And so, the whole chapter got divided into three parts instead of just two. Reason is that I want each of the scenes I love the most to carry out a whole chapter, not just be comprised on a bulk of 15K or so words. Yes, buddy. I realize that I prefer chapters to be short but intense. Doesn't mean that chapters are going to be short from now on, though. I don't really have a fixed word count. If it comes out long and nice, then it stays as is.

Oh, and btw, to CMY187 and the others:

Bet you've never wished so much for 8man to die until now, haven't ya? (grins)


Chapter Twelve


One of the good things I got in return after dying multiple times is that my sense of surprise have dulled a little. That doesn't necessarily mean I developed a complete immunity to being shocked, though. I can still be affected by the freakiest of things.

And besides, meeting a policewoman asking for your time is not something that happens everyday, and is definitely something to be worried about.

"Could you come to the station with me for a few minutes?"

A woman clad in a blue suit stands in front of me. Seems a bit young to be a police officer. Must be on her mid-twenties, but sharp-looking enough to be intimidating. She told me her name is Naruse Jun, that she's a police, and that she wants me to come with her to the station. There's tension, of course, but I'm composed enough to remain looking calm. I keep the curious and slightly alarmed look on my face just for the hell of it. Gotta look convincing. Look innocent.

"Isn't it— I mean, can't we talk here?"

She frowns with a kind smile on her face. "So crowded, don't you think? Don't worry, we're just around the corner."

The moment she told me to come with her to the station, I become dead-set not to. No way in hell I would go. Not now. Not when this January eleven is still not over.

"Ah, really sorry," I bow apologetically. "But I can't afford going anywhere else right now. I've got to go home."

"Good," she smiles. "I can give you a ride home. We can talk while on the way."

In the shade of the blood-red sun, the sight of a striking presence of a car sends my heart at its highest rate. The blue and red lights installed on the roof aren't blinking, only emitting illuminations in the slightly dulling light. It's frightening to believe, but parked in front of us is the black bodywork of a police car. It waits on us like a loyal dullahan, a harbinger of the worse things to come.

For a moment, I weigh my choices. First one is to refuse and walk out. I keep in mind that she's inviting me, not arresting. It's a proof that I'm under suspicion, but not bad enough to require extreme measures. However, if I refuse, it will look like I'm trying to hide something, which will result to worsening the suspicion on me. Needless to say, I need to cross out option one. Unfortunately, I only have to options, so I choose to go with the latter as soon as I discard the former.

"Okay, sure. Thanks."

Option two: just get along with it, but be careful.

The car is subtle-looking, not the kind I have expected. Basically, it's just a normal car with police blinkers attached to it. It sits squat to the rain washed tarmac, its black paint sun-bleached with age. If this isn't such a very dire time, I would admire it as a classic, something you rarely see these days. Not today, though. Now is the time to transform from a rampaging berserker to an innocent teenager.

Both of us trudge toward the car, one professional-looking, the other dripping wet. She opens the door on the driver's seat, hops in and opens the other door for me. Good lord, I'm wet as a loofah, and I won't really feel too comfortable planting myself on a leather seat in this state. Ms. Officer notices this, nods knowingly, rummages on a bag in the backseat and hands me a bath towel. A pink Hello Kitty bath towel. Oh, great. Just the kind you need when you're about to be interrogated inside a police car.

I raise a brow, but accept it gratefully. While wondering just what the hell is this pink bath towel doing on a police car's back seat, I begin to dry myself. The towel has a homey smell to it, allowing me to ease my nerves a little. After I finish, I drape the towel around me like a cape to keep myself warm, then I hop in as well.

To hell with being in the strangest place possible. Who would have expected to find me sitting inside a police car, wet as hell, and with Hello Kitties wrapped around me? The car's interior has a faint smell of cigarette, lemon freshener, and something akin to a smell I smelled before but couldn't identify. The scent of panic, perhaps.

I tell her my address and we both fasten our seat-belts, but she doesn't start the car right away. Ms. Officer turns the radio down, muting the low drumming of a familiar beat surrounding the car. Then, she looks at me, and with a tone that reminds me of someone I talked to just recently, she speaks.

"First, I want you to know that this is not a custodial interrogation," she intones in her professional-sounding voice. "Meaning, you don't have to answer my questions and you are free to leave at any time. Do you understand?"

