Chapter Text
September 18, 2009
Dear Diary,
Today was one of those days, t
Toaday
Today I woke up with a bad feeling in my chest, I could
I didn’t want to wake up toda
I feel so lonely.
How can I feel alone when I’m surrounded by people all the time?
How can I feel alone when all I’m doing every day is talk and talk and talk to so many different people about so many different things?
I know so many who would kill to be in my place, who think that being Takeba Yukari isn’t such a bad thing after all.
They don’t know that being Takeba Yukari is a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, not even on
Some days I feel so lonely I could cry, like I could finally wipe this stupid little smile of mine off my face, break down and wail until I collapse from exhaustion, except I never cry. I never cry because I know for a fact not a single person in the whole world would care if I did.
At school, there’s a lot people that say hi to me on the way to class, or in the hallways on lunch break. I say hi to them too, try to keep my words polite, my tone cheery and my smile fixed on as always.
Some take this to mean that I must have lots of friends, but, in reality, I don’t even remember those people’s names.
I don’t do that out of haughtiness, or out of a sense of superiority, but simply because they aren’t important enough for me to care to remember. I share nothing with those people. I sometimes feel like they exist as mere set-dressing, born to fill out the scenes of my life and nothing more.
How rude must I be, to think of people like this. why do I think like this. I hate this. I hate myself.
Yesterday I was walking home with Rio-chan from 2-C, and she mentioned that she really envied my archery team. She said that, unlike the girls from her volleyball team, mine were disciplined and devoted to the sport, and, most of all, they were all friends with each other, and their captain too.
That got me thinking, can I call the girls from the team my ‘friends’? We hang out, sure, we go shopping, go out to eat, we even had a sleepover once. That should be enough for me to call them my friends, right?
Right?
I dunno why, but all this stuff came back to me today in class. Today was a real shitty day, I could tell from the moment I woke up it would be. Whenever these sorts of days come I just try to bolt on a smile and get on with it without lashing out at the wrong people or breaking down out of nowhere.
But today, something odd happened.
As some professor or the other prattled on about whatever, my mind started wandering on its own down the usual path of misery that I’ve bored you with plenty of times before. This time, though, it led me to ask myself a question:
If I were to die tomorrow, who would come to my funeral?
I never once wondered what may hay happen when I’ll die, I always thought myself too young to join dad, but, then again, dad himself was too young to meet Death. I simply didn’t yet know that Death doesn’t care about that, nor about anything else.
I had to come up with an answer, I wouldn’t accept anything less than that; in that moment, it was as if nothing else mattered more to me. For the rest of the class the only thing I could focus on was running through the list of everyone I’ve ever know, in some paranoid attempt to discern who’d actually feel something for my death.
Mom was the first one that came to mind, because of course she was. She always is. Would she care enough about my death to bother coming? Of course, I thought, I’m her fucking daughter, what kind of spineless, emotionless bitch wouldn’t show up to her own daughter’s funeral?
But we haven’t seen each other ever since I left home for middle school, haven’t we? How many years ago was that? And even before that we hadn’t been on good terms for a long time. Nowadays entire months pass where I don’t hear anything from her.
After all this time, after all these years of poison between us, is she even capable of caring enough about her daughter’s death to stop fucking her man of the month?
My mind next landed on the girls from the team. Would they show up if their captain were to die? Do they even care about me beyond my role as their captain? For all the time we’ve spent together as ‘friends’, have we ever had a serious conversation about ourselves, our feelings, our problems, our hopes, our dreams, or anything that wasn’t the most superficial bullshit imaginable? Do I even truly know them?
Would Rio-chan, or Yuko-chan show up? They are the people I would consider myself the closest to in school, but are they my friends, or just the lucky few that have learned to put up with my bullshit better than the average joe simply because they’ve been around me for longer?
Then, of course, came the hardest part for me to answer.
If I were to die, would my dormmates come to my funeral?
If I died tomorrow in Tartarus, say a Beast’s claws rip me into a thousand bloody ribbons, or a Turret’s shell blows half my face off and leaves me bleeding out on the floor, who would come to my funeral, be in any way saddened that Takeba Yukari had just died. If anyone of them grieved, would they grieve Yukari, the person, or Yukari, the marginally useful battle asset that could sometimes heal them?
Would Aragaki-san mourn me? Would Sanada-san? Only courtesy and politeness could bid them to do so, nothing else.
Amada just thinks me an annoying killjoy probably, and, besides, it’s not like we spend a lot of time together outside of Tartarus, most of the time he probably barely remembers I’m here.
