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It’s numb.
As the world she knows fades from my vision, mom looks featureless. Is it the low light of the kitchen? Ah, right. I was talking to mom about… 25-ji, Nightcord de., I think. My school reports cover the front of the refrigerator, only acceptable marks of 98% and above. Didn’t mom say that ninety-eight was too low? I can’t remember.
I was trying to please her. She would get upset whenever I did something that didn’t align with what she wanted. I always felt something heavy in my chest. K called it guilt. Enanan called mom’s behaviour abusive. That’s wrong. She loves me. She said so. Multiple times. But the psychological classes Mochizuki takes say that goes to manipulation. I don’t know. I want to know. Mom loves me. I think. I hope I know. Hope? That’s… what was I doing with that train of thought?
I don’t know. My head hurts. I feel nauseous. I can’t think of anything that aligns with these symptoms. I feel stupid.
Mom would get upset if I was stupid. I can’t be. That’s not right. Doctors can’t be stupid. Mom wants me to be a doctor. Do I want to be a doctor? I don’t know. I never know what I want. Something’s wrong with that, but I can deal with it.
I think.
I watch her lips move, the earth's rotation matching her actions — it feels like it, at least. It syncs up, I think. She looks upset; her eyebrows creased in the center and downturned, making her wrinkles obvious… Amia would laugh at that. Amia. Right, Amia.
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“Yukii~?” A voice calls, playful and teasing and drawing out both the ‘I’ and ‘U’.Who is Yuki? Me..? I can’t place who that is, but it’s familiar. It brings me warmth, like when the sunset hits my back. When, I don’t know, but I can remember experiencing that.
A quieter, gentler voice and a sudden touch on my forearm has my head snapping in the voices direction. I can see my own hair move with the action; somewhat annoying. Tired yet caring blue eyes, and long, white — or light blue — hair. She looks tired. “Mafuyu… are you alright? You’ve been zoning out on us for quite a bit…”
“Yeah, like K said.” A snappier voice. And ‘K’... Ka#$%^&. I try to piece it together, but my mind is fuzzy. Higher than both the first and second voices but not unpleasant. She sounds annoyed. Why? “At this point, we’ll have to close for the night! We’ve barely gotten any work done and Miku wants to hear our new song. Do you realize how irritating that is?!”
Miku..?
“Come ooooon~ Enanan, give Yuki a break! She’s just gotta be overwhelmed and we can get right back—”
My own voice cuts off the teasing one. Good. They bicker too much, whoever they are. It gives me a headache. Migraine, better worded. I probably know them, if they know my name. “I can continue.” The words feel heavy on my tongue. Heavy and leaden; something too big trying to be carried by someone too small. Is that a good comparison? I don’t know.
“Eh?” I can hear the first and third people's voices sync. Weird. How do humans do that? Is it instinct? Wired into their brains? I want to continue on this topic, but the migraine is too… strong, I think, for me to think properly. I don’t think I’ve ever been good with words.
“No, nonono!” The girl that was called ‘Enanan’, if I can remember properly, speaks up, so fast her words mush together. I can only understand the word, “No” a few times before she starts speaking incomprehensibly, pure gibberish. I never use that word; why am I using it now? The sudden ringing that I can hear in my ears doesn’t help me with understanding her, nor does the black spots forming in my line of sight as I turn to look at where her voice is coming from.
Four girls including myself are displayed on the screen. ‘K’ and I are in one section; I think we’re in the same room. Why do I look like that? I shift my focus, a girl with short brown hair is displayed. Her mouth is moving but I am unable to hear anything she’s saying, although from how her face is creased in a way that makes her look upset, perhaps I don’t want to. She’s probably this ‘Enanan’ character.
And then a third section on the app, Nightcord, I think. A girl with light pink hair, done in a ponytail. Longer, brighter pink sections of her eyelashes are visible… brighter than her eyes. Why am I so focused on her… no, them compared to the others? I don’t get it.
Before I can register it myself, I feel my lips moving. The black spots are worse now, my headache is too. Strange.
“Amia..?”