Part IV
Rust
Figuring the right concoction was not a simple task.
Fuuka did her research though, and after a few nights she had already picked out a nice poison. She decided to mix a modified form of Strychnine, a rodent killer—one particularly home to southeast Asia, into a blend of crushed sleeping pills.
This would be rather simple; the sleeping pills needs were obvious, and would hopefully work well in tandem with the horribly effective Strychnine. It wouldn't take long to kick in, but that was okay—in those brief moments after his injection she would have a syringe for herself as well. Together their bodies would breakdown and twist in complete agony under the effects of the toxin churning through their blood stream and destroying their forms.
The thought made her restless, excited, frightened, and above all, satisfied. She watched the ceiling that last night, smiling and laughing to herself at the thought of finally getting what she deserved. The next night would be the last. That morning she watched the sun rise; awake, aware, poised, she felt the menacing darkness just under her skin warping and contorting in anxiety, begging to blot out the sun with its deep and unyielding shade.
Her smile felt real for the first time in a very long while as she walked into the school. It was strange doing it genuinely after so long of acting it out. Her dorm-mates, her friends; they all blatantly missed the looming demons under her footsteps, they all accepted her small talk, they all blindly missed the obvious. She sat through each class, counting forwards and backwards to astronomically large and small numbers, watching the clock, waiting for every second to pass bringing her closer to her end, to their end. She tried to take it all in, to appreciate it one last time. She couldn't though, in the end it was all too distant for her. Briefly she lamented at her inability to truly adjust, to truly accept the world around her - to be normal. The dark world was too much like a second home now. Her head ticked and churned with its tendrils. Her face felt hot with anticipation and a powerful shuttering danced through her body. She watched his every move while she could. Every person he talked to, every whore who threw themselves his way, every moment he had alone to quietly carry himself along the slowly passing time, it all seemed so serene in that twilight, in that eerie final day.
She couldn't wait, and thankfully she didn't have to. Inevitably dusk fell and the day came to a slow end. As she predicted, everyone was still suffering the lasting effects of the flu and wasn't in much a mood to be social or anything else for that matter. They all sat on the bottom floor's living room, briefly conversing on the mission, on the darkness, the shadows, all things that meant nothing after what she had planned. As they talked, Fuuka would glance up and catch Mitsuru scanning her, taking her in, breaking her down. The group would go around, the conversation from person to person—Fuuka would find herself having to chime in and she would, however briefly and calculated, however little she cared about the subject or whatever they all mindlessly threw out. Mitsuru's staring was beginning to irritate Fuuka more than she could stand though; Mitsuru couldn't keep her gaze to herself and it would cost her. Fuuka decided right then and there that before she would ascend with Minato, she would make sure to take out Mitsuru as well. While it wasn't completely necessary, she felt that it would at least relieve some of the bitter tension she had towards Mitsuru; a quick errand to take care of before her meeting with her love. She was willing to make the extra move to get her out of the way.
That aside, slowly but surely they all finished their interactions and retreated to their rooms. Fuuka's seething anxiety skyrocketed more than she through possible as they all said their 'good nights' and vanished into the dark of the stairway, some talking amongst each other. Even Mitsuru disappeared to her own quarters - even then though Fuuka couldn't shake that suspicious glare, and as Mitsuru disappeared Fuuka found her gritting her teeth again, staring emptily into the dark, whispering to the dead.
With that she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
It was time.
She made her way upstairs to her room, eagerly and anxiously pushing her fingers together, ecstatically pondering the future to come.
The deathly mix was already complete and deposited into 3 syringes. She capped each and placed them into a hollowed out book she bought specifically for this occasion. They fit in neatly, almost perfectly. With that she stepped out of her room into the dark, the walls alight with shadows and menacing grimaces, the dense darkness almost swallowing her as she entered the hallway. She realized she was in her pajama's and at first the thought bugged her. She didn't want to ascend in her pajamas. It didn't seem right for him either. Yet after a bit more of pondering it the thought seemed alright. Perhaps a warped metaphor for eternal sleep, perhaps it was a fitting symbol of their loving and aeon like rest.
She began her approach, walking as lightly as she could. Mitsuru would need to go first; and that in mind she stopped in front of her door, opening the book briefly to look at a syringe, at her death.
Just as suddenly she heard a mechanical whirring just down the hall. She froze, realizing how vulnerable she was there in that darkness, how open she was to the demons trailing her. Turning she saw a faint light at its end and off to the side—the vending machine, someone getting a refreshment no doubt. This wasn't a large issue—assuming it wasn't Mitsuru. Fuuka bit her lower lip, nervously approaching the end of the hall. Each door slid by almost menacingly, and each step took eons to fall. She found her stomach tying into itself more and more each millisecond that passed.
Finally she reached the end, hearing a pop as a can of some drink or another opening. Just around the corner was either her salvation or demise. She swallowed and took a few steps forward, slowly turning to the machines. The silence boomed in her ears and in that moment she felt as if her heartbeat were going to break her eardrums.
Immediately her heart plummeted, and she felt her grip tighten to astronomical strength around the book.