Aigis? Like hell. All of us know that the reason we say she’s human-like is because her face looks like that of a human and maybe out of some foolish attempt to not hurt her feelings, like she even has them, she doesn’t even understand human attachment, let alone the concept of pride, or death for that matter.
Junpei? Why would he, when I’ve been treating him like shit since middle scho no. No. NO.
Mitsuru-senpai?
I nearly burst out laughing in the middle of class. I’ve done nothing but antagonize her over dad’s death, like she shot him in the head herself AND laughed about it to my face. All this time I’ve been treating her like some sort of punching bag for my anger towards her family, bitching about her, giving her the cold shoulder and snapping at her.
I know deep down that she’s just as much a victim of them as I am. I know it rationally and completely, yet, every time I have to interact with her I have to keep the hurt little girl within me from leaping at her and strangling her myself.
I am sure that, were I to die, she probably wouldn’t even flinch, maybe she’d even be happy I am gone.
As for Fuuka-chan... I don’t know. She might feel sad at my death, cry and find some way to blame it on herself. Funnily enough, she might even feel such things out of genuine sadness and hurt.
How sad, that she, of all people, is the only one I see possibly mourning my passing. She’s far, far too sweet for this world.
That left the only one out of them all. I still vividly remember feeling a chill run its way up my spine and tears leave my eyes in that moment.
Would Makoto-kun come? I asked myself.
I don’t know what to write here, what do you expect? I didn’t and don’t know how to answer this question, of course I didn’t come up with an answeer answer, I didn’t want to answer this question, I didn’t want to accept that No, he wouldn’t.
This is all about him again, isn’t it? Everything is about him these days.
We still haven’t had a proper talk after the incident with those thugs. I still can’t believe how foolishly I acted. Goddammit, to this day I still dream of him hugging me almost every night, yet, the one time he does I snap at him.
No, fuck that. I was scared, I was scared and jumpy because they had stolen my wallet, because they had tried to touch me where I didn’t want them to and less than a minute later I feel arms and hands closing tight around my body and it was all so sudden and of course I’d get mad at him, I will never stop believing I wasn’t in the right for snapping that day and that it was his fault for not thinking before acting. But...
I’ll never forget the face he made at me when I scolded him.
He didn’t just look ashamed, he looked hurt, like my words had physically wounded him, he simply stood there, half awkward and half terrified, like I was some sort of monster come before him.
And then he left.
He left without saying anything else.
In that moment I felt so angry words cannot even describe.
How dare you act like you were the wounded one when you weren’t the one who almost got robbed and assaulted, how dare you pull the goddamn hurt puppy eyes on me, how dare you run on me like that. What were you expecting? That since you oh-so-nobly came to save the defenseless maiden, then she’d surely put up with you when you come to hug her like a creep like she had no right to her own feelings and hurt?
Once the anger flared down, however, I fell into a fit of panic. Makoto’s no creep, he never was or will be, I am certain of this. What if this was just a warped idea of comfort on his end? Maybe he thought that since his hug made me feel better when I was upset at Yakushima, then I would be comforted once more when he hugged me again.
Oh God, I have been so damn hasty, I’ve acted like a goddamn imbecile. What if he thinks I don’t even want his forgiveness? What if it’s over for us?
It’s been almost a week, and neither of us has tried to reach out to the other, to explain this whole mess away. I have thought about talking to him so, so many times these past few days, yet, every time I tell myself to finally swallow my damn pride and approach him, I hesitate, I hesitate and hesitate and hesitate.
How long are we going to keep to ourselves? We live in the same dorm, go to the same class, we hunt shadows in Tartarus together more nights than not. He’s everywhere I go, and I am everywhere he is and I can’t keep ignoring him.
What do I even want to tell him?
That I don’t hate him?
That I realized that I was wrong to get so mad?
To please stop ignoring me this hurts me so so so much I can’t
Today, of all days, I came across him.
After class, I just wanted to go home. Fuck studying, fuck archery practice, fuck everyone who wanted to walk home with me. I felt sick to my stomach, sick in ways I had never felt before, like my insides were full of nails, like every fiber of muscle within me was made of steel. No amount of worthless chatter, idle gossiping or caffeine had so far managed to snap me out of it, so I figured the best thing for me to do was to head home and spend the rest of the day writing all of this to you, before, hopefully, catching some sleep.
Except, I made a mistake. I began to head in the direction of the gym, like I do every Friday. I didn’t want to go to practice, but I must have spaced out and my feet brought me there on their own, so I turned back.
