NIGHTCALL(to tell you how I feel)
-Shinji?
-Yeah?
-Can I sleep in your bed tonight? With you?
-Why? Is something wrong?
-No. Nothing's wrong.
-Then why don't you sleep in your bed?
-I don't feel like it; here, give me some room.
-Hey! Alright, alright, I still don't understand.
-Idiot.
Part 1: Butterfly Knife
I remember when I kissed it: small pecks, moving slowly up my arms. The numbness brought slowly to my head. A dizzy sensation encompassing. Those little marks lying sentimental across my skin. I laid there, with that half intended smile; small flash of hope diminishing. There, on the floor of the bathroom, stretched out naked and in pain. A growing loneliness brought forward to my attention. Regret, I tried not to regret it.
I tried not to regret anything.
There is some revelation that happens, in a pool of your own blood.
It had come to this. Nothing I had ever done was going to mean anything. Soon I would sleep a dreamless sleep. Never again would I feel; hope; think; try; cry. The freedom of being nothing at all was within my grasp. I felt, for those infinite half breaths I tried to breathe, a peace of mind. How sublime it felt! How had I never experienced it before? Here, now, in that moment I finally stopped caring. I was finally free of those fucking thoughts that stayed in my head and never left. All of those infinite half weeps I'd been trying to live beyond. Now I was not going to live. Now I was going to die. Now I was going to die. Now I was going to die!
My arms swam in the flowing red dye. The butterfly knife rested in my palm. I held onto it by the blade: tightening my grip with each passing moment. I could no longer see it in the pool of red my hand now drowned in. The feeling of it though, I could still feel it. It was still there. My baby, that had kissed me: it was still there. Stay with me; die with me; fly with me my butterfly.
I had not cut myself. My arms had been a see through plastic. They had contained this blood, but I knew the truth of it. It was not my blood. This was not my skin. No more than that fucking coffin I'd been sleeping in these past few years; the moving golem of anguish that had had its arms around my neck. Constantly tightening its grip; grip, its tightening constantly. I'd laid in that liquid, bathed in the pod, how different was now? That had been my true blood. The blood I was swimming in then, on the floor, was only imitating it. I'd bathed in my blood everyday -that fluid I was born out of everyday-; this felt cheap in its stead. It was only what my plastic arms held onto. And how I kissed it. How I kissed it clean with my butterfly.
But then I turned my head. And when I did, my hair fell across my face. In that moment my peace of mind left. Why did I only get it for such a short time? Why in this life of mine, filled with all that shit, I only get those brief moments of peace! If only I had held on tighter, and left sooner. Then I would have never lost it: only myself.
Those strands, resting across my eyes, were red: blood red. I'd already been bleeding. Holding his hand after she had left: bleeding. Crying alone in the college: bleeding. Kissing that boy: bleeding.
Those veins had been dripping out of my scalp at every moment. And for some reason, I didn't want it to beat me. I'd been fighting since I was little: repeating to myself Asuka you have to win. I had bathed myself there, on the bathroom floor -naked and in pain- to die fighting myself. I wanted to die trying to kill that thing I hated most. I wanted to fail only to who I thought was worthy. But I had been doing that my whole life. I've been bleeding; those fucking strands across my eyes.
And by bleeding now, I wasn't trying to fight myself. I was trying to fight my life. For each moment was a battle I had fought with who I am: who I was. And there was never a second I wasn't bleeding. There was never a second I wasn't leading to this end: an end. And all ends would be equal, all ends eventual. If I wanted to kill what I hated most, then it was my bleeding self that needed to die. Here I was letting it win, hardly fighting back at all.
I had been done with weeping! Why had I cut my eyes now? For I was bleeding those tears. I had no more use for my whimpers, so why did they start to happen? I had been done with weeping. I never wanted to cry again. I was done with crying, done since mama left.
