a/n. Hello, it's me again. This fic is my first attempt in using present tense in writing, I enjoyed this prompt and this experience in writing it. I do hope everyone enjoys this piece.
If anyone asked 'what is Cinamommum burmanii?' it's one of cinnamon species.
Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING - Blood, violence, suicide attempts.
cadenza
( 01. )
She loves to be alone.
She loves to be all by herself, every day, every time.
Because of a certain turn of event, she spends most of her time alone. Aside from her work, the redhead always enjoying a cup of coffee every afternoon and never getting tired of it. She will occupy the cafe's second table from the back, perfectly near from the register. So whether she wished for another cup or addition of espresso shot, she won't bother to walk back and forth from her seat. Unfortunately for her, today the cafe is unusually crowded with people. That calm Saturday on the winter is when the seasonal sale being held by the cafe owner.
Nishikino Maki gives another stern look as she sees that her usual seat is occupied.
After she pays for a double-shot espresso with hazelnut syrup, she takes a good look to her favorite table. A young woman, perhaps on her twenties just like she does, is reading a book all alone by herself.
Maki put down her cup as she excuses herself to take the empty seat there.
"Sorry, other seats are full," she says. "May I?"
The fixated amber looks up to meet her amethyst. The young woman gives her a tiny smile before she nods. "Sure."
She doesn't talk anymore as her concentration is absorbed by the book. Maki settles in front of the woman, silently sipping her own coffee.
In front of her resides white porcelain cup filled with faint sweet aroma of cinnamon, Maki can conclude that it is the cafe's special cinammon-flavored tea. Another thing she can surely distinguish from the woman aside the thick book she reads is the red scarf on her neck. The winter is not that cold already because it will be spring soon, why the person bother to wear a scarf?
Maki checks her wristwatch, as to count how many times left before her work schedule. Her eyes lies over the azure-colored wristwatch she wears on her right wrist. She sighs as something that she shouldn't have recalled resurfaced the first time she looked at her own right wrist. A few seconds pass and she finally raises her left hand to hold her right wrist, her eyes clenches shut.
[Come on, Maki. Not again. Not anymore. It has been two months already, don't—]
"A, are you okay?"
A calm voice pulls her from her trance and Maki looks over to see a worried pair of amber stares at her way, her book is long forgotten on the desk as the woman with blue hair there stands up and about to reach the redhead's way.
"O, oh, sorry," again, she apologizes, her breaths is uneven, but she tries hard to make it flows naturally as she doesn't want the stranger to be worried about her. "I—I'm okay, no need to worry."
The woman mouths an 'o', her expression is unfazed by Maki's rejection but she sits back at her own seat nonetheless.
The silence is heavy, as Maki struggles to finish her cup while sneaks a glance awkwardly to the stranger in front of her.
( 02. )
She stares at her scar.
Scars. Scars.
Yeah, scars, not only a scar, not a simple scar.
Many scars, one, two, threefourfive—
Nishikino Maki curses softly as she feel that she wants to throw up again. She opens the bathroom's only washtafel tap as quick as possible before the force in her throat gives out another series of vomitting. She already feeling well that she could muster her courage to see the scars there but when she tries, she always ends a mess. Maki wears her wristwatch back as she finishes her fifth time of throwing up.
( 03. )
"You should take another day off, Maki-chan."
A bubbly-looking, cheerful Hoshizora Rin arrives at her desk, a pile of papers needing her attention is on the orange-haired coworker's hand. Her next table colleague pops her head as to see the two around. Koizumi Hanayo then sort of approaches them as Rin notifies that Maki is not looking well today either.
"I agree with her, Maki-chan," she nods. "You can talk with boss anytime and she will give you another day off."
Maki glances over the farthest door at the south, where the plank says 'Kousaka Honoka'. Their boss is a generous woman, she accepted Maki to the company of Rin and Hanayo's recommendation and she didn't ask twice about it. However, Maki couldn't let herself have another day off since she thinks that it will be the hindrance to the company. She already take many days off in the past and her boss never asks why, much to her relief, so she tries her best to not let everyone down.
"Then after this, why don't we visit the rice bowl restaurant?" Hanayo claps her hands. "They are having a half price today."
"Why not Ramen? I never had any chance to visit Ramen Shop."
The discussion of Ramen and rice continues without her as she focuses on the paper that Rin brings her.
"What do you choose, Maki-chan?"
She flips the paper, "Anything is fine by me."
