She tries so hard. I know it—the stories, the alibis, the tales. I refuse to think of them as lies, because lies are used to hurt someone, and she's only trying to protect us. But she's just a girl, and she slips up, and I know. I know about the times she sneaks out—sometimes through the front door, sometimes—oh God, through the window in her room. I worry when I hear it slide up, slamming softly against the upper portion of the frame, because I know she's putting herself in danger. It's dark out there, with everything closed and most everyone turned in for the night.
Not everyone, though—there are muggers out there, predators. And worse. I don't want to think of that, but I do. I wonder if she'll come home again, or if—
There it is—the soft thump of the window, rustling sounds as she slips out. She doesn't say the words that terrify me most, though: "Moon crystal power—make-up." I heard her say those words, a few weeks ago, when I was at her door to tell her that I'd made some cocoa for her. It'd been a hard day for her, and I'd been angry at her for failing her last test. Later on, I knew I'd been wrong to get so upset, because I knew she'd been studying. I saw the open books, and the notes. She wanted to know what she was studying. She's not stupid, after all.
Those other girls are a good influence on her.
But where was I? That's right, when I first heard her say…that. I was right by her door, about to knock. There was a muffled cry, words spoken in English, and another voice. A gentle one, but urgent. "Let's go, Sailor Moon," it'd said—softly, trying to keep its—her—voice down. I went to open the door, to catch them before they could leave, Usagi and whoever else it was. But the room was empty, and the bed was set up to look like it was occupied. An old trick, but they'd been somewhat inventive, using an older, larger doll of Usagi's—its long blonde hair was close to her own color and length, and dressed in her pink bunny pajamas, it looked at first glance as though she were snuggled under the covers, facing the wall.
I knew then—that all my maternal fears and worries—whether her grades were good, or who her friends were, or whether or not what she watched on TV was "appropriate" for someone her age—they were nothing compared the terror I felt. Because she was putting herself in danger.
Earlier I thought of muggers and thieves and nighttime thugs, but that's a distraction from my real fear—the monsters. I've seen them, inhuman beasts that look as though they were spawned in Hell, mockeries of life. And I've seen the Senshi fight them, and get hurt. They are, after all, just girls, even if they have amazing powers. It's so dangerous—why can't someone else fight those battles?
She's just a girl.
Oh God, please let her come home safe.
…I wonder if Kenji knows? But, he's asleep right now—maybe he doesn't realize what our daughter does, where she goes. I won't tell him, because I know he'd try to stop her, to protect his innocent little princess. Yet she's no longer little, and probably not quite as innocent as we thought. Who could be, if they had to fight those beasts?
I'll keep your secret, Usagi-chan. I don't like it, but I'll keep it.
Just come home, please.