SIDE BY SIDE ;- connections
You sit on the floor, arms wrapped around your knees. She sits there next to you, back against the wall, wrapped in two blankets. She smells sweet and clean, just out of the bath. You hadn't wanted her to sit on the floor, but she insisted. Who were you to deny her the autonomy you'd always hoped she'd grasp onto?
It's been two days since your botched love confession. You're grateful that things have gone as well as they have. That being, nothing has really changed. She hasn't mentioned it. She hasn't rejected you either, at least not verbally, though you don't think she's really capable of doing that.
She shivers. You crawl in front of her and tighten the blankets around her before crawling towards her cot and retrieving her slippers, sliding one onto each foot. She mumbles a thank you and you hesitate. Your hands... Are they shaking...? You know she sees it too, even though she stays quiet. You slip back to your previous position next to her and she starts to remove one of her blankets... She offers it to you silently. You take it and wrap it snugly around her again. She exhales softly, but doesn't argue.
Her eyes are tired... Her whole face is tired. Through your peripheral vision as you stare straight ahead across your cabin, it's as if there's an old woman sitting next to you. You shoot a glance in her direction.
No. It's still Peko. Her features are careworn, the mark of a woman who's seen more than she should have in her twenty years of life, but she's still beautiful. You're sure she can feel your gaze burning into her... Her intuition has always been like a cat's... So you don't stare for long, just enough to reassure yourself it's still her sitting beside you.
"What are you thinking about?" you ask her.
"Am I to answer honestly?" is her response.
Your gaze drifts back to her. She's still staring straight ahead. Her eyes are unnaturally still. You nod. "...Yeah."
"I'm thinking about a young girl I killed... She couldn't have been any older than ten or eleven. She was shouting for her mother."
Oh. Oh. You scratch the back of your head, avoiding eye contact. Your hair's getting scruffy...you'll have to ask Sonia to give you a trim.
It's a moment before she speaks again. "I'm a murderer," she says softly. There's...emotion in her voice. Just barely, but it's enough to make you turn your head and look at her again. There are no tears, and you see her eyes flicker towards your face before staring forward again. She isn't up for eye contact right now, you assume. You stare straight ahead again.
"You're alright, Peko."
You both fall quiet after that. You feel sick to your stomach... Murderer... She's a killer, thanks to you, yes, but a murderer? The one that holds culpability for the lives lost? You feel something deep inside you break as you're overwhelmed by the reminder that she blames herself for the things that happened, the people who died... (It was your fault. You fell into despair and you dragged her along for the ride. how does that feel, fuyuhiko? how does it feel to know that every ounce of pain she feels is because of your impulsiveness, your selfishness, your cruelty. you animal. dis gusting animal. the age on her face, the innocence she lost, the things she's done the things she's seen the nightmares that haunt her
night after night after restless night. how does it feel to watch her fidget in her cot from across the room in the dead of night? she never had nightmares before. she never had nightmares before. look at what you've done. look at what you've done to her. it's your fault.
It's all.
Your-)
You hardly notice when her head hits your shoulder, its descent is so gradual. In that instant everything stops. It must be uncomfortable for her, given your height difference. Somewhere, under the blankets that envelop her, your hand finds hers. Fingers intertwine and your heart is beating fast...too fast. What are you, twelve?
You want to say something, to confirm that everything is okay, even something as chaste as this, but you're terrified that you'll frighten her away, like you might a small animal that's finally brave enough to approach you. She feels so calm... It compensates for your pounding heart and sweaty palms. You hope she doesn't register your nervousness. But you know she does. She shifts very slightly beside you in order to make her position more comfortable, and it takes everything you have not to turn and kiss her forehead. But you manage to resist. Somehow.
You spend the night that way. When morning comes, her neck will be stiff and aching, and your arm will have long since fallen asleep. It doesn't matter. You'll wake up on the floor with your head resting against hers, fingers still interlocked, even if you can't feel them. Side by side, like you've always been. You might cry, though you'd never admit it, not even to yourself.
