Part of her isn't sure how she got here.
But she's watching the rose scented bubble bath pool at the bottom of her tub, and it really looks like blood when it comes out of the bottle. Not in the water, though, then it turns a sickening pink.
(Pink like her flesh is after he's finished.)
Her throat hurts, but she hasn't said a thing in so long. Maybe she needs water, maybe she'll just lean down on her knees and drink up the soapy water, drink it until she's writhing in pain and can't move.
Her hands shake, and the steady stream of bubble bath wavers.
She finds herself twitching again, and she's gripping her head before she even realizes that she's dropped the bottle in the tub. Despite the loud noise it makes, she doesn't hear it, she barely even registers the splash of hot water on her bare knees.
(They're so bruised, but it doesn't matter because he's the only one who knows about these bruises, he caused them.)
She's muttering to herself, she has to keep herself sane.
My name is Sayaka Maizono. I am in my bathroom. I am an idol. I have been hurt.
She repeats it over and over, out loud and in her head, but it sounds so different each time, and it's gibberish soon.
Looking down at her arms, at her smooth skin, tears slip from her eyes. This is what they want, this is what everyone wants. She's just a doll, nothing more than a toy to be played around with.
But who wants to play with a toy that is broken?
Her shaky hands reach for the cup on the bathroom sink, and she pulls out the shiny silver scalpel. Yes, she'll carve up her skin, and she'll bleed, bleed so much that they won't want her anymore.
(He won't want to touch her if she looks like this.)
It meets her skin and she carves, carves her flesh. Blood drips out through the cuts, falling onto the floor, and into the tub, mixing with the shitty discount rose scented bubble bath. Now it really looks like blood, now that it's dark red.
She blinks, and there is no blood, and the water is pale pink. Her skin is still perfect, and she has a toothbrush pressed against her wrist. The rough bristles brush her skin, and that's enough.
The toothbrush goes back and forth, rubbing against her skin, as if it'll become the scalpel she wishes it was.
Water sloshes on her feet, and she drops the toothbrush. The tub is overflowing now, with bubbles and pale pink water, water that should be filled with blood.
She turns off the tap, and stares at it, it's full to bursting.
But somehow she's in it, she doesn't remember climbing in, but her clothes are lying discarded. They're soaking wet, because water is pouring out of the tub, covering the floor.
Everything smells like roses, except not really. Real roses smell beautiful, but this smell is so artificial, it smells like the perfume that he sprays in his office when he doesn't want to smell her blood.
And tears are dripping down her face, mixing with the bath water, and it's too much all at once.
She's lived too long.
Here, she could disappear. Who's going to want to read a news story about an idol who drowned in her own bath? The water's so deep, she could just sink down under, and they'd never know.
He couldn't hurt her anymore, he's had too much power over her for too long, now she'll be safe.
She screams as she slips under the water, bubbles entering her mouth, but she can't hear anything under the water, and the silence is the best sound she's ever heard.
She doesn't need to be here, they don't need her. The public needs a toy, they have so many others. He needs someone he can overpower, someone he can destroy, and he can find so many people.
Nobody needs her, not even-
Well, maybe someone does.
Unlikely, though.
Something breaks the silence, and she rises, her hair sopping wet. She doesn't know how she did it, but she's out of the tub, wearing a towel, and the water feels like blood, somehow.
It's still the wrong colour, it's still a sickly pink.
She smells like roses, the fake rose perfume that makes her want to throw up everything she's eaten today.
And fuck, something's outside the door.
"Meow?"
It's her cat, it's her stupid fucking idiot cat, that breaks her shit, and eats and sleeps, god why does she keep it around?
How long has she been dressed, how long have her wet clothes been on her, were there always so many towels on the bathroom floor? She can't remember, but she remembers the feeling of that scalpel on her inner thigh, the one time she really did break down and carve herself down to nothing.
Where is it now, where is it now? She keeps thinking it's there, but it's just her ratty toothbrush that she needs to throw away.
Was the door open this entire time?
Her stupid cat is looking up at her with sad eyes, and she wants to scream, but she can't make a sound. The cat approaches slowly, and seats itself in her lap, purring.
She looks down at the mass of fur, and tears slip from her eyes again. She kicks the door shut, holding the cat close to her body.
Here she is, crying in her bathroom, like she's not broken in every place, like she's not this close to dying.
She's so sick, she's got cracks in every corner of her smile, and all she has for comfort in this mess is her idiot cat.
(That's a lie, why does she do this to herself? She has someone, or at least she thinks she still has them.)
She wants to cut herself up so that nobody will ever want to touch her again, but can she?
There's a soft knock on the door.
"Sayaka? Are you in there? I... I just got home, are you-"
God, who gave Mukuro the right to worry so much about her?
Her voice cracks, "Don't worry, I'm still clean."
That's a lie, she's not really clean, she'll never be clean. She's still dirty, she was dirty from the moment he kissed her in his office back when she was thirteen, saying that it was okay, that she's so very mature.
She's burning up inside like she's swallowed sunscreen, she's a greasy mess inside.
But she stands to open the door, her cat leaping off her lap, and Mukuro holds her in her arms.
For now, she has to burn and bleed and break, but one day, one day, she will tear down everything.
At least she doesn't smell like roses anymore.