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“I’m sorry,” Mikan whispers, voice wavering. “I’m s-so sorry.”
There’s a baseball bat in her right hand, and she’s clenching her fist around it like it’s her only lifeline. There’s blood on the bat, there’s blood on her hands, there’s blood on the floor, and there’s a body in front of her.
Nanami-san. A friend. Her only friend.
Why did she agree to this, again?
“Mikan,” the name leaves Junko’s lips like a purr, “why are you apologizing? You did the right thing.”
“No, no, n-no, this isn’t right—” Mikan babbles, dropping the bat and clutching Junko. She buries her face into her chest and sobs.
Junko hums. “I misspoke,” she cedes. “It’s not right. Murder’s evil, isn’t it? What an absolutely sick thing to do.”
“I know,” Mikan mumbles. “So, w-why... Why did this happen?”
“You did what I asked of you. I asked you to kill your friend, Nanami-chan, and you did it. Isn’t that awful?” Junko giggles. “You should be apologizing. Poor Nanami-chan, betrayed by her dear classmate... She must have been terrified in her last moments.”
Mikan chokes on a sob. “I know, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so sorry...”
“Do you think Nanami-chan would forgive you? If she knew that this was what you were capable of?”
Mikan shakes her head. “S-She didn’t have any idea how—how horrible I am. She said—she said that I wasn’t a bad person, but she had no idea, she didn’t know me at all—”
She collapses to her knees at Junko’s feet, clinging to her like a beggar. Her fingernails, dirtied with Nanami’s blood, dig into Junko’s flesh. They’re jagged, like tiny teeth biting into her legs. Mikan bites her nails. It’s a bad habit—unsanitary by most standards and unfitting for a nurse—but she can’t kick it. She claws so hard that she draws blood, and yet she cries like she isn’t dangerous. Like it’s not her fault.
“You forgive me,” Mikan murmurs against Junko’s calf, pressing her forehead against her. It’s meant to be a question, maybe, but it comes out like a statement.
Junko pries herself free of Mikan’s grasp to lower herself to her level. She’s groveling, like a sinner to their god—so what does that make Junko if she’s on the ground, too?
Junko’s hand finds the small of her back, and she hugs Mikan close. Her words are not comfort, but they are comforting. “You deserve this,” she murmurs into her ear. “All of the pain—the despairthat you’re feeling—down to the scrapes on your knees. You did this. You murdered your friend in cold blood. And to what end?”
Her lips are on Mikan’s ear now, teeth grazing the lobe and threatening to bite down. “If any other person were standing here, watching this pathetic display, they’d tell you to commit suicide. You’d be doing the world a favor, honestly. You really are disgusting.”
Mikan’s breath staggers with her sobs. They’re ugly, shrill, each one like a scream for help. Help that isn’t coming. Help that she doesn’t deserve.
“Despite all that, I forgive you,” Junko continues. “I forgive you, even though you’re such an unforgivable human being. I’ll always forgive you.”
Mikan looks up at Junko with teary doe eyes—the eyes of a killer, though you’d never expect it from her—and sniffles. “T-Thank you,” she chokes out.
Junko grins, and she kisses Mikan on the forehead. She presses another kiss into the curve of her cheekbone, and one more on the other side. “You’re perfect like this,” she murmurs against her tear-stained skin. She tastes traces of salt.
“You awful, vile, hateful, despairing girl,” Junko grins, and she steals the last shallow breath from Mikan’s lungs with a kiss.