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An agitating scream echoes in the empty room. Well - empty except for the two people there. After the scream follows sobs.
She doesn't want to cry, but she can't help it. Not when the memories get this bad. When they seem fresh - as if it hasn't been years.
Plenty of time to heal and forget. To put it to rest and leave it be. But she's never managed that. It's always been there, waiting in the back of her mind like bacterias waiting for an opening in the skin to crawl through and spread like a disease, taking over the mind and body alike.
Waiting for the defense to fall so they can wash over her and remind her of it all again.
These are the worst times. When she picks the wrong pill and she sees the past clear like they. When instead of forgetting everything, she only remembers the one thing she fights every single day to keep tucked away in the deepest parts of her head. The parts that no one sees - not even herself. She only knows it's there. Because of accidents like this.
Drugs are only fun when it's on your own accords. Otherwise you'll feel funny - the bad sort of funny. You may see things. You may hear things. And you may remember things you might never have remembered in a sober state, because now that the willpower of keeping the gruesome sights out of one's head is stripped to nothing, you have no control of yourself.
And there was nothing worse than the lack of control. Not for people like her. The broken ones. The ones whom people had tried to shape into what they wanted them to be, only for it to go horribly wrong.
Never create something you can't control.
The sobs were quieter now, almost at a complete halt. The girl lifted her head from the boy's lap. She looked up at him and sniffed. The room held no light - which the girl was honestly glad about. It meant she couldn't see his face clearly. The tears threatening to spill over her cheeks made her vision even more blurry. She quickly wiped them away.
She sat up straight now. Her gaze was directed forward, staring at the wall on opposite side to the one she was leaning against.
Maybe she wasn't staring at the wall at all. Her eyes looked distant. There was definitely something else. Some other thing occupying her mind.
Dazai bit his lower lip as he looked at her. He felt he should say something. He should probably say something, right? Right. But what?
That was the issue now, wasn't it. Dazai had never been very good at comforting people. Not for real at least. If this had been the other way around, she would have known. She always knows.
Dazai rarely felt jealous. He didn't think he was jealous of her. What was there to be jealous of? He wasn't even sure himself. For once, the boy didn't know.
"She's dead..."
"Hm?"
The girl turned her head slowly and locked eyes with his. Those empty eyes that reminded him of his own.
"They killed her because of me." Her voice was low. Oddly enough, the tone made the boy almost relax. Ah. Now he remembered. Why he ought to be jealous. Maybe jealous was a too strong word. Perhaps admire was better. Yeah. Definitely.
Again, the boy didn't know what to say.
"Who's dead?" He finally opened his mouth and said something. He didn't know if it was the right thing to say, though - which is why he tried to sound gentle as he spoke, keeping the eerie air around them still.
"She was too nice to me," her voice sounded like hoarse whispers as she spoke. Her eyes were blank, seeing something behind Dazai, something he wouldn't see if he simply turned his head around.
"She didn't like that. It's made her angry - no; jealous. That's what she told me once."
Dazai wanted to furrow his brows in confusion, but in case her lingering gaze would pick it up, he refrained.
"She said she'd treated her badly. Like she did with me. But she said she was sorry too."
Now he could see her gaze shifting. It shifted from something just out of his reach to deep into his soul.
Again; he wanted to react. He wanted to shudder under her soul opening gaze - an urge he rarely had with other people - but he didn't.
"And that she was sorry to me because she'd realised that too late."
She seemed done with talking. Her chest felt lighter, though seeing as she would likely not remember this the next day, the weight would again settle onto her, keeping her down on earth.
None of them said anything. Dazai wasn't sure she even registered him at the moment. But that was fine. Made it easier to just study her. Every minor movement, change in breath, if her gaze moved. He traced every trait of hers that made her her. Every mole, every scar, every mark, every little jewel. Every, single, twitch.
He turned her words over in his head. He didn't quite understand who she was speaking of. There were so many 'her's. Though he thought one of them would be her grandmother. She'd talked about these 'her's before. By that he meant she'd gotten high on some weird shit (which said something coming from him) and started rambling nonsense of people he'd never met. He didn't even have names. He doubted he'd ever get them - at least not from her.
She moved again. Slowly, she descended towards the floor, resting her head against her friend. Dazai observed her carefully. Her breaths came even - normal. Not a single muscle was tense, and Her eyes were shut. She must've been tired.
Not before now did he notice his own body asking for sleep. He leaned his head backwards, hitting the wall, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He hadn't noticed while looking at her simultaneously, but with the loss of vision came the heightening of other senses, and he felt his own hand combing through her hair carefully. When he'd started doing that he wasn't sure. If he were honest with himself; probably the moment she'd laid her head in his lap.
If they both rested for a while, when they both woke up, she'd probably be sober again. Then they could bother with the question of getting out. Right now, Dazai was perfectly happy being exactly where he was.