Thank god I didn’t meet anyone from the team on my way there, I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a good excuse to justify my absence. I still am.
As I was passing through the courtyard, though, right by that old tree, I heard someone.
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The progressive shortening of the day as the seasons changed was a phenomenon that would never cease to amaze Fuuka; sure, there was a logical, scientific explanation as to why at 6PM the sun still firmly shone in the sky in June, but was nearly about to set in September, but a part of her would forever see this as a wonderful, miraculous, almost magical occurrence that she was lucky to be a witness to.
The green grass of the school’s courtyard was, by now, covered in a thin layer of brownish-reddish leaves, cast off from the myriad of trees whose thinning canopies just about obscured the precise hue of the evening sky, with its slowly growing patches of darkness strewn like splotches of paint on a celestial canvas in seemingly random ways that, however, all followed a greater design.
Beneath this immense canopy, Makoto and Fuuka were but tiny, insignificant specks of dust, aimlessly blown around by the winds of fate and circumstance.
Snapping out of her reverie and back to reality, she led Makoto to one of the many benches in the yard. This one sat next to the gate, in front of a persimmon tree, old and sturdy, with brown, wilting leaves and small flowers growing from among its roots. This place allowed the two of them as much privacy as one could hope for on a school campus, that’s why she had chosen it, or maybe she just liked to be among the trees and flowers, who knows?
As she made herself comfortable, she turned towards her companion, who was in the middle of taking in the scent of a small white flower he’d picked off the ground. When he noticed her looking at him, he quickly threw the flower away and let it flutter on the ground.
“So, Makoto-kun, I came here because I’ve got something to show you!” She began, trying to hide her anxiety beneath her usual cheer.
She dove into her bag and swiftly pulled out a metal box sealed in a plastic wrap by a pair of rubber bands along with a chopsticks set, both of which she swiftly offered him.
At first, she had tried to keep her culinary forays a secret from the rest of the team, as she hoped to be able to cook them all a delicious meal all by herself, with no outside help or guidance, to one day see their jaws drop at her skill, her talent, equal to theirs even in this, greater, even.
However, as it turns out, months of fruitless labor and wasted food were not so easy to hide. By now, everyone knew she was trying to cook, and that she sucked at it, it had become sort of an open secret, something everyone knew well, but no one dared bring up in her presence.
And so Fuuka, demoralized and frustrated beyond belief, had called upon her best bud Makoto to taste test her latest creation, he would surely see reason and acknowledge her skill, right?
Makoto eyed the box warily, sniffed the outside of it and immediately she could see his expression narrow ever so slightly into a grimace; Fuuka’s heart shattered in a million pieces. He hadn’t even eaten the food and he was this disgusted with it already? Did it really stink that much? Not like she and her by now complacent sense of smell could have picked up on it earlier. What talent we have here.
Makoto gave her one last look, his every feature screaming something among the lines of ‘do I REALLY have to do this?’. Fuuka’s already shattered optimism somehow broke down even more, for God’s sake, if even he looked so reluctant to taste her cooking…
She felt a compulsive, almost primal urge to snatch the box from his lap and chuck it into a nearby bush out of frustration, but, before her intrusive thoughts could get the best of her, Makoto unwrapped the box and pried the lid open, revealing the meal contained within. Had her nose been capable of feeling it, she would have been bombarded by the oppressive scent of vinegar and citrus, scents which, frankly, have no business being together.
Sadly, she didn’t know, nor had any way of knowing, but Makoto sure did.
Despite the obvious reluctance writ on his face, Makoto seemed to steel his resolve somewhat and at least attempt to try it, probably just so he wouldn’t make her sad. She had asked him nicely, after all.
Chopsticks in hand, Makoto lowered his arm towards the box and grasped a clump of spongy, odd colored rice. He lifted it up with a slow, steady movement, he closed his eyes, opened his mouth wide and…
Stopped dead in his tracks.
He dropped the rice back into the box as his gaze was drawn towards the gate of the courtyard. She could see his grimace morph in real time back to that stony, brooding face he wore most of the time, a face she had grown strangely unfamiliar to seeing on him whenever they were together.
She was about to ask him what was wrong, thinking it had something to do with the food she’d given him, but, when she followed his gaze to look towards the gate she found the cause of his discomfort staring back at her with wide, tired eyes.
There she found Yukari, schoolbag still clasped in her hand, walking in the direction of the main school building. She had an… odd look on her face, a strange mixture of exhaustion and pure, utter terror. She looked pale, dead tired, her lips opened ever so slightly and even from such a distance she could see her trying to formulate a word, say something, anything, but failing and leaving her choking on her own breath.