( 04. )
And finally, they decided to eat at a rice bowl restaurant which Hanayo highly recommended. Maki left all the orders for Hanayo to choose while her hitting back some of books she haven't read awhile ago.
She had finished two classical literature that caught her interest when she visited the used bookstore last week, at least book can help to ease her own tense and overly-conscious self a bit. Ignoring the chit-chatter which is initiated by Rin, Maki delves deeper by the forest of words, forgetting anything else existed.
"—There you go, three big rice bowl set."
Amethyst eyes flutters, her focus wavers from the book when her ears caught a familiar voice. Placing the bookmark at the designated page, Maki gazes away to find a certain blue-haired woman she ever saw days ago. She wears the shop's uniform today, making her look a bit different with a ponytail hairstyle. The red scarf still there, clinging around her neck.
Their eyes meet for a brief second as the woman distributes their orders on the table, asks whether they wanted another additional order and excuses herself.
Huh.
That red scarf sure is striking.
"Is something wrong, Maki-chan?"
"Oh, uhh, nothing, Rin."
( 05. )
Every time she awakens from her dream, she will always see a reflection of a tired woman with bloodshot eyes and red tresses in perfect disarray. Her unfocused sight will wander over the scars on her wrists, and her whole body convulses immediately.
An urge to throw up, and an urge to add another scar; mingles together and leaving her to an incoherent screaming mess.
"Maki, y-you're strong, you should've forgotten—"
Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain—
(That morning, she unconsciously grabs scissors from her locked steel case and—)
( 06. )
At least, she manages to retain her sanity for a day, calling her office that she requested the day off because of sickness, bandaging her wounded right wrist and leave to meet another series of Espresso.
She can't just take the painkillers forever, or yeah, those simple drugs which can help to clear her head; she shall take a walk out and all.
—Though she herself not sure if she can walk normally or not.
She snapped from her trance, she was sitting with half-lidded eyes and a cup of thick black coffee at her favorite spot of the cafe, ignoring anyone who perhaps stares at her because she was pretty much like a living corpse in daylight.
Across her seat,
Red scarf. Midnight blue sensation. Hazel, sharp pair of orbs. Aroma of Cinnamomum burmannii.
Who? She looks up with her unfocused amethyst.
"Are you okay?"
Again, she realizes the same voice, the same sentence, gnaws on her.
(Maki hates the look of sympathy, which she always get every moment of her relapse.)
"What if I say 'no'?" Maki retorts, albeit weak and hoarse. "Are you able to help me ...?"
"You're always here, and you always look troubled." The woman said, blurry enough for Maki to clearly see."I can help you to go home."
She pushed the stetched hand aside. "Don't wanna."
"I can't leave you here."
"Why not?"
Maki never get the clear look to the woman in scarf today, nothing but her lips movement. Everything is a blur, she doesn't know how long she can keep her arguments high while the pain surges from both her head and wrist. She doesn't know whether she converses with someone, or rather she just talking in her delusional state, she doesn't know. Part of her brain manages her eyes open. Part of her wants to shut all of her consciousness down. Part of her finger traced over a new wound. Part of her heart pleads to disappear. Part of her feet wants to drag her body away.
Leave me alone. Please. Leave me. Don't talk to me. I'm—
"Here," the extending hand grasps at her lying right hand, beside her untouched porcelain cup. "You're hurt. You forced to wear your wristwatch on your bandage, your blood—"
"—Don't touch me!"
Maki slaps the hand away.
"How dare you touched—"
"It's because you're hurt."
"You don't need to tell me that," she keeps pushing. "Leave me alone."
"Alright ... I apologize," the person backs down, finally going to leave her desk. "I'll be going, then."
Nishikino Maki mouths a needless screech to the air as her own pain intensifies.
Coffee. She must drink coffee now. She must take something to her lips. Anything. Some bitter black liquid will do to make her forget. She need to forget. She doesn't want to see or know her wrist bleeding again, no, she doesn't need to re-apply her bandage, she doesn't need painkillers, she doesn't have to be alive.
Her trembling hand reaches the cup, for it to slip, throwing itself along the gravitation, turns into shreds and nothingness, just like her consciousness.
( 07. )
A smell of antiseptic.
Maki opens her eyes to a room unknown to her, inside a warm blanket that's not hers.
Slowly, she feels her own fingers again, albeit numb and hard to move around. She examines her surrounding, the dressing on her wounded wrist is clean, no more blood permeated from it and her usual pale blue wristwatch is gone.
She wonders what had happened.
She wants to take a sip to her dear black coffee and everything turns black.
