died, that the kingdom went, and that life could have really, really different and half the time I think about it and I get so irrationally angry because I just want to hit him and I really don't know why."
Usagi remains quiet. She listens. Minako hates that she listens. Hates that they're older and Usagi is really, really good at listening. It's insanely uncomfortable how kind she is about it, how she never feels like she's judging her, and while, sure, she can be a complete mess around the other girls, Usagi is the only one that keeps the pieces together. Minako wears a lot guilt like this; most days, she thinks, this isn't the way it's supposed to go.
But Usagi stays right in front of her, on the floor. She's taken fistfuls of her own hair, wrapping them gently into her palms. It feels way too familiar of a gesture. They're not children anymore, but it hasn't changed. Minako feels Venus somewhere inside of her, hovering. Probably in case she gives away too much.
"At some point," Usagi says slowly. "At some point, you're going to have to decide how you feel and not let her be the one that is only allowed to have the feelings. Whether you're angry or sad or you can't trust the fact that you're having all these feelings and aren't sure that they even belong to you, that's a decision that you're going to have to make."
Minako studies her quietly. Takes in how suddenly Usagi's posture changes. She straightens and relaxes. Her eyes brighten and the light from her window hits Usagi in such a way that Minako almost forgets who exactly she is, her best friend and not a princess.
"All I can say is this - to hate him forever, whoever he turns out to be, for however long, for whoever you feel you are, is only going to hurt you. And that is something I don't want. You just deserve to move on in the way that you need."
It's then, there, in the middle of her bedroom, that her mind starts to paint a picture of a man, just a simple man. He might be tall and lean. His laugh might be low and warm. He might even hold her just slightly, to claim his purpose to her selfishly and not as a secret. They don't feel like memories, but Minako is completely overwhelmed and feels herself start to tremble. Her hands shake and cover her mouth. Her eyes widen and a sob stumbles through, slamming against her fingers and she has no idea where it's come from.
Usagi doesn't say anything. Gathers her into her arms. Gently peels her hands from her face and then buries her face in her arms. This is warmth she shouldn't have, she thinks. Her head spins and it's like an identity crisis - am I me, she thinks, am her. She feels like crying. She doesn't.
"I hate him," she says, swears. "I hate him."
Usagi never judges.
-
The first couple of classes she has at university are on the top floor.
It has nothing to do with anything, but she's usually winded by the time she's done in the morning. Runs up and down the stairs. Texts Ami to say things like can I pay you to do my homework? because she is a masochist through and through.
The problem is, she never sees it coming.
Two of her textbooks are woefully heavy. She's not paying attention, of course. Tries to balance them on her hip with her purse because she's hungry and needs to eat before her afternoon decides to start. There's a gap in the middle of the stairs and usually, she says out loud, "not today, satan!" since she's sure that the universe is probably going to take her out at some point, using those particular stairs.
Her laces aren't untied, but she still trips, a couple stairs above.
"Damn it."
Her eyes are squeezed shut. Her knee is throbbing. There are hands on her waist and she keeps cursing under her breath because this is only thing she can think of doing outside crying, but crying seems really stupid right now. The hands on her waist are steady though; they keep her grounded as she tries to adjust herself, ignoring how the pain in her knee starts to grow. She opens one eye and looks down, sees the blood rolling out from underneath her skirt and groans because why not, of course.
"Are you okay," someone says, and that someone's voice is low and thick, curling in the pit of her belly so much so that she already hates it. She feels her body respond almost immediately, crawling into some kind of haze before she acknowledges the other person. Her reactions to people get even more visceral as she gets older. Maybe that's the Venus in her, maybe it isn't, but it does make her feel more than just a little insane. No one warned her that this was her version of getting older, too fast, too soon.
Then she sees him.
But he's seen her first.
It would be a different kind of lie if she admitted to everything stopping - the room, the voices that pass, her heart for just a split second because if she were honest, she would admit to thinking about this moment, over and over again. Love and obsession go hand in hand, after all. There's no love here, not right now. She sees him and can describe him: he's handsome, tall, and his mouth rounds just slightly, maybe a smile, maybe not. His grip on her waist never loosens, as if he were acknowledging that he knew her too. Is she that curious, she asks herself, to know the answer to that?
"Are you all right?" he asks again. No, she thinks.
His name is at the tip of her tongue.
Venus is silent.
Minako doesn't remember what she says back. It's not important yet. It's there though and somehow, she moves her hands to his, pushing them away from her hips. She ignores how her heart races into her throat. How her hands feel like they're burning. She leans heavily against the stair railing. Meets his gaze. The room is spinning. She's not a child in a tree anymore; that's as defiant as she's going to be. It's stupid and she knows.
This isn't how it's supposed to start.
-
There is a bandage on her knee the next time she sees Rei. Minako feels like hitting her. Almost does - grips the box of bandages, arching her arm back as if she were ready to throw and let it go.
Rei is always honest. "Better keep the box," she says.