Fuuka carefully raised her hand to hesitantly wave at the girl. Fuuka had seen that Yukari had been acting odd all day, seemingly avoiding anyone and everyone, her included. Junpei had once told her that it was something that happened on occasion, but for Fuuka, this was the first time experiencing one of such episodes.
Fuuka swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and allowed a tentative “H-hi, Yukari-Chan…? Something’s wrong?” to leave her lips, concern dripping from her words. Makoto, meanwhile, stood silent and still as stone.
At Fuuka’s greeting, Yukari’s breathing seemed to grow deeper and deeper, faster and faster. Fuuka was about to get off the bench to go ask what was wrong, to try to help her, somehow, but, before she could do so, Yukari ran off towards the school in a wild swirl of pink that disappeared from view.
She pushed herself from the bench as quickly as her arms allowed her to “Yukari-chan, wait up!” Fuuka ran to the gate, peeking into the corridors that led towards the school. There, she realized with horror that Yukari was far, far quicker on her feet that Fuuka could ever hope to be. The star athlete’s stamina when it came to running far exceeded her own, for crying out loud, Fuuka didn’t even exercise on a regular basis! It truly was hopeless to go chase after her so, really, What are you getting all antsy for?
“Don’t bother.” Came Makoto’s glum voice from behind her. He hadn’t gotten up from where he sat, too busy staring at the bento box in his lap.
She flung around to face him. “What do you mean? Why shouldn’t I go look after her? She’s clearly upset, you’ve seen it, haven’t you?” He was usually so adamant whenever it came to helping others in need, so why was he so resigned to see Yukari suffer all of a sudden?
“You’re not the one that upset her. It’s not up to you to make her feel better.”
Now she was even more confused. “But… it is! We may not see eye to eye sometimes, but she’s still my friend.” At least I hope so. “I have to help her.”
Makoto somehow became even more glum. “The burden of making things right is not yours to bear. Please, just let her be.”
She carefully walked back to the bench and stopped in front of him, all the while carefully mulling her words over in her head. She noticed then that, standing before him like this, she actually had maybe an inch or two of height over him. She kept her gaze focused on the roots of his hair, lightly swayed by the slight breeze that filled the courtyard. He didn’t look at her, instead keeping his gaze locked on the bento box in his lap.
Hands twined behind her back, Fuuka began. “Makoto-kun, it isn’t like you to just let something like this happen. Why don’t you want to help her?” She immediately felt bad pulling this card out, like she was trying to manipulate him into acquiescing to her demands, but she realized her mistake too late.
He shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze and crossed both of his arms in front of him in a defensive manner. She heard him click his tongue at her in annoyance, something she’d never seen him do before to anyone, let alone her.
“Makoto-kun,” She tried again, careful not to upset him. “what happened to Yukari-chan? Why are you acting like this? Does it involve you in some way?”
He stood silent.
“I… p-promise I won’t tell anyone. Please.” She whispered in a pathethic mumble that betrayed just how anxious she was growing by now.
At that, she could see him fold ever so slightly, and he bent his head further. Still, not admitting defeat, Makoto unwound his arms from around his frame and began eating heartily from the bento box, no doubt to make it seem like he wasn’t listening to her.
Stubborn fool! This wasn’t helping anyone. The longer Makoto spent acting like a child the more irritated she was getting at him and the longer Yukari spent suffering unheard.
The reality of the situation became clearer and clearer by the second, and Fuuka could feel her heart falling further and further down as the realization slowly hit her.
They must have had their first lover’s quarrel!
After Yakushima, it had been clear as day that Yukari had a crush on Makoto, and over the past week or so the two of them had been walking home together and hanging out after school pretty often. There had to be… something going on between them, there just had to. Them getting together had always been a simple matter of time, he was the perfect boy and she the perfect girl… She didn’t know what was upsetting her more, Makoto’s hesitance to help Yukari, or the fact that he was probably dating her in secret.
Yukari had always been the pinnacle of everything a girl their age should be, the key-bearer of a kingdom Fuuka had long since been exiled from, the gold standard compared to which she was destined to always fall short. And what wasn’t there to compare! She could rattle off every item in that long list by memory, did so every every time she saw her in the corridors of the school surrounded by so many others, or in the dorm’s kitchen, whenever she was practicing her archery or every time the Dark Hour came along.
