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The first time Riyo killed somebody, she was five. Her father stood over her, cruel and hazy when she thinks back on this memory. There in front of her was a man shaking, whimpering softly, and pleading things that Riyo could hear. Kill him was the command, and so she stepped forward.
The second time she killed somebody, she was five and a half. Her father wasn't in the room this time, and another child stared at her with wide, fearful eyes. Still, though, she had a job to do. She listened to this girl's scared stuttering, heard the way her breathing picked up. This was where Riyo was better than the other children; this was where Riyo was more beast than she was girl.
The third time she killed somebody, she was still five and a half. Her father was back now, and Riyo knew she had to do good this time. A woman sat, shaking and heaving in a chair; Riyo had been in that chair just the other day, but she had not shaken or sobbed. Riyo was better than these reactions now; after all, she was five and a half. She had her orders, and Riyo did not flinch as she tore this woman apart for whatever crime she had committed. Riyo was good like that; she didn't question orders she got. She knew her place; she knew her purpose. Beastly through and through, daughter only second, and human certainly last.
She stops counting because she knows that there will be no end to this; she stops counting because the taste of iron on her tongue is much easier than the numbers piling up. Three becomes ten, ten becomes fifteen, and on…and on…and Riyo has lost herself in this sea of red. This stain that is home. This stain that is her father's embrace, this stain that is her mother's tears, this stain that is her, and she is it. Beast, daughter, human. Over and over again, she repeats this reminder in her head. Beast, daughter, human. Because she has to hold onto this beastlyhood, her inhumanity, the safety that lets her enjoy this iron taste. Beast, daughter, human.
Riyo thinks about killing the blonde man who stands in front of her. He laughs a little too loud, a little too easy. Riyo remembers people she's killed before; none of them were ever laughing. She wonders if joy makes you immune to death; she wonders if immortality means mania. She shakes her head, ridding herself of silly thoughts that don't make sense. Everything dies. Even she—a beast—will die. Riyo is better than silly thoughts; silly thoughts are what humans have. Beast, daughter, human. She does not kill the man boisterously laughing. She wonders if she should have.
Riyo thinks about killing the boy who sits in that well. She thinks about the girl she killed when she was five (and a half); she wonders if she did that girl a mercy by ending her life quickly. She wonders if she owes this boy that mercy. Enjin looks at her, and she realizes with itching fingers that she's done something wrong, even in her own thoughts. This boy didn't want mercy, not really. Riyo tries not to think about the kind of beast that makes her. Beast, daughter, human. But now she was no longer a daughter; now all that remained in her mantra was beast and human. Human couldn't be second, so she made a new one: beast, cleaner, human.
Riyo tries not to think about how there weren't commands anymore. There wasn't any guide for where she was meant to put all this violence. She built this persona and felt herself drowning in it. Still, in the dark of her room, she repeated beast, cleaner, human. Sometimes she scolded herself; she couldn't cry, so instead she hit, and she repeated beast, daughter, human. Because first she is an animal, and second she is his, and last she is her own.
Riyo thinks about killing the young boy who sits in the car she rides in. Riyo's hand twitches for the gun digging into her ribs, for the scissors that burn near her thighs. Enjin looks at her, and once again she realizes she's done something wrong, especially in her own thoughts.
And now they are here, resting and recuperating after the hellish battle in the sky, her ribs aching and her hands burning. She thinks about killing all of these people around her, and she wonders why she can't.
“Riyo.” Boisterous blonde.
“Hmm?” She tries to remember what it means to be anything other than violent. She tries to get the sound of a gunshot ringing out of her head; she tries to get the taste of iron out of her mouth; she tries to be human.
She promises that she tries.
“You've gotta get checked out by Eishia, too”
Everybody in this room looks like somebody she's killed before—loud blonde doesn't stop staring at her. She considers shaking her head, but it's Enjin.
“Ok” Is what she says instead of putting a bullet between his forehead, and she tries not to wonder once again if she is making the wrong choice. Beast, daughter, human. Beast, cleaner, human. She can't figure it out; she can't steady herself into one mantra. Somehow it becomes beast, daughter-cleaner, human. Riyo considers shooting herself. Riyo lets Eishia heal her; she laughs, smiles as they talk, and she thinks about Zanka's sleeping body in the bed over, and wonders if he would point fingers at her if she slit Eishia's throat.
Beast, beast, beast, beast, beast, beast. Riyo feels like she wants to throw up, but Riyo is better than these silly reactions because they were beaten out of her when she was far younger. Riyo at five and a half would shoot the Riyo of sixteen. Enjin appears again, and he looks at her. Gentle, steady, no longer boisterous, and she realizes they are alone.
“How’re you hanging?”
Riyo hung somebody once. She remembers pulling tight on the rope; she remembers the snap of the man's neck. She wonders if Riyo at five and a half would do the same to Enjin.
“I'm fine”
Beast, daughter, human. Wild, his, herself.
He looks at her, still gentle, still kind. Riyo finds herself wanting to scream at him again. Stop it, she wants to say, dont look so kind, don't look so relaxed, I'm a beast. I'll rip your throat out with my teeth, I'll burn you alive, I'll torture you, I bite, I bite, I bite. She didn't know who she wanted to yell it to anymore.