Mitsuru seemed to be spacing out into the dark, quietly thinking to herself as she sipped her drink. It was obvious she heard Fuuka approach though, and she took one last sip as she turned, faintly smiling in that dim light. Her smile seemed to turn into a twisted grin that made Fuuka's face burn with anger. Was she mocking her? Did she know? Had she known this whole time? She couldn't tell if her eyes were playing tricks on her or not, the darkness taunted and contorted their faces to each other no doubt—or had Mitsuru become a creature of the night? Fuuka shuttered to herself, remembering what she had in her book next to her. The space around them tensed up and she felt her body lock into itself.
"What're you doing walking around Yamagishi?"
She didn't want to respond—no—she wouldn't respond. She couldn't even if she wanted to though, a large and unmovable lump had emerged in her throat. It was too perfect really, as if willed to reality, Mitsuru was the obstacle to stop Fuuka's plan; all the more reason to take her out, all the more reason to remove her.
Fuuka glanced over at the vending machine glowing lightly in the dark around them. Mitsuru was silent for a moment, then chuckled to herself, turning to leave.
Was it time?
As she passed Fuuka, she murmured something or other about returning to bed. Fuuka found this somewhat comical, and smiled to herself, lifting up the book. This was it, the moment she'd been waiting for. She needed to hit an artery with the syringe or it may take too long for the poison to work before Mitsuru properly fought back. That in mind, Mitsuru hadn't made it more than a few steps before she felt a sharp pain towards the back of her inner thigh. She yelped and spun around. While Fuuka had succeeded in getting Mitsuru's femoral artery with the syringe, she had overdone the push and gotten knocked down, her book and other syringes flying off to her side.
She had miscalculated; she didn't plan Mitsuru's death out enough it seemed - although she hadn't counted on running into her outside of her room. Fuuka quickly picked up the other syringes scattered by her on the ground, putting them back in the book as Mitsuru cursed almost lazily, already barely coherent. The poison was working, and thankfully her body was beginning to break down quickly. Fuuka pulled off her shirt, bunching it up and lunging at her prey. In a moment she had Mitsuru on the ground. In any other circumstance, Mitsuru would have been able to overpower Fuuka with ease - yet then and there, the poison made her quite immobile. Her eyes were already slowly rolling back as she gasped for air, her body twisting and arching in pain. Foam had begun appearing at her mouth; Fuuka knew that it was now or never and shoved her bunched up shirt into Mitsuru's mouth, pushing it as far down her throat as she could. Mitsuru gagged and reached up, clamping her hands around Fuuka's throat. Her grip was amazingly strong, and if not for the asphyxiation, she quite possibly would have strangled Fuuka to death right then and there, obviously foiling the plan. Her sharp nails dug into Fuuka's throat, trying with their might to attain a freedom from the small reaper before them.
Die you cunt.
Fuuka giggled as Mitsuru's hands ever so slowly released and fell to her sides. Her face was in horrid grimace as her muscles were tensing and seizing randomly, trying with all their might to calm down. After a bout of muffled gasps and grunts, there was nothing but a deafening silence. Fuuka didn't fret too much about any noise made then and there, after the shirt was shoved down her throat, Mitsuru wasn't too loud at all really. Getting up slowly Fuuka watched as Mitsuru's body began convulsing fiercer, in quick rapid bursts—then closer and more durative ones. Fuuka couldn't risk this causing a ruckus, and she knelt down next to Mitsuru, pinching her nose, cutting off all air with the shirt shoved deep down her throat. In those last moments she convulsed a bit more, desperately gasping for breath of any kind before finally going limp. She was dead.
She was finally dead. She would stare no longer.
Fuuka sat there for a few minutes, taking it all in. She had killed for the first time and she rather enjoyed every moment of it.
She deserved it.
Fuuka whispered incoherently to herself; words she didn't know or understand fell out of her mouth as she got up and began dragging Mitsuru's body to the corner of the room. She was fairly heavy—or perhaps Fuuka was too weak; finally she propped her body up in the corner behind the vending machine, making sure was completely out of view for anyone who might get up and get something to drink for themselves. She couldn't have a rampant Akihiko or Yukari in her way with the progression of her plan. Picking up and throwing away Mitsuru's dropped drink, she grabbed her book of demise and made her way downstairs, ecstatic.
This first part, while a little bumpy, had gone quite well. She was very pleased to see that her poison had worked so well. The steps almost pulled her down into the dark onto his floor. She could feel herself getting more and more excited as she got farther and farther down, finally stepping onto his level.
The faint light from another vending machine almost laughed at her from the corner, next to the opening of the hall that would inevitably lead to him, to their encounter.
She chuckled to herself, feeling almost delirious with euphoria. She could hear whispering all around her, the shadows egging her on to finish the job, to take him, to finish him, to finish them. Hysterical drones and odd ticks could be heard from the dark as she stepped into the hall. The entire building seemed to be watching her, waiting for her next move. She heard no one walking around though, no one making a sound, nothing—simply dead silence. It was perfect, it was destiny.
Finally, after what felt like a truly morbid procession, she reached his door. Now, now she would make this all worthwhile. Putting her hand on the handle she thought of his face as she retched in pain, as they withered before each other. Her twisted grin as big as ever, she flung open the door.