She had long since resigned herself to living in the shadow of her seemingly perfect dorm-mate, she resented it, hated the fact every one of her achievements would pale in comparison to Yukari’s, but there was nothing she could do, this was how it was meant to be.
This is how it was meant to be, she thought as she bit back bile. She imagined Makoto and Yukari walking home together, chatting the day away, like how Fuuka and him had done after their trip to the model shop. Except, their blurry images in Fuuka’s mind walk side by side holding hands, talking in gibberish about a million different things, then they kiss, they always end up kissing. Her head is spinning. this is how it is meant to be.
“...Stop pretending you like eating that thing and tell me what is going on with Yukari.” Her irritation had forced the words out harder than she expected, she was surprised at just how harsh she had sounded in that moment. She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed how much she was pressing her fists together or how her face had morphed into a scowl with no input coming from her.
Makoto had stopped eating from the bento box, his hands settled on the box’s rim, where he began tapping it with the chopsticks. He stood pensively for a moment, but then, she saw him sigh ever-so-imperceptibly, so minutely she could almost fool herself into believing her mind had made it all up.
He raised his head to look at her with resignation in his eyes, though, judging by his expression, she swore she could see the spark of something else within them, what, though, she had no way to tell.
“You’re gonna want to sit down. This one’s a long one.”
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Why? That was the first thing I asked myself as I ran away from the school as fast as my feet could carry me.
Why does she always get the few things I truly desire?
I realize I haven’t really talked about Fuuka in a while now, haven’t I? I think the last time I mentioned her to you was before we went to Yakushima.
Back then, I didn’t think much of her, to be honest. Not to say that I didn’t value her as a friend or a person or anything, but, at the time at least, she passed under my radar. Frankly, back then I had other things to worry about.
But then, August came along, and we went on a break from Tartarus. Suddenly, I was finding myself more often than not spending the evening at home with nothing to do. It wasn’t from a lack of trying, though, I kept on asking everyone I knew, every group I had even the slightest bit of familiarity with, from classmates to the girls from the team to even the guys at the dorm, to hang out, only to find most of my inquiries getting turned down with the most obvious sounding excuses known to man.
The days Makoto was home rather than God knows wherever he goes in the evening, I’d ask him to watch a movie, to cook something, to simply… hang out. As friends? As teammates? As something more? Who cared, as long as it was with him fun it didn’t matter. But even he turned me down more times than not.
During that time I had a unique opportunity to be around my dorm-mates in a way I never did before. Starting up casual chats to pass the time can often go a long way, it seems.
One evening, for example, I found Fuuka sitting on the couch, watching a dvd of some old cartoon with robots or something, so I asked if I could join her. I couldn’t have cared less about the show, but I had nothing better to do in that moment, and, besides, I hadn’t had much of a chance to hang out with her at all since her arrival, so it seemed natural to me.
I remember how, after the episode ended, she went to put in another disc but couldn’t find it. At first she freaked out and started searching for it all over the lobby, but then she remember she had lent it to her friend, the Moriyama girl.
I admit, I got curious in that moment. I didn’t know much about this Natsuki, or her relationship with Fuuka, so I encouraged her to go on. She explained that for the holidays she had lent Natsuki some of her favorite dvds and Natsuki had done the same with her.
I was left speechless. It seems weird, I know. Lending dvds is a pretty common thing nowadays. What left me shocked, however, was that, on the one hand, I had never seen Fuuka so talkative with anyone, and without a single hint of hesitation on her end, but, on the other, that these two had known each other for less than three months, yet already seemed to have a closer bond than I ever had with anyone.
I don’t think I would have lent someone my dvd after such a short time knowing each other, and, even if I did, I’m sure I’d just end up giving them the popular stuff everybody knows about, not the shows or movies I actually watch. I don’t think I’d ever lend those to anyone, even if I had known them for longer, my mistrust would get the better of me. When was the last time I truly let myself open up so sincerely and totally to someone else? I don’t think I’ve had a friend like Natsuki is for Fuuka since Mika-chan… and look what good came out of it, in the end.
This simple conversation made me realize that something had been missing in my life, HAS been missing in my life for so long.
A true friend.
Someone whose relationship with you goes beyond simply passing time with each other, or doing something together, someone you can truly say knows you inside out, rather than just whatever you may look like on the outside. Someone you can trust wholeheartedly. How long has it been since I truly trusted anyone?
You know, it’s odd I haven’t mentioned this incident to you up until now. I didn’t notice back then, but I think that ever since that day, I’ve seen Fuuka in a different light. Every time I see her with her friend, I feel like I’m incapable of ever developing a bond like that, like something’s broken inside of me, and I can’t fix it, like I was never meant to fix it.