“Your hair is still in braids”
Beast, cleaner, human. Wild, his, herself
“Yeah,” she croaks out. Tired, so so tired. Beast, daughter, human. Beast, cleaner, human. Beast, daughter-cleaner, human.
“Zankas awake”
“O-kay,” She whispers. Her hair feels like a noose wrapping around her head. She pictures five and half year old Riyo above her pulling that rope tight and hearing her own neck go snap, snap, snap. She wonders if Enjin would be mad at her for it.
“He’ll redo your hair if you want him to.”
She doesn't know what she wants. Wants isn't normal. Beasts are wild. Daughter belongs to him. Human is last; human is her. She needs this noose that wraps around her, but she can't recall why. She is separated and fractured; she is beastly and daughter-like.
“I don't know,” she settles on, and Enjin softens further.
Don't go soft. I'll hurt you, I'll kill you, I'll do it. You know I'll do it. Three, ten, fifteen and on…and on.
“That's okay. Let's go visit him.”
Riyo and five-year-old Riyo sigh in relief. Here they are, familiar with these commands; these are orders that she can follow. She walks and Enjin wobbles; she tries not to count the steps she takes; she tries not to recall the fastest that Enjin has ever run.
Zanka looks at Rudo resting on one of the other beds. Soft and gentle, she's sure he doesn't even realize it. Riyo wonders if she could smother him, and she wonders if Zanka and Enjin would point fingers at her. Enjin guides Riyo to Zanka's bed; he looks at her, and she looks at him. Would it have been a mercy? She repeats to herself, and Zanka's blazing eyes tell her no, no, not a mercy to me.
“Your hair's in braids,” He comments, easily.
“Enjin said that too.”
“Just pointing it out.” He soothes, gently and brotherly still.
Gingerly, she tries it out—beast, sister, human. She doesn't respond to him, and he keeps staring at her like he knows something. Maybe he does.
“Do you want me to redo it?” He asks after a moment of silence.
“What is it with the want?” She almost snaps out, but doesn't. Because Riyo is better than these silly reactions. She keeps staring at him because she has no answer for him. He makes no move to take control. Here, once again, she feels like screaming.
Just pick which me you'd like me to be.
“I don't know.” She settles on, once again. Because Zanka doesn't move, and Enjin's in front of Rudo, who looks so calm, so small, and so peaceful, and her heart seizes because why does she want to hurt him? Why does she want to hurt all of them? She promises she loves them; she promises her heart can feel. Her hands reach up almost involuntarily, and the braids go spiraling down, and here she is unravelled. Here she is weak and vulnerable, and here they would do her good to give her the mercy of death. They don't. Zanka only motions for her to turn around so that he can do her hair.
Your back to his, part of her screams, here he will kill you. Enjin looks over his shoulders; he looks loud again, but his eyes stay soft.
You could kill me, she thinks suddenly, you could kill me and I wouldnt point fingers. You could hurt me. I'm afraid. I'm afraid. Im afraid
Beast, daughter-cleaner-sister, human.
Riyo feels gentle hands work through her hair, never tugging to hurt, always so careful. It slips out without her meaning it to.
“I'm not human, you know.”
Zanka's hands still in her hair for a second, before they resume their gentle ministrations across her head. With no sign of rejection, she tries again, looking at Enjin
“I've killed people.”
No one flinches. Enjin blinks at her.
“I might kill you.”
“Okay,” Enjin says gently, and she blinks when she realizes she's crying. She's sobbing, actually. She doesn't know when it happened; she doesn't know how she's found herself buried in Enjin's arms, doesn't know how to stop the words now that they've started crawling out of her.
“I could hurt you, I could strangle you, I could cut you, I could shoot you, I could—” She heaves, tears leaving her no air, and all she feels is drowning.
“Okay,” Enjin soothes again, and she cries even louder.
“Beast, daughter, human,” She breathes out, because now she is losing control and the order is wrong; now it's human, sister, cleaner, and where is beast? Where is daughter?
Enjin's hands hold her steady, and Zanka still gently parts her hair into two, and Rudo still snores in his bed even though she's sure he's faking it now, awkward about how to help but wanting to know, wanting to listen.
“Hate me,” she tries, “say it—I can't—”
“No, no I won't,” Enjin chides, and he holds her tighter still. Her hands ball into fists, and she hits at him. He does not let go.
“I might kill you,” She repeats. “I could kill you. At any point, any hour, I could— I could—”
“I know,” Enjin says, and Riyo screams, muffled by her face pressing into his sweater.
“I don't know,” She repeats, fractured, and she doesn't understand anymore. “I don't know.”
“It's okay,” Enjin says, “you're okay.”
Beast, daughter-sister, human. Who's daughter now? Blonde, boisterous, smiling. Immortal. Invincible.
“I'm sorry,” She sobs out; she's not sure which part she's apologizing for. For the death? For the murders? For Riyo at five, five and a half, on onwards? “I'm so sorry”
“It's okay,” he says over and over again. It's not I forgive you. Because that's not right, but it is ’its okay’
Zanka finishes sealing her hair up, and with an unnatural sniffle, she feels herself becoming whole again. She's now Riyo, Riyo at sixteen, who can handle this. Who can calm herself down, who can be strong enough. Enjin doesn't let her go, though; Rudos is still asleep, and Zanka leans back to rest his head.
“Sorry.” She settles on one last time, and Zanka kicks his foot at her.