Can I leave now? "All right." I nod, like a good child.

"Good. I hope you'll be cooperative, though. Listen up here now. I will be telling you something classified that I shouldn't be really telling to a teenager like you. I know this might be much, but I need your attention— and honesty, if you can spare me some. Okay?"

Attention? Cool. Honesty? Don't think so. "Sure."

She steps up and the car starts moving. We're both silent for a moment. Not until we reach a red light. "Just this morning," she begins as she put the car on neutral,"we received a tip about an impending murder attempt. Pretty suspicious, isn't it?"

No time for mulling. Quick thinking is a must. Answer as sincere or as indifferent as possible. Let her handle the mood, just carefully get along.

"Yeah," I shrug. "Might be a prank, though."

She nods. "Might be a prank, yes. But here's the thing. Not so long ago, we received a report about a death threat concerning the same person and another."

She's basically enumerating all of the things I have done. It's a great feat that I can still remain impassive even after that. How does she expect me to react? Agitated? Scared? Twitchy? In fact, I am all of the above, but I get a bad feeling that choosing to react like that will make things harder for me.

I raise a brow. "Weird coincidence. But what's that got to do with this?"

Better sound cheeky than guilty. An irritated police is a lot better than a dubious one. Unfortunately, my indifference doesn't faze her in the slightest. This woman is blank, completely blank. An empty page. Tabula Rasa. No sign of any emotion except for an obligatory polite and professional air. Trying to read her is giving me dyslexia.

The light turns green and we start moving again. "You're associated to both persons involved in our case. I'm hoping that your statements would be helpful."

"Right."

"First one is about the tip on a murder attempt. It's about Yukinoshita Yukino, an associate of yours."

You're supposed to know about this, I remind myself. Hayama told me and he must have informed Haruno about my awareness of the situation. Admit it. Don't pretend. You know this. This woman is likely baiting me with this information. If she is aware that I have knowledge of the situation, she must be doing this in the hopes that I will lie, in which will prove that I am hiding something, and therefore, a suspect.

Almost automatically, I nod. "Okay."

"You don't seem surprised about the news."

"Well, that's because I already knew about it."

A flash of skepticism. Brief, but noticeable. "Could you tell me how you got this information?"

"Someone tweeted about it."

Her face falls. "And here I am hoping that you will be cooperative."

"Let's just say I don't fully trust a policewoman who shows up out of nowhere just to interrogate me."

We both stay silent for a moment. Only my Hello Kitties are smiling right now.

"Like I said, this is not a—"

"—a custodial interrogation, yeah, but interrogation nonetheless."

It's never good news when a police asks you indirect questions about the crimes you just recently committed. It's even worse when they request you to come with them to the station. In that moment, they will try their hardest to be human and all you see is the boxy blue uniform and the shiny shoes. Then, with their soft-spoken words, they will pull all of your secrets out for everyone to see. The police are not supposed to be a threat to innocent people. That's the problem there; I'm anything but innocent. In my case, policemen can be helpful, but dangerous.

To be honest, I'm not feeling so guilty about being rude and dishonest towards this woman. I don't know her; she don't know me. At some point, we are enemies. She's a police officer, while I'm a high school student with crimes yet to be charged — not like she knows about it. Not like she will ever know.

After an uncomfortable bout of silence, she mumbles, "For a high school student, you sure are taking this so well."

Then out of the blue, she gives this huge declaration and a chill lays on my skin like a cold touch of a finger. No shit, Officer. I already know that. I really do. For a meager teenager, it's obvious that I sure am getting used to all these gray stuff. Hell, giving someone a death threat to save another person is not something that people in my age think nowadays.

However, giving my reasons to her won't help my case in the slightest, so I keep my mouth shut. She realizes that I won't give any comment, smiles bitterly, and focuses on the road again.

"The second one is about the death threat report," she says, now back to her flat voice. "It's from a classmate of yours, Hayama Hayato. He received a death threat before your school marathon began, told his parents about it, and reported to us."

"Okay." I feel like I have to change this topic, quick. Talking about my shenanigans is not something I need right now. "So, what's all these got to do with me being inside a police car?"

"We're getting there," she smiles patiently. "I just want you to answer a few more of my questions for a moment. Want some cookie?"