I envy her. Of the fact she has the only thing that matters. Of the fact she cannot recognize the true value of what she has.
Of the fact that this is how it is meant to be.
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It took her a solid few second to fully allow everything he’d said to settle in after Makoto finished recounting the incident with Yukari.
“Oh.” Was the only thing she could force her tongue to express.
“I acted like an ass, if I have to be honest.” He continued matter-of-factly, like his being wrong was some sort of universal postulate he had to enlighten her about. “In the moment it seemed to me like hugging her would have helped calm her down after what happened, but I failed to realize that maybe not everyone would be fine with this kind of physical contact after…” Makoto shuddered. “The only good thing I did that day was kick their ass to the curb, of that I have no regrets.”
For a time, only the chirping of the birds and the distant chatter of the school could be heard. Makoto looked deflated in his seat, the magnitude of his regret and shame evident all over, Fuuka, on the other hand, resorted to clasping her hands in front of her, a neat and tidy gesture she usually resorted to whenever she was stuck in the midst of absolute panic.
Panic wasn’t what was assailing her in this moment though, really, she had no name to give this swirling, incomprehensible mass of thoughts and emotions within her.
The first thing she could name was, ironically, anger.
She was angry that Makoto had upset Yukari by not thinking through his actions, sure. She too wouldn’t have taken it well had she been in Yukari’s situation. Yet something else bothered her, the fact that he, someone who she trusted as a dear friend, hadn’t told her of what had happened.
Damn it! She knew it was irrational to be angry at such a thing, that there were a million different reasons why he could have not told her, each one more valid that the last, but the simple fact he hadn’t told her until she forced the issue stung a lot harder that she expected it would. Did he not trust her as a friend?
Fuuka, swallowing her bitterness, composed herself as best she could. “I understand, Makoto-kun, yet, none of this is a valid reason not to apologize. I’m sure that if you tell her what you just told me she would forgive you.”
He didn’t look quite so convinced. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not like I can wave away what I did with a simple ‘I’m sorry’. What I did was pretty messed up…”
“I think that at the end of the day you did have good intentions. It wasn’t an act of malice or something meant to demean her, you simply didn’t think your actions trough.” She gave Makoto the most reassuring look she could muster. “She’ll understand. I know it.”
Makoto laid his head against the headrest of the bench, busying himself with looking at the swaying leaves of the maple tree above them.
Then, startling her, he stood up from the bench. “Let’s go, I gotta find Yukari and apologize.”
She was already putting the leftover food back into her bag as he was collecting his. Out of the blue, however, a though came unbidden to her mind, a query she couldn’t leave unresolved.
“Oh, Makoto-kun” She began as the two of them crossed the gate that led back to the school. “How... was the food I made?”
He didn’t respond.
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Something must have snapped within me in that moment. I still don’t know how I could possibly describe it to you, but seeing the two of them on that bench, all alone, it felt like I was being stabbed in the heart.
For all this time, all these months, I haven’t said anything of this to anyone, you’re the first one I have ever told about this.
I… don’t know what to tell you. You’ve been with me for years, you’ve seen me at my worst and at my best, dear diary. But never, never in my life have I felt like this.
She… Makoto… God, somebody please tell me I’m making all of this up, that this is just my broken mind spinning its wild tales as it’s always done. But, on the bench… Makoto…
I can’t bring myself to write it. I can’t, it would break me too much to admit what I have been thinking for so long.
I should be happy for them both, they have gone through so much hardship that, frankly, they deserve that kind of happiness, if they so desire it.
But I can’t feel happy for them, every time I try to acknowledge the truth in front of me all I can think of is ‘why?’
She already has the only thing my life’s been lacking for so long. So why does she get to have the one person I want to have in my life for herself?
I saw them, and for a moment, I almost didn’t recognize Makoto. He looked nothing like he usually does around people, around me: his eyes seemed focused on her and fully opened, so different from his usual disinterest, his expression bore no sign of the scowl he wears every day. For once, he looked… genuine. Like he didn’t need to keep himself distant and aloof to get through his day, like experiencing the small sliver of reality before him in that moment wasn’t so painful anymore.