Oh God, oh God. I don't want this! No! not now. I'm just doing what she did. And I'm not her! I swore to myself I was different. I promised it! I cried it, all those nights. Please, don't let me become her now. I beg it! I don't want it! She gave up; I'm a fighter. I want to fight this. I don't want to become a butterfly. I want to stay here. I want to cry. I want to try. I want to think. I want to hope. I want to feel.
I'll cut my hair. I won't bleed again. Please. I'm sick of all of this red. I want to be free of it all. Never to have to be in it again.
I want to be kissed on my arms; pecks by lips. To have those little marks, sentimental, to be his and not my butterfly's. Could I have it? I don't want to bleed anymore.
...
-Hey Asuka?
-What is it?
-It's nothing. Nevermind.
-Just say it, idiot.
-It's just that you're digging your knees into my back.
-Oh, sorry.
-Thanks.
...
Part 3: Montana
I've felt sick. Ever since this all started, I've felt this way. It's as if I hid a piece of iron below my tongue. Over time it's slowly turned sour and burnt my mouth, poisoning my system slowly. As it started to singe the skin, it became ingrained. How I want to rip it out! No matter how hard I try it rests there, burning. Each time I pull on it, it only rips the skin around it. I'm tired of the blood flowing; dripping out of my mouth. Please just be done with it, and let me die. I don't want it anymore. I'm tired of being sick.
Do they not notice? My face is cringing and crying, but no one seems to care. What must I do to make them care? Those feelings rip apart my stomach; how much further must the marks go? Why can't they understand? Why can't they help?
Each time I come back, through that doorway, there is never any change. We never gain. It feels so helpless. I thought the purpose was to help us grow. I'm sick of those half intended truths they've given me. Now, I understand that wasn't there intention at all. Misato can try to keep her real meanings; I'll just stay in this circle of interpretation. Who needs to be sure? Who needs to be free? I must continue here, repressed and repressing.
What can I make of myself? I feel lost. My feelings and intentions overtake my actions. I channel those raw feels and feel lost. I feel hardly like myself. I feel hardly right. I don't know how to feel. Should I try to care? I've never been given a reason to.
But I'm sick. I'm raving; I'm delusional.
How could they try to keep that from me? How? How? How?
I'm beyond reason. I've been entrapped in my passions; I've been entrapped in my hate. Was it because of me? Did they think it was because of me? Why act as if it didn't happen? I'm affected. I'm a part of it, I know it. I couldn't not be right? Yet they've acted as if I wasn't, or as if I was all. I have no gage; I have no idea. How could they?
In the past few days I've let my id run wild. If they don't want me to think about it, if they don't want me to think, then fine: fuck it. I'll lose control. I already almost lost it all, what do I have to lose now? I don't need this. I've never needed it. It's always just made me sick, so fucking sick. My stomach has turned in on itself and I can only breathe half breaths. I don't need this anymore.
Perhaps I didn't need to do those things. I admit to folly. They were knee jerk. How else did they expect it to happen? To try and deny me that knowledge, I gained no need for the necessity of my actions. I was free for the first time since I came. I almost lost it all, I no longer had any reason to continue as I did. Maybe I didn't need to rip up those photos, or use Misato's clothes to jack off, or rip apart her room: but I regret it not. Those were my actions; they were me. I am a composite of that which can act in that way. I hope they never fucking forget it again. Because I'm tired of crying. I'm so fucking sick of crying.
I saw her. They tried not to let me see her, but I did. I saw her chest sit there calmly. I saw her wide eyed expression. I saw the streaks of tears. I saw her butterfly. I saw the red. They didn't want me to. They tried to hide it from me. I saw it; I saw it all.
At first I didn't do anything at all. I was terrified. Each moment I was paralysed into inaction. Those images felt ingrained in my eyes. I could see them, constantly, hiding behind the visible spectrum. Possibilities flowed through my head; 'what if's built on top of one another until I was lost within my analyzes of analyzes. At times I could not ever keep straight those points that had been real, and what had been imagined within my head. I was confused and alone. There was no one who tried to help; there was no one who cared.