She rummages her bag and hands me a box of Oreos. I feel like an idiot accepting it, but I nod as I take four from the box. This, right here, is what I truly need right now.

"I happen to see you running frantically just a while ago."

Then, she suddenly speaks, and my comfort proves to be short-lived.

She looks at me with an unnerving pair of calculative eyes. "Why were you running in the middle of the rain? Could it be that you were being chased... or were you chasing somebody?"

I shrug. "Dumb reason, actually. I got all hyped-up in the marathon and ran even after it ended."

"And those cuts in your hand?"

I lick off the cream. "Tiny accident."

"You should check that up on a doctor," she glances at my injured hand. "Maybe you should have stayed longer in the infirmary until the school nurse came by."

Merciful gods. This woman is dangerous. For a second, the thought of her following me the whole day crosses my paranoid mind. Not funny at all, since the thought is highly possible. It's no coincidence that she saw me running frantically in search for Yukinoshita. Now, it's also no coincidence that she knows something about the little episode in the infirmary. This woman is letting up less than she knows.

Hell, it's possible that she's not just some random officer. Unreadable and sharp.

I grimace. "Never pegged a detective to be my stalker."

A snicker so silent comes out from her direction I almost doubt if I even heard it.

"Because of all these suspicious cases, we sent some people to check up on your school to see if we could find any leads. Strangely enough, what we found in the infirmary is a blond girl who seemed traumatized enough to not be able to speak coherently, and a ruined first aid cabinet with smears of blood in it. It's not a sight you normally see on school infirmaries, right?"

I can't breathe properly, but I manage to give a nod. Now, it's official. She is not the only one who knows about my violent behavior in the infirmary, but her co-workers, too. Policemen; people who are more than excited to see what's in it on this case.

My mistake now slaps me back in the face. Instead of tormenting Miura, I should've just left and looked for Yukinoshita. Nothing else matters except my stupidity in black and white for every police to see. Not to mention that this woman knows about all of it, and it's obvious that she will go as far as to exploit it for her own use.

Her expression is soft, her voice motherly, but the aura around her emits ominous intent. The look in her eyes reminds me of the one I sometimes see in Haruno's, and it's chilling me to the bones. A caramel-coated hook is the worst kind of bait.

"Could you tell me why you broke the cabinet with your bare hand?" she asks, and I stiffen by instinct. Fuck. I hate this. I wanna go home. She looks at me on the corner of her eye and sighs. "Let me rephrase it..." Her voice comes back to her police officer-tone. "What had caused you to break the cabinet in the first place? Was it panic? Anger? Do you have times when you find yourself suddenly behaving violently?"

Man, she just gave an indirect question about me being a psycho. Well shit, as much as I hate to admit, maybe I really am. Not a full-blown crack pot, but it's there. Oh, boy, it's always there. It just needs some kind of a trigger and off my demon will go.

"I had an argument with someone, swung my hand out in the heat of the moment, and smashed the cabinet by accident."

"Argument? Do you mean that blond girl we found crying in the infirmary? Well, I'm a bit intrigued on what kind of argument you two had for her to react like that."

A pang of guilt stabs me, but I ignore it. "That's a personal matter."

"I understand," she nods. "Now then, on to the main point." Hold on, there's a main point? "What were you doing on the central square early this morning?"

To hell with faking my reactions. I allow my face to be blank, completely devoid of emotion. "I left my phone at home, so I used a phone booth to call someone."

Ugh. Liar's block. Kinda like writer's block, but fucking more intense. If you run out of options, just flat out tell the entire truth at first, then start making shit up on the way. Lying is a lot more like writing in some way... but fucking more intense.

"So you used a phone booth?"

"I used a phone booth."

"Could you tell me who was it you called?"

You, actually. "Personal."

"Right. Next. Where were you before the marathon began?"

Scaring the shit out of Hayama. "I was talking to a friend."

"Over the phone?"

"No. Personally."

"Could you give me a name?"

"No, sorry. That friend of mine is pretty bad with people."

You should have thought twice before you told me that I have rights NOT to answer your questions, Ms. Officer.