The door swings open, the midnight-haired woman with her red scarf she faintly saw earlier is present, holding to her wristwatch and a plastic bag.
"You finally awake, thank goodness."
Maki swallows, unsure what to say, when the woman take a seat at the chair beside her, putting aside her belongings atop the nearby cabinet.
"You were fainted at the cafe so I asked the cafe owner to lend a room so I can treat you," she explains. "I'm grateful that I brought my first-aid kit."
Maki blinks. So she carried an antiseptic and dissinfect her wound before applying the bandages? Is she a nurse or something? But to think back, this woman worked at a restaurant, so it's highly-unlikely.
In the end, Maki decides to buy her story.
"Why ... did you help me?"
"Because you're hurt?"
Again, the same answer.
"Don't answer a question with a question."
"My bad, I apologize."
The stranger didn't show any sign of anger or irritation toward Maki's bitter tone, rather, she smiles.
"... I want to go home." Maki says, buries her face with her left palm.
"I'll take you, then."
"Why?" again, she asks, peers one gaze to the woman.
"I can't leave you here."
There's no room to argue with this woman, she concludes. This conversation going nothing but circles.
"How persistent," the lying woman let out a defeated sigh before looking away. "Alright, fine."
( 08. )
Thankfully, her apartment was a short walk, about five minutes to the east from the cafe. Maki is limping slightly upon walking, and she can't say anything to refuse the blue-haired stranger anymore when she supported her to walk, as her mind grows more tired and bothered.
Maki lives on the fifth floor of ten-story building alone, her room wasn't that big to brag, and it's pretty messy because she kept throwing things aside other than her workload when she's busy. What welcomed them, as the woman excused herself in, is a whole new world of the 'Abstract Art of Nishikino Maki' collection; papers flood to the entrance, as well as her painkillers, unfinished dishes stacked high, and other undescribeable things mingled.
"I can clean up by myself," Maki warns as the woman about to go in and put out the garbage inside the strewn plastic. "Thank you for helping me, I ... mean it, but please don't go too far."
Her amber eyes travels once more before looking back to the annoyed Nishikino. "I'll take my leave then, err," she glances at the nameplate. "Nishikino-san. And, oh, yes, you're very welcome."
She watches quietly when the woman takes the lift and disappears completely within her sight. Maki sighs, messages her throbbing temples, slumps down around her entrance door after locking the door shut.
What a day.
There, she is too dizzy to move her own body to sleep properly on her bed, or urges herself to clean her room. Her mind keeps spiraling about what had happened today, she got an attack and someone rescued her: a woman with blue hair, amber eyes, red scarf, a faint of cinnamon, one dash of antiseptic and sterile gauze, but without a name.
.
.
.
Damn.
.
Right, name. Her name. Maki didn't get the chance to ask, at least, the name of her savior. Rather, Maki was pushing her away, lashing out and being ungrateful to her.
Maki realizes another thing she forgot to ask the moment she sees her clean wrist.
( 09. )
Hanayo peeks inside Maki's office box to see the red-haired woman is in the middle of enjoying her coffee and her break after submitting the monthly report to the boss. Rin is not around today because she is tasked to handle another problem in regard to the goods' shipment.
"M-Maki-chan?"
Maki stops herself to drink, sneaking glance at her brunette co-worker, who suddenly darts away from their eye contact.
"Do you need something, Hanayo?"
Hanayo balls her courage into one and walks beside Maki's desk, trying to be as casual as Rin always did. Although, the content of her brain already a series of train wreck of composed words. "U-umm, how about we went out and eat together a-again?"
"I don't mind." A nod, and relief washes over the bespectacled woman's face.
"A-Anyway, you ... look different today, Maki-chan," she whips up another conversation. Maki blinks, confused. "You look better today and ... umm ... y-you look different."
Maki can say, after the treatment days ago, she has managed her health well; eating better foods, gettin enough sleeps, taking less pills a day, also drinking more of plain waters instead coffees.
And ... she looks different?
—ah.
Yes, she remembered. Her azure-colored wristwatch is missing. The blue-haired woman must be holding on it and wasn't able to return it.
"Where are we going today, d-do you have something in mind, Maki-chan?"
"Rice bowl shop, then."
( 10. )
When they entered the rice bowl restaurant, the person Maki wants to see was nowhere to be found. Maki let Hanayo ordered her portion and she keeps her eyes scanning the restaurant.
No sign of that woman, nothing, Maki already checks everybody who wears the shop's uniform.
