The Television glared out, portraying images of politicians entering a new country with shining but fake smiles scrawled across their old faces. Less could be said for Hako.
She stared at the 'oh so familiar' shot glass that she only held in a half-grasp on the bar counter. She sat on a stool in front of the bar with a large bottle of whiskey sitting comfortably in front of her. Hako filled the glass and placed bottle back in it resting place. She lifted the glass to her mouth and only sipped the upper most layer of whiskey, swallowing it down, as well as the sadness that plagued her. The camellia blossom from her hair fell into the cup and taking thelife that had been in her face and expression and transferred it to the cup and whiskey. She stared at the flower, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere.
Hako had a thought to herself, 'Why do I drink?' This was one thing she wouldn't dare say it to herself, she didn't dare say it aloud, because Santana was in the next room.
Santana was her love, and the sole reason for her continued existence, and her voice would do him bad. Her whole life she had been forced to be silent. She wasn't mute; she wasn't in sworn silence because of some religious group that she had joined; she had a curse that plagued her very being.
Those scientists said that they loved her as family, but they all lied. What kind of family would keep her locked up in a room, letting her out only during the day so that she could get some fresh air in the blazing hot sun, forcing her to bathe with about a hundred other women in only a medium sized room? What type of family doesn't come and say goodnight before she fell asleep? And only gave you the company of a young boy who has been torn away from his mother, who had probably departed from the living in the sick bay of that god forsaken facility? They called it a hospital; no it was an asylum. They housed the mentally insane; the people who lost they're families in that atrocity with no name at a ghost town that has been long forgotten by all else. It had been idly named "The Ghost Town" by the citizens of China and is regarded as haunted and is left alone by all others.
Hako dropped the glass on the table as she remembered the child that she used to share a room with. Tears came to her eyes, but she didn't cry, the tears poured from her eyes and onto the counter but no sound came from her mouth. Her light green hair hung over her face as she looked down at the hardwood counter. Tears dripped from her chin as she grit her teeth.
Another thought ran through her head, 'Why should I be loved?'. Hako pondered this for a second and thought about Santana and how he had provided for her and shown his love in ways that other people could not. He genuinely cared for her. But what could she do for him. She could just sit down and drink her worries way in a bar.
There was one instance maybe; one time where she tried to care for another. It was in the facility with the young boy that she shared a room with. One night, the night she escaped the hellhole, the boy started to cry in his sleep. Hako just looked at the ceiling as the boy's cries and wails pierced her ears. After a while she started to get worried, and woke up the boy. The boy was missing his mother, who had been separated from him during the movement to the facility from the town. Hako tried to comfort him, but the boy's cries grew louder and he seemed to be in great pain. Hako tried to help the boy by yelling for the doctors, but was only ignored and as she did this. The boy seemed to be in pain. And then it happened, the thing that she was trying to end ended, but not in the way that she wanted. The boy dropped to the floor. Dead.
As Hako remembered this even more tears came to her eyes and she dropped her head to the table and into her hands. She began to cry quietly into her hands so that Santana wouldn't hear and she wouldn't do harm to him.
When she stopped crying, thoughts of Santana crowded her mind. She thought of the love that he gave her that she would not be able to in return and held her hands to her face.
Santana loved her. He took care of her, gave her a job, bought her the alcohol needed for her to stay sane and not use her voice for the wrong reasons. She was a quiet and depressed drunk but Santana didn't seem to mind. Whenever she would start to cry, he would pat her on the head and tell her, "It'll be okay." He would sit there and hug her, kiss her. But the only thing he couldn't do was love her. He couldn't hear her moans of love as all other men do. But the one thing that he could do, that is the one thing that she would never ever do was say "I love you." Something so simple was torn way from her ever since that dreaded Uua virus had taken a hold of her body. She was the Hod of her kind and was forever tormented by the thought of never being able to say those three simple words. She worded them to self in the hope that some how Santana would know that they were meant for him. "I love you." She worded, "I love you." She worded again, "I love…" and her face had been planted firmly in her hands for the remainder of the night.