Saying that the atmosphere becomes "tense" is an understatement. Ms. Officer's face shows a suppressed sign of frustration in just a second. It vanishes quickly, but it still leaves a lingering effect on me. So far, all that I have told her is a cocktail of lies, half-truths and lame attempts of humor. My pulse is racing as we reach my street.

I munch on my last Oreo. "Right here's fine."

She hits the brake. "Huh? But your address is—"

"My sister will throw a fit if she sees me pulling over a police car."

I already have too much in my table, and a freaked-out Komachi is not something I would appreciate right now. Damn, I also have to check up on Yukinoshita. My hand is already on the door handle when Ms. Officer calls out to me. Her face looks very relaxed, composed. The complete opposite of mine.

"I'm guessing this is your first encounter with a police?"

Slightly curious, I offer a curt nod.

"At this age, most people your age should at least have the general knowledge of how these kinds of procedure pan out, with the internet and media and all. You at least should have read crime novels before, right? You should be aware that for an officer, I am being too mellow on you, right? Too kind. Too forgiving. Blame my noobie position for that. I'm new in this field, you know? And I'm already breaking lots of rules just by talking to you right now. You know, I'm not really allowed to ask questions to you without an adult to watch over on your behalf in case you become intimated— which is uncalled for, obviously, since you're such a natural."

When I quirk a brow, she mutters, "My sense is, I did that because I'm doing you a favor. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but my colleagues are suspecting you as the prime culprit. You were in the scenes of crime, not to mention that certain people said that you were behaving strangely since this morning."

I have watched enough crime movies to know that warning a potential suspect is not something police officers should do. It's betrayal on her colleagues, but she chose to do it regardless. This alarms me the most. A police officer who sticks with rules I can somehow handle. But a cunning one? A curious newbie who's excited enough to tread uncharted territories? No. This is trouble on a different level.

"After they officially label you as the prime suspect, they will focus on you, search for evidence that will allow them to put you into custody. Investigate more until they can press charges. Before you know it, you're in deep trouble. In case you really are the culprit, that is."

"Let's say, for example, that I really am the culprit..." My choice of words is a bit risky right there, but I have to ask this. "What will you gain by telling me all these?"

She raise her penciled brows, smiles, and answers without skipping a beat.

"If you want the truth, I'd say that I'm very interested about this case."

Not out of curiosity. Not for the sake of her job alone. But because she's interested. It could even be possible that she's investigating this for fun, for entertainment. Holy shit, this woman is unreal. My impression of her reminds me of someone more than I would care to admit. And it's absolutely terrifying.

She leans on her seat and looks out the window, her face clouding up.

"Say, hypothetically, that you really gave us the tip about the murder attempt. That's nice and all, but suspicious. Why would you want to be anonymous? Was it because you were being threatened not to speak a word about it? Were you involved in the whole plan, backed out, and tipped the police because you were guilty?"

The way she talks and the look on her face unnerve me. She's throwing out theories, all revolving around death threats and impending murder attempts. Not a very pleasant topic to talk about. This woman is interested, that's clear as day. But hell, she seems way too interested. Like a teenage-girl babbling about a chic flick.

"Now, say, again, hypothetically, that you were also the one behind the death threat. The first guess wouldn't align, since if you really backed out, does that mean that you changed your mind and chose to involve yourself again? Unlikely. Perhaps you have another plan that involves threatening Hayama Hayato of his life?

"Do you see where I'm heading off with this? This affair might be being carried out as a group, but if you really are a part of it, that doesn't mean you share equal responsibility. There's a big difference between coming up with an idea and going along with it."

Group murder. It's an interesting theory. I guess I should be relieved she doesn't try to pin the whole thing to me. Like, disregard all the other possibilities and stick to using me as the scapegoat to make her job easier. I'm not sure if we're both in the same side of the coin, though. I mean, she's both right and wrong in all parts. Group murder? Yes. The real murder plan involves two or more people, so it qualifies as one. However, she doesn't know everything about it. Only the hoax I made and the anonymous report I gave her. She's sharp, but not sharp enough to figure out what exactly I was doing.

"But I digress. That's the most rational way of seeing things as they are. However, this case is very peculiar, so I'm considering another possibility..."

She nods, more to herself than me.

"It's that there is a bigger event about to happen, and you're planting seeds to sabotage it."

Preventing my eyes on widening in surprise has taken a quarter of my attention. Merlin, scratch my initial assessment. She's sharp enough to cleanly cut me in half.