Her lips forming a thin line, she guesses that it's better to ask the nearby clerk, but to think back again, she didn't catch the name of the mysterious savior.
"Maki-chan?"
"—Y-Yes?" the red-haired woman abruptly turns toward the brunette's call. Hanayo fiddles with her chopsticks as she observes Maki being restless in a silence.
"Are you looking for someone?"
Maki purses her lips, fingers dances around the tip of her hair awkwardly. "Well, uhh, no—err, I mean—yes I am, I'm looking for one of the workers here."
"I visits this restaurant often, m-maybe I can be of some help."
She is grateful that Hanayo presents in front of her instead of Rin. Her certain orange-haired co-worker won't shut up with just a question, like, Rin will interview and pick on her, and perhaps either Rin or Hanayo (or sadly, both of them) will label her (in misunderstanding, of course, thanks to Rin's nosy paws and her misleading questions) as a stalker, in addition that she'd brought up the topic again and again and Maki needs to make Rin shut the crap up with whatever measures she can suffice.
Then again, maybe Maki was being too paranoid.
"Do you know about a woman, umm, with the height around mine." Maki gestures. Hanayo cocks her head to the other side, seems to be thinking hard. "She has dark blue hair and brown eyes ..."
"Oh!" Hanayo's pale amethyst glints. "I think it's Sonoda-san."
Sonoda, Maki writes inside her memory bank. The woman finally got a name, finally. She is no longer wants to call her with 'blue-haired cinnamon with first aid kit' kind of mockery anyways. "Where's she now?"
"She only worked part-time here, as long as I recalled. The owner ever said whether she got her new job in the other place, umm ..." Maki hopes Hanayo won't need to pause and forget in a crucial piece of information, again. "... I think she's now working at Tojo Clinic."
Tojo.
Tojo Clinic.
Maki's expression turns sour, a lump forms in her throat and her head suddenly spins.
Of all places, why must that freaking place—the clinic which she went to get her therapy years ago?
( 11. )
Maki, you need to meet her, ask about your watch, and leave. No need to sweat.
She is playing an exact same sentences over as she walks to the clinic's direction.
Maki knew the clinic all too well, she was a frequent and a difficult patient, she repeated her attempts for many times and she is treated there in those dark days. The clinic has its own physiatrist schedule, some psychologist on stand by, counselors, also therapist; the perfect site for rehabilitation from head to toe. The physiatrist whom handled her was the clinic head herself, an eccentric woman with somewhat playful personality, especially around the nurse. However, Maki was forever in debt with the patience of Tojo Nozomi back then, and to the nurses too, despite their scolding about her suicidal tendencies.
Hoping that she won't meet anyone she know, the moment she opens the clinic huge glass door, a woman, dressed in her white uniform along with her nursing cap atop her blonde tresses is waiting at the administration desk right across the entrance.
"Welcome to—oh, Nishikino-san, it has been quite some time, isn't it?"
Maki sighs at her overly-friendly greeting, well, given as nurse in administration duty, it seems.
'Ayase Eli' is visible on the nametag she wears on her left breastpocket, the most sane nurse she met inside the Tojo Clinic.
"The head nurse is having a moment with Dr. Tojo, if you asked about her. And, oh, you'll need to fill this paper and I'll guide you to appoint for the physiatrist."
"No thank you, Eli." Maki scowls, erasing the memory of a raven-haired nurse's bloody scream (with a slight dash of cursing) when noticing that she made a new scar. "I'm not here to get any treatment."
The said nurse put her pen and application papers down, "Then, why are you here for?"
"Uhh," she rolls her eyes, shifts awkwardly in bonus. "I-Is anyone by the name of Sonoda working here?"
"Sonoda Umi? Yes, she's one of our counselor." Maki breaks in cold sweat, chills trail on her spine in a spare of milisecond upon hearing the title—the job. "Unfortunately, she's not available today, she'd be here tomorrow on her scheduled time."
Right, right. A little time to prepare herself is needed now, urgently needed. She didn't want to be here and meet a counselor. No. No more.
"Ayase-san, have you seen my pen? I think I left it on administration desk yesterday—"
Ah, the curse of luck.
Maki turns this time, behind her is the person who she seeks out all the day, but Maki is beyond prepared for worst. It's not like she hated the therapy or the session, she was—
"Nishikino-san?"
She faces the concerned look of the blue-haired, cinnamon woman with red scarf, again. Although today is different, with Maki is not near of her relapse and this place is not her lovely coffee shop down the street, no smell of coffee or tea but of drugs and antiseptics which she hated deep inside her spiraling mind.
