Work Text:
Find her at the edge of the water on the last day of summer.
The sand will feel wet and cold beneath your feet.
Think about playing in the sand and searching for seashells with her back when things were better. Recall all the photos of her at the beach you have framed on the wall. Notice how different her limp, battered body looks in comparison to the girl you photographed last month.
Kneel by her side and cry because you don’t know what to do.
When she opens her eyes, she’ll look at you, and then towards the sea. Follow her gaze and watch the sunset through eyes blurred with tears. Think about the sunset you watched together eight months ago while waiting for the sky to turn dark.
Gently and carefully bring her onto your lap. Hold her in your arms. Struggle, because she’s always been larger than you.
She will be bleeding. This is expected.
Rummage through all your pockets for something, anything, to tend to her wounds. While you do so, she will apologize for making you take care of her.
While crying, say, “Don’t say that, Honami. Don’t say that. Don’t say that.” Repeat it over and over, because you don’t know what else you could possibly say.
When you realize you have nothing, take off the shirt she bought you on the day you forgot your wallet. Tie it tight around her thorax. This will cover the largest wound. There is nothing you can do about the others.
The tide will be rising throughout it all. By now, waves will be crashing at your knees. Try to keep her dry, even as her quivering arm weakly reaches out towards the sea.
Lie to her. Tell her that help is coming. Tell her that her girlfriends are on their way, even though you saw their lifeless bodies wash up on shore hours ago. Don’t tell her that you stashed their corpses under the pier while you searched for hers. Don’t tell her the tide has risen high enough to wash them away.
Feel guilty for lying. Feel horrible that you’ll never be able to give her girlfriends the proper burial you promised them when you laid them amongst the mussels and barnacles. Feel stupid for not realizing the tide would rise and reclaim the souls you tried to save.
Then, when she smiles, look away because you can’t bear to face her after that.
Realize how it’s the same smile she wears when she looks at her girlfriends. Think about how she’s never directed that smile at you.
Wish that you could be given that smile, that soft and loving smile, just once.
Set that wish aside, because you know it will never be for you.
When you feel her blood begin to soak through your shirt, the sun will have dipped below the horizon. The sky will be splashed with stars, because the nights are always darker by the sea. You can tell the blood loss is getting to her because she’ll start babbling strange, incoherent things that you think you might be able to make sense of if only you had some time to decipher it.
You’ll begin to wonder if her girlfriends could understand her. This will make you sad.
If she begins to lift her hand, look carefully at what gesture she makes and copy her with your arm fully extended. She is trying to measure the sky. Remember what she taught you and narrate your measurements out loud as you copy her.
A fist is ten degrees. Extend your pinky and pointer finger for fifteen. Extend your pinky and thumb for twenty-five. Hold up three fingers for five. Hold up your pinky for one.
Look behind you to find the moon, then cover it with your pinky. Say the following:
“See, Honami? The moon looks big, but it’s only half a degree wide. You can cover it with just your pinky finger.”
This is what she said to you eight months ago as you watched the moon rise.
Even though she can’t see your hand from her view, she will smile. She will laugh. She will try to say something, and it will take all of your concentration to realize she’s saying, “Right, Saki, right, yes.”
Don’t let your fragile smile fall, even though you don’t think she can even see your face right now. Don’t tell her you’re Kohane, not Saki. Don’t give any indication that you’re not the girl she thinks you are.
Instead, you must laugh along with her. Try to imitate the girl’s voice to bring her comfort. Become acutely aware of the weight of the pigtails on either side of your head and question why you picked today of all days to wear glasses rather than contacts.
Suddenly remember dragging Saki’s kelp-tangled corpse across the sand under the afternoon sun and feel sick to your stomach.
Don’t stop smiling at her.
Gaze at the stars above, and gaze at the little lights reflected in her eyes. Watch as they slowly grow dimmer and dimmer as her movements grow weaker and weaker. Let panic strike your heart when she stops moving altogether.
She will still be muttering another girl’s name.
Lie to her.
Tell her the girl she keeps calling for is here.
Tell her Saki is here. Tell her Ichika is here. Tell her Shiho is here.
Tell her to go to sleep now, because you know there’s nothing you can do.
With tears in your eyes, tell her to go to sleep now, and her girlfriends will take care of her and her girlfriends will be waiting for her when she wakes up.
Hold her close, whisper in her ear, and tell her that she’ll be okay, even though she won’t. Even though she absolutely won’t. Even though you won’t be, either.
Because you’re too late.
Because you’ve always been too late.
You’ve always been too late when it comes to her.
Watch her eyes close for the final time.
Feel her breathing halt.
Hear the waves crash against the sand, drowning out your cries.
When the tides wash over you, hold her tight because you can’t bear to let go.
Whisper to her a confession of love. Let her know what she meant to you. Tell her how badly you wished you could’ve said so earlier.
“I loved you.”
Repeat it over and over, even though you know she won’t ever hear.
Cough and sputter, ridding seawater from your lungs, so that you can say it again and again.
Say it even as your head goes underwater, forming shimmering bubbles that rise to the surface and burst into stars.
Speak to her until water takes the place of air.
Hold onto her until your arms lose strength.
Gaze at her until your vision goes dark.
And catch one final glimpse of the stars.