She found her at the train station. At the time it was probably to be considered an act of some deity that she was so close to Noriko's home when it occurred. In reality, it was because of Noriko that she had been there in the first place.
She needed company while her aunt was away. Her company was clearly very important to her. Later Noriko would spit at her own selfishness.
Shimako was late that night. She was never late. She was over an hour late. Noriko had been pacing in her yard, clutching her coat, looking at her watch, for thirty-six minutes before she walked against the bitter wind to the train station. The streetlights were on, but she could barely see through the wetness from anxiety and cold in her eyes.
Noriko had been pacing in front of the train station, clutching her coat, checking her watch, for three minutes before she gave a second thought to the open trash bag textured with dead leaves and snow. It was when she noticed that one of the leaves sticking out from the bag's opening had an uncharacteristic shine. Like that of human hair.
Every nerve in her body was on edge as she lifted the top of the bag and found what the most pessimistic parts of her would never have had nightmares about. Shimako, clad only in frozen shit and semen, had a pulse but would not move no matter how Noriko screamed and sobbed. Her mouth refused to close as she removed her long coat and sweater and clothed the ice-cold body. She tugged her hat as far down Shimako's ears as possible and gave her her boots, vaguely wondering if it would hurt her to wear them without socks. Noriko was hysterical, but her body was not. It was almost 11:00. She suddenly didn't trust anyone who would come in on the next train. Without being fully aware of her surroundings, she half-carried/half-dragged the sleeping girl for about ten minutes before noticing that the feet next to her were moving, if weakly, of their own will. She was afraid to see Shimako's face, so they walked wordlessly without acknowledgement of one another.
"It will be better if you take a shower instead of a bath right now, or the water will only get dirty. Can you stand?"
Nothing.
"I'll help you, okay?"
At first she leaned into the shower to steady her, but it wasn't enough, and the floor was getting wet. So she removed her sleeveless dress and underwear unabashedly and stepped into the shower facing the other. She noticed the slightest hint of relaxation in Shimako's stature when she stroked her flattened, dirty hair. Perhaps exposing herself made the awful situation a little less uncomfortable.
"Close your eyes."
She obeyed immediately, and Noriko squirted a small amount of shampoo onto the matted hair that usually felt like cotton candy. Though intermittent spots where the hair had been forcefully removed appeared as she washed and conditioned it, this was the easy part. The shower head sprouted hot water upon them like tears and took with it the last of the blood and dirt from Shimako's hair.
"Turn around."
She did so. Their eyes met for half a moment before Shimako looked away.
"It's okay. Close your eyes again; we'll wash your face."
A tiny stream of tears came from each of her eyes as she obeyed, mixing with the shower's water and falling down her cheeks and chin, drawing Noriko's eyes with them. Shimako's breasts were already tinted blue and yellow, and the space in between them, reaching from chest to chin level, was covered in a pale, viscous substance with a smell that made Noriko gag. She wanted to cry too, but she had apparently lost all of the tears she had on the walk home from the train station.
The rest of the shower was a terrible loop of attempts to be as gentle as possible through Shimako's tears. Washing between her thighs and below her back was a cataclysm of tearful shame and pain accompanied by Noriko's choked whispers that everything would be all right, that she just wanted to make sure she wouldn't get sick, and that she was so sorry.
It was an inappropriate thing to notice, but Shimako looked beautiful, despite the circumstances, in Noriko's modest pink pajamas. Her hair had been blow-dried and French braided like Noriko's aunt had taught her, and some color had returned to her cheeks. She had allowed her to change alone, with the door ajar, and the intimacy of a half hour ago seemed to be lost. Noriko took the silent girl's hand as she exited the bathroom and led her to her aunt's bed.
"You should sleep. Do you need some tea or milk first?"
She shook her head, and Noriko pulled back the comforter on the queen-sized bed.
"It's not much, but I hope it will be okay. I'll be right across the wall, so knock if you need me, okay?"
She hesitated a bit before leaving for her own room, and her ears were on high alert, pressed close to their separating wall to ensure that she couldn't miss a breath or a rustle of the sheets.
It was about five minutes of holding her breath before she heard a hitch in Shimako's. The tiny inconsistency developed without warning into a heartbreaking sob, and as Noriko leapt from her bed, the house filled with vocal evidence of Shimako's pain. She writhed under the comforter as if it were holding her down and didn't respond to Noriko's cries of her name until they were joined by an anxious hand on her shoulder.
Shimako's eyes opened, but she continued to cry, though a little more quietly. Noriko sat on the side of the bed and held the shaking girl as tightly as possible, tears falling from her own eyes onto Shimako's hair. She lifted the blanket tentatively and slid under it cross-legged, laying Shimako's head on her chest, stroking and kissing the silken plaited hair.
They didn't move for what felt like hours, and Noriko ached for the fallen angel who had devoted her entire life to ensuring her own purity. She had been stripped of her privacy, of her right to choose, and - in her eyes - her worth. Noriko felt ready to give up anything to make her believe that she could be happy and pure again.
The few times that she had touched Shimako had been heavenly experiences. Her arched back and her fair skin, shivering with contentment, were so pleasing to Noriko that she had praised both Buddha and Maria-sama for allowing them to be known only to her. Shimako had accepted the beauty of her own sexuality, despite its "illegality" in her worship, only a few months before having it taken from her. Noriko wanted to vomit at the thought that those strangers had ruined even that for her virtuous paramour.
When Shimako's lips began to move for the first time against Noriko's collarbone, it was in barely audible prayer. A prayer for forgiveness.
Noriko didn't know a lot about Maria-sama, but she knew that She didn't deserve Shimako's love if She could be angry with her for being violated and scarred by strangers in the street. Shimako's dream had always been to join a convent, to become a nun, to become connected to Maria-sama. Right now, though she was trying so hard to be heard, it seemed she was only connected to the warm, tangible body into which she cried. Her heart and her dreams were broken. She was losing touch with her faith, being forced into a dark corner where she was blind and everything hurt. Only Noriko, with her sweet whispers and familiar touch, felt real.
The world no longer felt like hell when she was in Noriko's arms. It could have been something like rebirth.