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“What, did you think I was some defenseless, naive damsel who believes anyone when they say they have good intentions? You don’t know me at all,” Teruko scoffs. “I saw this coming a mile away. Drop the fucking knife.”
The shock in Xander’s eye, the way it widens, the way he takes a shaky step back as if losing conviction- good. He knows he’s not in control of the situation anymore, and she can all but read the regret like words on a page written across his body language. Seems like he can only lie for so long. Coward. “T-Teruko, wait, I-”
“Shut up!” she snaps, brandishing her weapon. He finally dropped that condescending ‘miss’, now that all masks are off. Now all he had to do was drop the knife. “I don’t care what your excuses are— too fucking late. You made your choice. I should’ve known better than to let you in at all.” She takes a menacing step forward, and can’t fight back a small grin when he takes another step back. “You think you’re such hot shit, don’t you? Acting all high and mighty, with your ‘justice’. And look where that got you, huh?!” She feigns as if to pounce, just to watch him flinch. He’s afraid of her now.
A low, haunting chuckle escapes Teruko before she even realizes it. “Did you get close to me because you thought I’d be an easy target? You don’t know me, Xander. You never did.” And now nobody else ever will— she’s never making the mistake of trying to break the cycle again.
He’s nearly backed into the corner of the computer lab by now. Maybe if he’s compliant, she’ll let him live. What the others decide to do with him from there isn’t her problem. But god dammit, she should’ve guessed nothing can be easy for her. He lunges, but she was prepared. She ducks out of the way, and drives her own knife into his side, just below his ribs. She watches the blood soak his shirt, blooming like a springtime blossom, and just as sweet, and-
Wait, wait, that’s not right. Hunting knives aren’t meant for stabbing, they’re meant for slicing. Right? Teruko isn’t exactly sure, it’s not like she’s tried. She sighs, staring vacantly at her ceiling in the pitch black. Let’s try this again…
He lunges, but she was prepared. She ducks out of the way, and digs the serrated edge of her own knife against his forearm and drags in a heavy slice. He lets out a startled cry of pain, his knife falling to the floor as he fumbles for something to cover the jagged laceration. She stumbles back a few steps, chest heaving and heart pounding with adrenaline. She’s alive. She’s alive, and she won.
No, wait— won what? It’s not exactly like the confrontation was a competition or a fair fight or anything, so…
God, why is she being so nitpicky of her own thoughts in the first place? This is so aggravating. With an exhausted groan, Teruko turns onto her side in some feeble attempt to get more comfortable, as if that’s enough to quiet the racket in her mind enough for her to sleep. Yeah, right.
It’s stupid, and definitely counterintuitive, but she can’t stop replaying it— that fateful span of what couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. She relives it in her mind’s eye over and over, each time picturing herself doing something, anything different that could’ve changed the outcome. He got what he deserved, but it isn’t satisfying. It doesn’t feel fair, not when she never got her closure.
And she knows ‘closure’ is subjective, but what else can she call the thing she needs to fill the hollow cavity in her chest where her heart should be? But then again, will endlessly dwelling on regret get her anywhere closer to getting that closure? Of course not. What else can she do, though?
She should’ve trusted her instincts over a stranger. She should’ve kept her knife on her. She should’ve betrayed him first.
… But she didn’t want to do that, did she?
If she had betrayed him first, would that have made her feel any better even if she knew what Xander’s intentions were? Would that have satisfied her? Her mind drifts back to the start again, but this time, the story changes.
“Did you get close to me because you thought I’d be an easy target? You don’t know me, Xander. You never did.” And now nobody else ever will- she’s never making the mistake of trying to break the cycle again.
She eyes him up and down, every muscle in her body rigid and thoroughly prepared to strike if necessary. He pauses, lifting his hand— is he trying to catch her off guard? As if that’ll work, what kind of weakling does he take her for? What kind of-
The rage howling feral inside of her falls silent as Xander’s knife hits the floor, as if the clatter were a sound much louder and scarier.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is ragged, almost pleading, raw emotion tearing into her like it was just as serrated as the blade in her hand. “I can’t- I can’t do this. I don’t want to, Teruko. Not to you.”