"Let's say, hypo— gods, I really should stop using that word. Say that was you, and you were doing this for completely different reasons that doesn't involve murdering anybody. It does seem to me that you were preparing for something else. Like, how you will move a chess piece while thinking ahead of your opponents possible moves." She takes a piece of Oreo from the box and nibbles it, completely indifferent to the things she's spouting out. Then, she raises a finger. "To make it simple: the tip is to alert the police, while the death threat is to add more tension. Hayama Hayato said to us himself that it's possible that his threat was just a decoy. Taking that into consideration, I came up with a theory..."

Ms. Officer's face moves a little too slowly, as if she were taking in the surroundings more than anyone else. Then, she grins. As she does so, the temperature of the car falls a little, and it doesn't have anything to do with the AC. Even in the dim light of the early evening sky, I can clearly see her bared, white teeth. It's a Cheshire grin of sorts, the kind that is so wide it's more as if she wants to eat me whole rather than speak.

"All of this was done in order to heighten the security around Yukinoshita Yukino."

Hikigaya Hachiman was sitting on the leather car-seat. He was white as chalk. His eyes and his mouth were frozen, wide open in an expression of stunned surprise. And although he was staring straight at the police officer's eyes, he appeared not to notice her at all.

Now, you might be wondering why the hell did my point of view suddenly transitioned into that of an omniscient narrator. Simple. That's because I was shocked so hard I found myself suddenly wanting to leave reality, even my own body, and just be a random spectator somewhere. Where I could laugh when a joke is said, cry when a character died, or be queasy when something scary happened. For a moment, I wished to be someone like that. An omniscient narrator. Someone who is always there, but safe from harm.

But life isn't fiction, and it sure is not something you could escape from. You can distract yourself, avert your eyes from the scary things that's going on, but it won't work out the way you expect it to be. Reality has no gateway out. It's a version of hell with no doors, just a boxed-up torture room with nothing but madness.

An unwilling snicker comes out from my mouth. "Interesting theory."

Uncomfortable or just plain ill, it's hard to say. I push the car's door quietly, never giving any chance for another conversation, never meeting her eyes again. As if by a bad toss of coincidence, my eyes meet with hers, unfortunately. In the side-mirror. She's staring at me, her head high and her expression clear. As time ticks by, I am having more difficulty hiding my insincerity.

After heaving a deep breath, I hop out of the car.

After all, being here with her is filling me with an ordinate amount of dread. Pure dread. I can't shake the sensation that I'm going to be shackled and strung up, beaten and mocked, and then without much further ado, executed without mercy. I have have these thoughts so it's actually better if there's something to distract me, but Ms. Officer turns off the car radio and now we just sit in silence. Just sitting in silence. To be honest, I want to run away. My hands are shaking so badly I have to stuff them into my pockets to hide how uneasy I am. I hear my own breathing echoing up in my ears, and I swallow hard.

"Tell you what," she mutters before I can close the door. "The law can be forgiving toward young people who act hastily when they have a lot to lose, especially when they help us uncover the truth. If my theory really was the case, it won't be practical to shoulder all these alone, don't you think?"

I look back at her, my face blank. "I don't have anything to do with it."

"You're a good kid, Hikigaya-san," she shakes her head, and talks in a mixture of a gentle and admonishing tone. "Your record's spotless until now, and you have a nice future ahead of you if you play your cards right. You made one mistake and you got caught. That's scary. I get that. But it's not too late to do the right thing."

I'm not sure which mistake she's referring to: my alleged threatening, my alleged anonymous tipping, or something we haven't talked about yet. But as far as I can tell, I haven't been caught at anything. Just accused.

"I didn't make any mistake, and I sure as hell am not scared."

"Hikigaya-san—"

"Thanks for the ride."

I attempt to bang the door shut at her face, but she blocks it with her hand.

"One last thing. Please understand that the help I can give you right now won't be the same the moment you leave this car."

It chills me, scares me, and unnerves me, to hear the carefully veiled threat underneath her soft-spoken words.

So, I just leave the door open and walk away, after muttering, "I don't need help," in such a faint voice.