Never have I seen him like this. For all the time we’ve spent together, the closest he ever came to dropping the farce was at Yakushima. I’ve tried so hard to finally make him open up, to get him to be comfortable with me, but I just had to screw it all up! I even went so far as to think that maybe the reason he liked Fuuka better than me was because she would let him do as he pleased without complaint. How can I think such horrible things about my friends?
what is wrong with me
What is wrong with me
WHAT IS WRONG WITH
Her fists fell heavy on the desk, crushing the diary’s paper beneath her rage and sending all the pens and books and trinkets standing there rolling down onto the carpet. The desklamp, only source of light in that room that felt too small, flickered uncertainly for a moment, before once more restoring its original glow.
Beneath her fists, the crumpled paper was stained with tears.
She couldn’t hold back anymore, ever since she had first woken up on this wretched day, she had desired nothing more than to break down in tears, to let everything out once and for all, all the anger and sadness and guilt and despair and loneliness she had been building up within herself for so long, yet had never had the chance to exorcise from her system.
How could she go on like this? Life has no sympathy for those that cannot endure suffering and torment. For those whose spirit is weak, those that cannot resist the pull of their emotions, those like her, life has nothing but pain and misery in store.
And so Yukari wept and screamed and wailed to her hands, unheard and unseen. Angry and sorrowful both. Her emotions were aimed at no one yet everyone at the same time, oh, she could pin point all the reasons she felt like crying in this very moment, yet, that seemed to her a pointless endeavor. Why waste energy singling out one culprit amid the bunch when she could simply resort to the oh-so familiar allure of blaming the whole world, herself prime among all, for her woes.
For why she felt so lonely, so pathetic, so unfulfilled and so utterly useless.
Maybe everyone really would be better off if she were not around anymore, all she seemed good for was getting in people’s way and making their life worse. Just look at Fuuka, look at Mitsuru, look at Junpei: wouldn’t their lives be so much simpler, so much better than they are now if she simply disappeared one day?
She tightened her hold of her face, feeling her nails digging in her skin like tiny little daggers, the pain felt good, it distracted her from thinking about anything, drew her closer to the abyss she so desired, but could never attain. If only she could just keep going, keep digging, past her skin, past her skull, tear herself from the inside out, maybe then she would finally stop feeling this void, she just had to keep going-
She heard knocking at the door and immediately released her face from her iron clutches. She heard the knocking once more and she panicked.
“Who is it?” She asked amid heavy breaths, almost eating her own words, all too keen on shooing whoever was bothering her away.
“It’s Yuuki.” She heard through the door. “I’ve… come to apologize.” his muffled voice betrayed his hesitation.
She stopped dead in her tracks. For but a fleeting moment it was as if her mind had been emptied of all its original contents, no thoughts or feelings, just pure silence. Same for the breath in her lungs and the beating of her own heart, to the point where surely had she stayed like this for but a moment more she’d have lost consciousness.
But she didn’t, instead, Yukari composed herself somewhat, enough to reply with a feeble “Coming.”
She rushed to the sink and mirror in the corner of her room, flicking the lightswitch on, she was greeted by the ghastly sight of her own face, of her glistening and reddened eyes from which still flowed bitter tears that, mixing with her makeup, had painted smooth, black tendrils that ran all over her features. As she hastily threw some water on her face to get them to disappear, she noticed the angry red half-moons her nails had left on her skin, above her eyes and on her cheeks, almost ready to bleed out. She resorted to covering them up with her bangs so he wouldn’t have to see the signs of her turmoil.
As she walked to the door she made a mental note to keep her back straight and her head held high. She was done running for today.
She pulled on the handle slowly, the door creaked and groaned in ways she’d never heard it do before. She squinted her eyes as the harsh lights of the hallway made their way into the dark room. Makoto stood before her, his whole body turned dark and harsh by the blaring lights behind him.
He’s got his ‘mask’ on, huh, she could just about notice as she regained her focus. Squinted eyes, bored look, tense expression, hands in his pockets. No hint of his earlier hesitation persisted, he looked as if he though this whole act not worth his time.
He showed no sign of having noticed her reddened eyes or the remnants of her tears. Like this he really looked half an asshole and half a corpse.
He said nothing for the longest time, probably waiting for her to commence. She suddenly felt the urge to slap him, but kept her cool, for now, at least.
“I came to apologize for what happened the other day.” He began unprompted.
Wait, what? He’s apologizing first? “My hugging you was an impulsive act on my end. I didn’t stop to consider whether or not you’d actually be alright with it, so your reaction that day was… understandable. I guess I should also apologize for runnin’ off without saying anything, too, it was not only inconsiderate of me, but also incredibly rude. I acted like a jackass all around that day.” Makoto stopped for a moment and she saw him tilt his head forward in shame. “I’m sorry, Yukari.” He mumbled.