"You're pale," now a hand caresses her cheek, stroking lightly along her jawline. "Can you still hear me, Nishikino-san?"
It feels like everything freezes, her palms grow colder and her breath went shallow and uneven.
"Stop," is the first words Maki manages to mince out. "Don't touch me, y-you're warm."
She hates hospital.
She doesn't need a life.
She wishes nothing.
She doesn't need this warmth. She doesn't want anybody to save her. She doesn't need to be alive. She is alone. She is left alone. She needs to simply rot and die. She needs to, she needs to—
"I—why? Why are you here? Why did you help me? Why didn't you let me—die?"
Maki pulls herself, Sonoda Umi retracts her hand, Eli rushes from behind the counter to take another precaution after hearing the increasing tone and the dilating pupils of purple she exhibits.
The red-haired woman grabs the pen on the counter,
"Step back or I'll kill myself."
Both Eli and Umi hold their breath, the atmosphere tenses, Maki stays at her place, still clenches at the pen, gripping in the manner of knife, ready to trace her clean gauze on her right wrist.
"Why do you help me? Why are you pitying me? Why? Why everyone didn't let me die? Why? Why?"
Umi gets ahold both of Maki's wrist, tries to immobilize and disarm the pen.
"—Nishikino-san!"
Few scratches on her hand, and Maki struggles more. Though, Eli manages to throw the pen away and scrambles to hide any sharp objects or throwable objects nearby. Maki trembles in Umi's grip stays, her muscles keep tensing, she must stop her at all cost, no, she must make her relax. The counselor locks her gaze to the softening purple irises. Swallowing quietly, Umi continuing her attempt to calm the enraged woman down.
"It's okay, it's okay—breathe, I'm here with you."
The red-haired woman's arm slacked, her breath slows down, matching the way Umi practiced.
She can hear Umi's voice, loud and clear.
She needs this warmth. She wants somebody to save her. She needs to be alive. She isn't alone. She isn't left alone. She needs to live and be happy. She needs to, she needs to—
( 12. )
After the whole ruckus died down, Eli advises Maki to rest for a few hours within Umi's surveillance at the patient room.
There's no serious damage, only few ripped papers and a broken pen. Maki was fortunate that the waiting lounge was empty at the moment so the eyewitnesses were nil at best. Umi treats the scars which Maki caused herself, and now her right hand is full of band-aids. Upon receiving Maki's medical records from Eli earlier, the counselor gives a quick read, writes something on her notebook and closes everything.
"I can prescribe more painkillers and sedatives but that won't do, you need a direct therapy out of this."
"Again?" come the broken voice.
"A bit of consultation matter, that's it; once a week," Umi pats beside her pillow. "We can meet outside the clinic too if you wish."
Maki thoughts linger, she looks up with tired eyes.
Sonoda Umi was a mysterious woman in a symbol of cinnamon-flavored tea, a dash of red scarf and a glimpse of midnight blue hair. Now, she's the maternal being she hated; a counselor, an aroma of antiseptic, and a clinic.
"Still ... why?" she tries to push her luck. "Why ... are you helping me?"
The smile isn't faltering from the counselor's lips. That's her answer, again.
( 13. )
Sonoda Umi.
Perhaps in her mid-twenties, just like her; blue hair, red scarf.
Speaking of which, Maki forgets her wristwatch all the time, and never bring the topic to the counselor she met every week.
Nowadays, one day of her week is filled with one repeated schedule: the meeting with her counselor.
Their serious conversation would last for five minutes in regard of therapy-wise, another would be around her hobbies around the books (with Umi also added her collection to Maki's consideration) with a grand total of thirty minutes in awkward silence between the conversation.
.
.
.
"... This ... cafe?"
"Looks like we don't have any other place to go, right?"
.
One week flew in a blink of eye and Maki arrives to the schedule of her therapy session. She asked the councelor to avoid the clinic, and their feet brought them to the cafe direction. One black coffee and one cinnamon-flavored tea per usual, not any additional sugar or cake involved.
Umi starts questioning much like how Nozomi used to; how her condition fared, how much pills she had taken, how many times the attack happened, and how long she had slept a day.
"And, if I may ask ..." hazel orbs studies her patient, fingers intertwins on the table, the tea is long forgotten. "What's driven you into your attempts?"
Maki's eyes turns wide, she shifts her arms feebly, words died inside her throat making her think twice to come up with another track of sentences.
Umi taps her pen on her journal, waiting.
