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after all is said and done, ann returns to an empty apartment.
the rage is still somewhat new to her— the crackle and singe of flame cupped in the palm of her hands. it hurts, it burns, but she only presses it closer to her chest, like it's somehow possible to cage the blaze of her own anger in the space between her heart and ribcage. somewhere safe, where she can't forget.
hah. like she'd ever forget in the first place. it makes her think of when ann's mother and father held a party in her honor after she graduated middle school. no mention of work, she was promised, no stepping outside to take a call or absent - minded gestures to wave ann off because there were more important things to tend to. just the three of us, like you always wanted.
this was true for only thirty - four minutes before ann's father got a very important call from a very important person ( he was a fashion designer, a fucking fashion designer; how important could it be? certainly the entire world would not fall on its head and descend into anarchy if one collaborator was away for an hour, ann thought bitterly) and left, her mother soon following suit. don't worry about cleaning up— we'll call a caretaker over. be good, okay, ann? ann was good, of course.
the bitter aftertaste of a thoroughly unsatisfactory graduation party stuck with ann for a good while, but more so what her mother said before she left. these are your formative years, ann. high school will be the best three years of your life— days you'll always want to look back on fondly when you're old and grey like me. you'll make lots of great memories, so don't worry too much about anything.
it was odd advice to give to a fourteen year - old girl, but it was only up til now that ann realized she had taken it entirely at face value. she had gone into high school with exactly one real friend and insurmountable expectations for the days to come— though, the details were always a little blurry. and… looking on as she sat at one of the tables outside the shibuya diner and people - watched (always looking on , always alone ), ann figured there was some truth to her mother's guidance. from time to time, she'd spot a group of shujin students, cracking jokes together or making plans or doing something totally dumb, and feel a pang of envy. their expressions were always bright and sunny, laughing like they didn't have a care in the world except getting home before curfew or when exam grades would come out next week. that , ann realized, is probably what her mother meant, what she'd expected ann would be a part of. and ann, of course, went on to become a social outcast whose only friends were either hospitalized or delinquents. certainly whatever the phantom thieves were doing could not be legal.
and that's it, right? these will be ann's good memories to look back on and smile at:
- watching through the window, with clammy hands pressed to the glass as her best friend in the entire world stood at the ledge of the roof, toes pointed just over the edge. just watching as she fell, and how ann could only think of those hopeless, broken - winged birds that soared from their perches to the crushing concrete beneath because there was no where else they could go.
- arms and legs numb from immobility, bound tightly to a medieval torture device and all she could do was sit there and listen as that bastard explained to ann in cruel, condescending detail how it was her fault that shiho had to take her place as his little plaything because she couldn't live up to her reputation as the school slut, how he leered and wagged his tongue and told her he was positive it wasn't nearly as good with her as it would have been with ann, but, well— no time to test that theory out like the present, right?
- then… rage. white, hot, searing, all - consuming hate like ann was being scorched alive.
it feels like some kind of sick prank, how it's all worked out. it wouldn't even be the first time she's been made the butt of a cruel joke, by some group of scornful teenage boys when their advances were spurned or the like. ann remembers— one time, on her walk home from middle school in her last year, she had been approached by a girl, mase-chan, in her literature class who ann was almost forty percent sure she was at least a friendly acquaintance of, greeting ann with a warm smile and asking for help carrying all her textbooks home. ann agreed, of course, and they chatted amicably and laughed about their professor's strictness for a good while. at some point, just before they reached mase-chan's apartment, she beckoned ann into a back-alley outside of the complex under the guise of spotting something shiny. then, mase-chan withdrew a butterfly knife from her sleeve and pointed the end of it at ann's throat, accusing, like the two of them were starring in some sort of crime drama.
leave my boyfriend the hell alone, konketsuji, mase-chan spat, words laced with venom where they had been light and cheery only minutes ago, stop taking his attention away from me.
ann, a bit dazed by the sudden turn of events, could only make the situation worse by asking which one in class 2-b was her boyfriend again? mase-chan did not like this, pressed the knife as close to ann's neck as she could without outright slicing into her throat and laughed, but it was mean and cold. you really are the whore everyone says you are, huh? you don't even remember which boys you make eyes at anymore! or maybe your head is so full of air, you move onto a new boy as soon as he leaves your field of sight? well, he's iwao tsukasa. ring a bell?
of course it did. iwao-san was the loser who hit on her in front of his friends and threw a fit when she turned him down. she never liked him that way, after all. when ann tried to tell mase-chan as much, she screamed, liar! and accidentally nicked ann's throat with the knife. mase-chan stumbled backwards in abject horror when met with the sight of a trickle of blood, but managed to regain her senses quickly enough to give ann one final warning before she stormed off into the apartment, with her textbooks.
ann picked herself back up and ran all the way home in hysterical tears. just like now, the apartment was empty. she didn't bother telling anyone about what had transpired, but when she returned to school the next day with a pink bandage on her neck, she found her desk smeared with black permanent marker and that word had already got around from mase-chan— twisted perfectly to against her own favor, of course.
ann wonders what telling her parents or a teacher would have even done, in that case or this case or any other. she's so tired of being relegated to the corner like this, licking her wounds like a dog. she's always made it a point to be as kind as possible to as many people as possible, but what's the use when you're a mixed-blooded girl?
so. ann returns to an empty apartment after ryuji and akira drop her off, both exchanging worried looks when she insists she does not need anyone to stay the night over, she's perfectly fucking fine, before the group finally parts. she regrets telling them to go only a little.
she manages her way to her bathroom and looks in the mirror, and takes a good, hard look. she looks for what kamoshida saw when he gawked at her when he thought she didn't notice, what tsukasa saw when she turned her nose up at him, what mase-chan saw in ann when she pressed a knife to her throat. she thinks about what she saw inside of kamoshida's palace— staring at her mirror image, a girl without a thought or care in the world besides whatever it was that kamoshida wanted. in a scene so familiar, she feels out of place.
ann isn't sure how it happens, but her fist connects with the glass and it shatters into a million pieces, scattered on the floor, and ann holds her bloody hand and crumples to the floor and cries for the first time in too long.
kamoshida, she thinks, won't be allowed to survive this.