She was left speechless. Never in her entire life could she have imagined Makoto apologizing in such a heartfelt manner to her, let alone apologizing first in any quarrel. From her experience with him, Makoto had always been the passive one in any social situation, rare were the moments in which he took the initiative, Yuko-chan had also described her interactions with him, and there too she noted his passiveness and tendency to simply listen and respond. She’d always found this quality of his odd considering his charisma and decisiveness whenever they where on the field of battle.
So to see him take such steps was a pleasant surprise to say the least.
“T-thanks.” It came out a little awkwardly on her end, truth be told she was still recovering from both the surprise of it all as well as the emotional high she had just come down from. Still, she faced him head on. “I should also apologize for snapping at you that day. I’m sorry if I hurt you, really, sometimes, when I get angry, it’s like I can’t keep myself in check.” For a moment, her stance softened and she lowered her gaze. Makoto was one of the few, maybe the only one, she felt comfortable showing some vulnerability to. If only he were so with me. She mused bitterly.
The moment was brief, though, for soon she once more straightened her back and raised her head to look at him. “I promise I’ll control myself better next time,” A hint of confidence returned to her voice. “you’ll be getting no more outbursts from me.” She punctuated her remark with as resolute of a smile as she was capable of pulling of.
Makoto, however, didn’t seem fully convinced. He narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Was his response to her promise.
Yukari could only reply with confusion of her own. What the hell? ‘What do you mean?’ was he slow or something? Did he need it spelled out again? She felt her earlier irritation burn brightly within her once more, Gods how she wanted to slap that thick (and handsome) head of his-
Shit! Her nerves were getting the best of her again, she had to calm down, and she needed to do it now, lest she throw what little good will between them away.
So, Yukari put one her best diplomatic tone and replied with a “Well, I wish to be able to control my emotions better, because I’ve seen how my reactions and statements often serve to push others away.” She felt like she was explaining the alphabet to a child, he’d seen plenty of her more volatile side, he should know already just how badly she was capable of hurting others and herself with her words and actions. So why the hell did the confusion not leave his face?
“Hey.” He instead began cautiously. “You don’t have to change for my sake, really you don’t have to change for anyone’s sake. You’ve got a right to act how you want, so you shouldn’t feel like I, or anyone else is pressuring you to do something. You owe me nothing, you owe no one nothing, so don’t beat yourself up so much about this, it’s no big deal, really.”
What? What was he talking about? Was he saying he was fine with her being a bitch all the time? ‘You owe me nothing’? What a fool! If only he knew how much she owed him.
It was rich of him to talk about this kind of stuff, he never had to be labeled by other because of actions she herself didn’t take! Did he ever have to kneel and beg to find acceptance, only to throw it all away on some stupid tantrum! Was he telling her she was fine as she was?
“Yuki-kun” She rarely ever got to address him by name these days, the syllables almost felt foreign to her mouth. “I don’t want to ‘change for your sake’, I want to improve because I know the way I acted with you, and with so many others before you, is wrong, and I know that if things continue like this then they’ll only get worse.” Her patience was thinning, Fuck, get a hold of yourself, Yukari! She prayed that he understood what she meant, she wouldn’t be able to keep her cool for much longer.
“I think I get what you mean” No you don’t. “And, besides, who am I to tell you how to live. Though, there’s one last thing I want to say, may I?” He asked matter-of-factly.
“Go on”. She allowed carefully.
“Don’t lose what makes you stand out for the sake of being more agreeable. It’s never worth it. It’s better to be imperfect than to be forgettable.”
The neon lights hummed along like they did every evening and every day, still the only sound the both of them could hear.
“That’s all I had to say, night.” And he walked away
She didn’t hear the sound of his footsteps growing farther and farther, her head was far too full of his previous words to accommodate that, she didn’t see him walk down the hallway, for she had already shut the door to her room in a dazed state, too busy devoting every inch of her willpower on those words to notice anything else.
Yukari sat back down on her chair as if she was in a trance of some sort, as she did so her legs nearly gave out beneath her. She bent down to retrieve a pen that had fallen from her earlier burst of rage and, faintly, she could hear voices in the hallway, vague and indistinct, one faintly feminine, the other manly-sounding, but, in her daze, she didn’t pay them any heed.
She unfolded the crumpled paper of her diary and, having opened the page of her last entry, she placed her pen on the page once more.
He doesn’t understand what it means to be Takeba Yukari. No one does, maybe not even myself.
This is how it is meant to be.