"I was ... disowned by my family because I wanted to pursue my dream." her eyes rolls clockwise. "It was depressing, I-I don't know what to do with my life anymore and I ... just ..."
Maki knows, she knows whether she's not doing it again at this moment, but the feeling surges everytime when she never wanted it to be. Her eyes gazes down, she brings her left hand to clutch at her bandaged right wrist, try to calm her shaking self.
To her surprise, another hand joins, clasping her left hand. A foreign warmth wells up inside her, Maki doesn't know why, but the touch is calming, soothing; the touch is there for Maki to grasp.
Maki glances back, to notice that Umi expression's goes forlorn and distant. Umi had always put her usual cool exterior along with her smile when Maki talked to her or when they got into a problem a week ago.
Their hands stay as is and the time passes, quietly.
"Sonoda-san ...?"
Umi reflexively withdraws her own fist.
"I—I'm sorry, umm," she stammers. "W-where are we again?"
( 14. )
One day in a week, a simple one hour, a cup of coffee, a laugh, a mystery. It repeats, revives, and never cease to walk away.
"Sonoda-san?"
"Yes? Do you want to call it a day?"
Maki can't help but wondering Umi's true intention, the real her in her mask of serenity. Umi avoids the question, Umi avoids her, Umi answers anything but that.
"Why did you ... help me?" same repetitive question, she starts. "I-I must've looked like a monster, I pushed you, and even ... hurted you," a bit of flashback hurts her head, but she bears it. "I'm so ... helpless and pathetic, I'm beyond saving."
"I'm—"
How come she's interested—fixated, attracted—with her counselor's well-being?
"No, I expect a honest answer." Yes, I won't let you run away, not when I'm sober enough to stay. "I-if perhaps you're doing it out of the pity or charity, it's okay, just ... tell me your reason. I ..."
I wanted to know, and I always hoped that it's neither from the reason which I've mentioned.
Maki balls her fist below the table.
"Nishikino-san."
Amber eyes travels far in the universe outside Maki's judging and piercing gaze, before it landed with a frown. The coffee is pretty much cold, untouched, similar to the tea across the table.
"I can't tell you anything, I'm sorry."
(It's all it takes to make her embark from her seat, leaving the counselor alone.)
( 15. )
Maki blinks upon seeing herself on the mirror. She never saw someone as healthy as that in her life, not another pale skin or bloodshot eyes, though dark circles stay put under her eyes, her aching head and her weary body.
No more therapy session, no more pain in the head for the whole week, no more Sonoda Umi and her scent of cinnamon.
Hard to admit, it's not the tea flavor itself as how Maki remembered her, it's because she has a sweet aroma, alike the tea she usually drinks.
.
"Sonoda-san." the person on the other side of the mirror repeats.
.
"Because you're hurt."
.
—No, she's lying. Sonoda Umi is a liar. She's not there out of any reason but pity, symphaty, or by her duty. She just doing her job as a counselor in physiatrist clinic, nothing more. She has been seeing her on the relapse often, she's a mere passerby, she did nothing with ulterior motives.
Yet, why Maki felt so ... angry and betrayed?
Suddenly, the bell to her apartment rings. It's only nine in the morning and she asked neither Hanayo nor Rin to come by to hangout or whatever means necessary. Maki quickly washes her face and get her feet to the front door.
A familiar person stares back from her peephole.
( 16. )
She had a dream, a dream of her first attempt to slay herself and went to the other world.
It was a kitchen knife, a bit rusty on the edge, because she never thought about an actual weapon to kill beside it near her. She was pretty much ready, even she noticed she cut well and deep enough, but she was still present in the world of living.
Next, a cutter. She bought it yesterday when shopping for her dinner at the convenience store.
There was some nice folding knives too, which she could bring anywhere.
.
One.
Two.
Threefourfivesix—
And she forgot how many times she did it.
And she forgot the actual reason why she tried the game of death.
Eventually, after many attempts, she refused death. She wanted to live, then again the urge to try again resurfaced as much as she wished to live.
Her suicide became a hobby, something which couldn't be easily erased or forgotten; everything, from the sensation of dulling pain, how foul her own blood smell, to the cold metals that scratched her wrist to her veins, haunting her to no end.
( 17. )
The sofa feels too big, even though there are two people, sitting on a space of one seat to another.
.
"How did you know my apartment room?"
"I was here before, remember?" Maki slaps her head mentally. Of course, duh, she was the one helped her from her relapse that time at the coffee shop.
.
.
.
Good silence.
