That Piece of Glass
Disclaimer: Do not own psycho twin-tailed girl and broken biribiri.
Kuroko taps the broken piece of glass inside her pocket with nonchalance. She is made of aware of the flecks when she withdraws her hand and catches the play of light on her nails. Stares at it blankly. Lucky her school uniform is drab – the designer must be intimately considerate towards females; perhaps one herself. Black works so wondrously at concealing stains. And Kuroko knows that females are so accident prone. So easy to bleed. Of course she found out recently that males bleed just as easily. They just require more outside help.
She pulls her nail filer out of the drawer and begins to absentmindedly scrape the almost-black crusts from under her fingernails. Simply would not do for a proper lady to have inelegant nails. She dusts the flecks from her skirt and looks at the figure sitting hunched on the bed.
Of course her dearest onee-sama is broken.
It is not like Kuroko never considered this when she met with that... thing. She would feel the same way of her onee-sama was taken away from her, after all. Cry for a few days. Stare blankly at the wall for a week or two. Maybe resume normal activity after a month, with a silver framed photo sitting on her bedside table to look at and cry onto. And half-remembered memories of her for the rest of Kuroko's life, like a pleasant thorn buried inside heart. Kuroko understands completely. But why does
"Onee-sama, it's time for dinner." She receives no answer apart from a brief glance from black-ringed eyes before Misaka bends her head low again. Unsurprising. The last time she saw Misaka exhibiting anything remotely resembling a smile was forty-two days ago, gushing at Kuroko on how incredibly awesome the day was, we went to the amusement park and you see, he forgot his wallet and had to go back to get it even when I told him I'd pay – long dead chivalry, but it was kinda cute, you know? And then he got me this gekota doll in the shooting game he wasn't too good but he kept trying – I just lo
Why does she find it so ingratiating? Another three days and it will be six weeks since Misaka had collapsed into Kuroko's embrace wailing, staining her newly dry-cleaned uniform with transfer of coagulated blood, screaming incoherently about finding his body in an alley (dumpster, Kuroko whispered inaudibly) there was so much so much he was decapitated (not decapitated; just somewhat... loose) oh Kuroko!
And that was the last coherent sentence Misaka had uttered before she was reduced into a garbling mess. Kuroko spent hours gently stroking her onee-sama's hair, whispering calming words, listening to her bereaved wails, before Misaka finally fell asleep from exhaustion on Kuroko's lap. She spent another few hours just staying there immobile, ignoring her cramping legs, just holding Misaka's hand, wishing her a sleep free of all bad dreams. Later on she had tucked Misaka into her bed, dressing her in Gekota pajamas to replace the soiled uniform. She brought the clothing to the bathroom and gently washed it by hand.
Twirling the nail filer between her fingers, Kuroko frowns at her onee-sama's figure. She does not understand. Surely six weeks is enough to recover? For Misaka to laugh freely again, joke around, electrocute her in playful chase like she used to do. She is there, after all. She would do anything for her. Anything. Would even (kill) sell her soul for her if that is what Misaka wants.
She does not understand. What does she lack that Misaka completely refuses to even glance at her for more than a few seconds a day? Surely she is not ugly – quite pretty, in fact. Rich. Smart. Powerful. Kind. If she would just look at her for once. She feels like snapping the filer into two.
Gekota's theme song burst into a sudden crescendo. She watches for a flicker of response from Misaka – maybe a twitch of her fingers, a half smile in remembrance, anything anything at all. Finds none; picks up the phone.
"Yes. No. It's me. No. She's still like that. No difference. Attending school normal, yes. Eating properly, a bit forced but oh? When? She's coming too, I assume? I see. I'll tell her that. Good bye." The phone clicks off with a snap. "Uiharu," Kuroko places the phone gently back on top of Misaka's desk. "Along with Saten-san will visit this weekend. Maybe take us to that new mall where she said they found a shop specializing in Gekota merchandise." She picks up the nail filer again. Six weeks and she still finds dried crusts embedded in her nails. The annoying places where it seems impossible to reach without tearing the nail bed open. She feels like the boy (even when he was rendered only as barely recognizable piece of meat) is mocking her that fu- She feels like driving a few nails into someone. The one advantage of working in Judgment.
Oh well. She rises and smooths her skirt. "Onee-sama, I'm going down to fetch dinner, alright? Today's your favorite." Oh well. It has only been nearly six weeks. There is still time. Misaka has no one, no one besides her but Kuroko, after all.
The door closes with a barely audible click. Her feet moves in a rhythm of pitter patter that are almost skips. She can wait. Oh yes she can wait. Her onee-sama is hers after all. Hers and hers alone.
End.
I have no idea what this second chapter will do for the story. I mean, it's probably not a good idea. The previous chapter was nice as a one-shot. But but, yanderes are just so awesome. A night of biting my lips nicotine depraved, I felt like I just had to write this. Good for Kuroko too - she's getting more stable in the head in this fic, I think.
Maybe I'll add another, final chapter for this. Maybe not. Filing this under complete meanwhile.