Now it’s her turn to look panicked- she’s trembling for a reason entirely separate from adrenaline now. “Sh-Shut up,” she snarls, cursing the waver in her tone. “Shut up, why- why should I believe you now!?” This has to be another act. It’s not like he’d need the knife to overpower her— he’s still a threat. But directly in front of her, while she’s still armed? However physically strong Xander might be, it would be a bad idea. But he keeps his distance.
“You shouldn’t,” he replies with a humorless huff of laughter. “You have no reason to. F-Fuck, you’d be justified to kill me here and now. But I won’t ask for your mercy, or… or forgiveness.” His head drops, like a shamed dog. Teruko can still barely notice the panic in his eye through his fiery bangs. “Just— I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m… so sorry.”
Wait… what? Her eyes snap open, nothing but inky darkness to fixate on yet startled all the same. Sorry? He’s not supposed to be sorry. God dammit, she’s trying to fantasize about having power over the situation, about beating him at his own game. What’s the point if it’s not realistic, let alone the way she would’ve wanted it to turn out in her favor? Teruko would’ve wanted to overpower him, outsmart him, make him pay for betraying her like the conniving, manipulative scum she should’ve known he’d turn out to be. That’s what she would’ve wanted to happen instead. It has to be.
Because the alternative is unthinkable. Even if somehow Xander did change his mind, even if he did decide she’s worth more to him— would she have forgiven him? Would she let him back in after paying the price for it the first time?
She wouldn’t. She has to believe that she wouldn’t. She’s smarter than that, stronger. She doesn’t need anyone, much less a piece of shit like him; there’s no way she would’ve forgiven him.
Teruko’s body grows restless, turning onto her back, then her left side, then her right, limbs humming with an energy beneath the surface that makes her skin feel too tight. She wouldn’t have forgiven him. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Whether he backed out or not, he proved her paranoia right, took hold of the last tattered shreds of her vulnerability and ripped them apart at the seams. She’ll never be so foolish again. She wouldn’t have forgiven him.
… But she’s no better than Xander. She’s a liar, even to herself.
No, no that’s not true— she wanted him dead, she’s glad he’s dead. That’s what Teruko frantically chants in her mind, and when that’s not enough to drown it out she mumbles to the lifeless room: “I hate him. I hate Xander. I hate him. I hate him.”
It’s still not enough. One false step, one insistent little shred of self-doubt allowed to fester, and the dam collapses. Fuck, she can’t do this anymore- make a machine of herself, a hardened survivor, a lone animal looking out for itself alone. Self-sabotage can only get her so far, but she’s so, so damn pathetic— she wants. She wants, craves, yearns, and she wants to stop, but she can’t- she just can’t stop wanting, and it’s killing her, shredding her flesh to ribbons from the inside out.
She wanted him to choose her. She wanted him to be the one to break the cycle, to save her from her doomed spiral of eternal isolation. She wanted him to care.
She wanted him.
Before she knows it, she’s choking on a tortured sob. Like it or not, she wanted Xander to be different. The time they had together, the kind words, the alien sensation of belonging with someone- it all felt real to her, even if it wasn’t. Teruko wanted it to be real. God, she wanted it to be real so, so badly.
And maybe she misses pretending to be wanted more than she misses Xander himself, but as she’s breaking down into a pillow, shattering in ways she never has before, it’s all so painfully clear.
Would she have forgiven him? Yes. In a heartbeat, she would’ve.
But it’s too late now. All she has left is regret, a thousand imagined ways she could’ve saved herself, and one imagined way she could’ve saved them both. Teruko never learns. She’ll get weak again soon, she knows she will, and the cycle will continue. She’ll be abandoned and used and betrayed again and again, and when the scar tissue is ripped open anew, she’ll remember when she swore each time would be the last.