.
"So, why are you here?" the red-haired woman speaks, she just can't turn her bitter tone in a more friendly manner. "You're not here to simply apologize, right?"
Apologize, huh?
Now Maki wonders why her counselor needs to apologize to her, she didn't do anything wrong, it was her fault being too irritated over small matters, everyone needs their privacy and so is Umi, why she pushes her luck, asks the same thing over and over, and leaves her alone?
Why Umi bothers herself to come all the way here?
The counselor pulls herself from where she sits, nearer and nearer. Maki moves her head weakly to meet Umi's agonized amber. Another fleeting seconds of nothingness cross between them, and Maki bits her bottom lip. The counselor doesn't say a thing, making the air a tad bit heavier than ever.
Maki's right fist is on the sofa, bathed in cold sweat, and much to her surprise, Umi takes that hand.
"I've ... touched your scar in the past," she says, her thumb making circles on the closed wrist. "I'll show you something today—my own fear, my reason."
She doesn't let go off Maki's hand as she undo her red scarf.
Her shoulder droops upon seeing what had been hidden beneath the fabric of scarlet.
Umi chuckles dryly when she saw Maki's expression of shock. "I want to help you because I think you and I are alike. I associated you with something that ever happened to me. I forced you out of your comfort zone. I avoided your question because I'm afraid with my own scars. I'm ... such a coward; a selfish person."
Her neck is paler than the rest of her actual skin and has complicated patterns etched on it: one, a mark of strangling with a rope. Two, a mark resembles pair of hands hugging her neck. There are also another mark which hard to guess.
"I ... tried to strangle myself a few times after I failed to inherit my father's dojo," she gazes downward, shame fills her tone as it grows quieter. "He was truly disappointed and I don't know what to do with my life anymore."
Umi guides Maki's fingers to make a contact with her scarred neck. Maki faintly feel the racing pulses, the outline, the scars that's not hers but similar to hers.
"You're cold," is what Maki manages to say. "Your neck feel oddly cold to me, just like how my hands are, aren't you bothered by this?"
"... You're warm, Nishikino-san. Your hands are warm."
Did she hear that right?
She gave her ... warmth?
"Don't sugar-coated it, Sonoda-san. My hand sweat a lot, you know?" Maki denies, fighting back the burn on her cheek and hopes Umi won't see it.
Maki never notices that Umi was broken, feeling unwanted and horrified by the existense of self. She was the same as her, the person who tries hard to forget the past, forged a new identity and closed the Pandora Box of her own darkness. Umi was a victim, too. She knew how it was like to stand inside the darkness. She knew. She acknowledged them all.
Then again, despite those ugly scars which Umi showed to her, she's still—
"Still, it's warm." her lips upturns as she stops the guide, for both of her hands to clasp Maki's. "I like it."
—beautiful.
.
.
.
( 18. )
Nishikino Maki types her works in hurry. This day of the week is one of the important days she shall not miss. This day, one day of the week, a day when she will be going to her therapy session. Her eyes are glancing to the clock more often than she can count, her workload is not decreasing, the time is running out and she can't help it.
Then again, she smiles. She heaves a sigh as once again she peeks on her azure-colored wristwatch. As if on cue, her cellphone is buzzing, the screen turns on to reveal that she got one message from the person she had in mind.
I'm already here. Relax and finish your work, I'll always wait for you.
It has been ... many weeks passed. Yeah, Maki forgot to count minutes, days to months when they were together, healing each other's scar and sitting in silence most of time. It was no longer a meeting of black coffee and warm cinnamon-flavored tea, not as a counselor and a troubled patient, but as Nishikino Maki and Sonoda Umi.
Maki gave the spare key for Umi to enter her apartment during the assigned therapy days; once a week, four times a month, forty-eight times a year, and it is recurring for roughly one year already without both of them noticing.
"I'm home."
Umi will always welcome her, still clad in her red scarf with sometimes high neck sweater, in summer or winter, there's no exact difference about how the counselor will look. Along with her popping her head for Maki to see, a strong aroma of coffee will follow, and of course, the Cinnamomum burmannii will not be forgotten.
"You didn't rush it, did you?" the blue-haired woman asks with a pout.
"Of course not, the work needs to be perfect."
"It's so like you, huh," she chuckles. "Maki."
Both of them will laugh after the greeting, and they will move to the kitchen to enjoy the drink. Sometimes Umi will tell Maki about things that happened in the clinic—mostly the clinic head being a capital P of pervert around the head nurse, and Eli will come to shut them up—and Maki shares what had happened in her office.