Then I began into action. For such a time, I'd kept in the passive movement. Truly, since I was given the eva, I too was given a path to walk forward. But no more will I give into that direction. Did she cry? I'm sure she cried. If she cried for me, then I can't take it. If her breaths were cut in half by the blood caught in her throat, I hope she wasn't asking for me. I'm the only one here, but please God I hope she wasn't. Since I've known her, she's been the strong independent one. If she can't take it, if she needed me, and I failed, then I don't know. I can't of failed, please let me not have failed.
I've wanted so much to do well by her. We've been trapped together in these tight walls keeping us in. Slowly, by necessity, we've attached to each other, and paradoxically detached ourselves. Upon the projected transition of the other upon the dialectic me, rested the impression of the subject(ed) such as ourselves. I've only begun to know me through her. I need her to know me.
And she's gone. She's fucking gone. That's why they've been hiding it from me. I saw her chest rest still. There were no breaths passing through it. The life before was gone. All I saw, was that static body in its permanence, unchanging and unformed. Dead, she was dead.
...
Part 3: Daydream
Morning
-Asuka
-Yeah?
-You look really pretty without your hair.
-Really? You're just saying that.
-No, no I do mean it. I'm not just saying it. It fits you well; it does.
-I don't know.
-Come on Asuka, believe me.
-Okay.
-Okay?
-Thank you.
-Thank you?
-Yeah, that's what I fucking meant.
Asuka turned her head away from Shinji.
-Hey Asuka.
-Yeah?
-When are you leaving?
-This afternoon.
-That soon?
-Yeah. They don't need me here.
-Do they need you in Germany?
-Well, not really.
-Then why go?
-I don't know. It's home.
-I guess that makes sense.
-I'd rather be there than here. I miss it.
-Do you not think of here as home?
-No. Why would I?
-Nothing, forget about it.
Shinji turned his head away from Asuka.
-Do you consider here home Shinji?
-I'm not sure.
-What do you mean?
-I've never really had somewhere to be 'home' before. I don't have anywhere to compare this with.
-I think you would know.
-Why so?
-Well, I don't think there's anything that makes a place home, other than your recognition of it. Unless you recognize here as home, it isn't.
-I guess that makes sense.
-So, do you consider here home Shinji?
-Yeah, I guess I do.
-That's sort of sad.
-Yeah, I guess so.
Asuka turned her head towards Shinji.
-Shinji?
-Yeah?
-Are, are you crying?
-No.
-It sounds like you are.
-You're just imagining things.
-This is a dumb time to be crying.
-How could you say that?
-You have no reason to.
-You crawl into my bed after all of this. I only hear yesterday that you're leaving for good, and you crawl into my bed and act as if nothing's happened.
-Hey.
-Fuck you Asuka. I experienced that too. Everyone pretends as if this doesn't affect me, as if that didn't affect me. Asuka, how could you not tell me your leaving. How could you not tell me, after you did all of that. I thought I'd already lost you. Now you're leaving for good anyway.
-I'm sorry Shinji.
Shinji Turned his head towards Asuka.
-Asuka.
-Yeah?
-I meant it before when I said I think you look good without your hair.
-Yeah?
-I don't think you've ever been as beautiful as you are know.
Asuka and Shinji wrapped their arms around each other.
-Asuka.
-Yeah?
-You're crying?
-I'm not crying.
-Asuka, I can see you clearly. You're crying.
-You idiot, you're crying too.
-I don't want to lose you.
-I don't want to lose you either.
Asuka and Shinji, wrapped in each others arms, kissed.
Asuka and Shinji never saw each other again after that day.
...
Author's Notes
I hope you liked this story. I believe it is the darkest story I have ever written. It gets a little tough for me to read the first part. Feel free to leave a review.