"So umm ..." Umi suddenly fidgets. "Mind if we ... start now?"
"Oh, are you in hurry?"
"No, well, I ..." amber eyes trails off from Maki's strong gaze. "Nothing."
Maki arches her brow, "Umi?"
"Say, it's my first time asking this ... err .. how it felt when someone else know your scars?"
The question brings back a dose of nostalgia to her senses. That time, when Umi kind of forcing her with the therapy and coming by her door, for her to reveal the truth behind her red scarf.
The scars. The paranoia. The forgotten obsession. The permanent pain.
Though, Umi knew about her sliced wrist first, and to acknowledge whether they were in equal comprehension, the counselor let her touched her scars.
"I ... forgot, I think?" Maki answers. "I mean, umm, I was unconscious back then and I didn't mind being seen, especially ..."
Especially because it was to you, the first person whom I opened up to.
Maki goes silent, slapping her own mouth to prevent some words slipping from her mouth, as well as obscures her blossomed cheek. Umi cocks her head, fazed by the sudden change.
"Especially?"
The redhead coughs awkwardly. "N-N-Nothing! It was nothing! Yup, nothing to worry about!"
"Okay?" the counselor writes down to her notebook. "I see, I'm sorry for asking such strange question."
A good silence; Maki knows all too well that Umi hides something from her. Something important, she bet, just like the old days.
"Why that question?" Maki attacks with a high tone. "Maybe it felt different when it happened to you?"
It's the turn for Umi to cough over her tea.
Bingo, Maki, bingo.
Now, the finishing touch she needs is to stare at her counselor until she manages to squeak out some words.
"Oh, umm," Umi fiddles her fingers. "I-It's not like I take it as an invasion to my privacy, or something to fuss about, b-but ..."
Maki blinks, realizing that Umi's face is red to her ear.
"I-It made my heart race."
Another good silence.
Good silence.
Umi averts her gaze to her dear feet as she is digging her own hole while Maki's lips parts open.
"A-and I noticed that it's my first time opening up with others about this, I-I don't know why, it was so ... amazing and I don't want to forget h-how it felt to know you." Umi finishes with a quiet voice.
The air grows awkward. No one dared to speak or to move except to sip on their respective cups.
"Umi?"
Umi stirs her cup, still looking at anything but Maki, "Yes?"
"Can you come closer?"
The blue-haired woman stands from her seat, approaching Maki by the other side of the square table. Surprisingly, when Umi is right in front of Maki, the redhead moves, tugs her head down to undo the red scarf adorning the latter's neck. As the fabric falls unceremoniously to the floor, the same scars are there, imprinted to the pale neck just like how it was; nothing could be changed, nothing could be revised, the marks are there.
It takes a while for Maki to put her hand—her right, scarred hand—over the scarred neck once more, simply feel that the woman is there. Acknowledging that Sonoda Umi, right in front of her eyes, is real.
Every trace to the lines of rope makes Umi jolts slightly, but this time, those eyes don't run away. Umi put her hand to grip at Maki's right hand, feeling the healed scar just like what she does at this moment.
"—Maki?"
Maki sighs. She pulls Umi by her collar abruptly, making the distance almost close to nil, and pressing her lips on the pulse, down to the scars, tasting the terrain with her own trail of kisses. The movement is slow, steady, as both of them relishing to the moment, surrendering to the time, before eventually Maki pulls herself away, letting Umi go.
The sensation of hot breaths against her neck is still present.
"Sorry," she speaks, voice cracks. "I ... can't help myself—"
Umi kneels, grabs the right hand of Nishikino Maki strongly, as if not wanting to let it slip. The counselor kisses the abstract scars on it; not missing any spot untouched. Maki can't help but to look away, hiding her blush upon Umi mimicking what she had done.
How long since they know each other? How much time they spend together? How many fleeting and fluttering feelings they shared among the distance of one week to another?
"I wonder what makes the two of us," Umi says, still stays to grab her wrist. "Are we doing the right thing?"
"Who knows," Maki smiles in her answer. "All I know is that I want you."
It's not their first kiss.
It's not their first time spending their time at the kitchen floor, staring to each other, hand touching another scars which are not theirs, savoring every inch of the existence of another, and—
"Can I do it again?"
Maki snuggles on the crook of Umi's neck, pressing their body close.
"Don't you think the kitchen floor is hard?"
"On the bed, then?" she waves with another question teasingly.
"At least don't leave a new mark on my neck, okay?"