~※~

Nothing beats the comfort of your own home. I have always believed in this. In fact, if you're going to ask the Hikigaya Hachiman before all this jeopardy began, he sure is going to insist that he would choose living the life of a hikkikomori instead of going out. Not anymore, though. That version of me died long ago. And now, the last thing I want to do is to be comfortable while someone's life is on danger.

I unlock the door and head inside. A cacophony of talk show voices can be heard in the living room. Komachi's home, as I expected. After shutting the door with as less noise as possible, I take off my shoes and walk on tip-toes towards the kitchen. My throat, unlike the rest of me, is cracked and dry to its fullest, so I pull out a tumbler from the fridge and chug a quarter of its contents in one go.

I rest my hands on the refrigerator's door, hang my head down and heave a sigh.

"You're not even gonna say you're home?"

Then, out of nowhere, Komachi's voice resounds behind me.

I look behind and intone flatly, "I'm home."

Her eyes wander to my drenched uniform to my injured hand, and an expression of pure concern invades her already worried face. However, instead of freaking out like what I expected, she just inhales a deep, shaky breath and weakly smiles at me.

Looking at her like that, I get this inexplicable tightening inside my chest.

She leans on the door-frame. "Something wrong, Onii-chan?"

"Nothing."

My quick dismissal echo in my ears as I said it. Nothing. Nothing. It's like my own self is mocking me. Nothing, eh? Sure. There's nothing going on. No big deal. Nothing.

"Whenever you say nothing, it's usually not nothing, bro," she giggles softly, walking towards me. I raise a brow and she shoos me away, pulling the fridge door open and taking out a carton of orange juice. She fills a mug and gulps it, waiting for my reply.

"Could we not talk about it?" I take off my school blazer and throw it towards the laundry basket. It hits the floor instead with a splat. "It's nothing, really."

Komachi picks it up for me, looks at it like it's her dead pet or something, and places it on the empty basket beside her. She then glances at me with a pitying look before looking away. I lean on the table-top with the tumbler in my hand.

"If you're troubled about it but can't find the right words to describe it, it's not nothing, Onii-chan," she says, matter-of-factly.

Very true. For a girl two years younger than me, Komachi is way too clever. No, not to that extent, actually. More perceptive than clever. She can tell what's happening, but not why it's happening. A girl so innocent, but slightly corrupted by my unhealthy presence. Even so, that's what makes her... her, and I want her to stay that way. She has to be protected from all these madness.

Then suddenly, my eyes meet the sight of the phone in her hand. Phone, huh? I don't actually find it very pretty being skeptical with my sister. Hell, we're siblings. We are supposed to know each other more than anyone else. Our whole life we have been living under the same roof, eating the same dinner. Incertitude has never existed between us two. We can tell each other's thoughts just by being with one another.

That's why it unsettles me to find myself reacting to her like I did to the police officer earlier. Skeptical the moment I see a hint of something suspicious. But, know what? To hell with everything. I don't fucking care anymore. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

I close my eyes for a moment, push the thoughts away, and set the more important parts into motion. Yuigahama has my sister's contact number, and considering her annoying and meddlesome personality, she must have stuck her nose somewhere it shouldn't be again and told Komachi about my display of outrage in the infirmary.

I step forward and stare at Komachi's shrinking form. "So, you know already, huh? Yuigahama told you, didn't she?"

"Yui-san..." Komachi frowns. "She's only worried about you."

Concern is not necessarily a good thing to receive from others. It gives you nothing of use. You're better off not receiving anything like that in the first place.

"Freaking knew it," I shake my head in exasperation. "That girl is like pushing all the goodness of the world onto herself, isn't she? Well of course, I can never make it her fault. Call me a bastard, but I really intend to keep whatever she said to you a secret. It's for you. I don't want you to worry so much. Though as it turn out, you still found out and now, everything's a mess."

Komachi's face is a mixture of concern and uncertainty. "Onii-chan..." She moves closer and hold my arms in place, forcing me to face her fully. "What's going on?"

"Nothing—"

My words are cut off by a resounding echo of a slap.

And a sudden impact on my right cheek.

There's no pain at all, yet it hurts a lot.

It doesn't make any sense at all, does it?

"Nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing! Know what? Yui-san called me just a while ago, asking this, asking that. But what the hell did I know? Nothing! I don't know anything! All I know is that you left home earlier than usual with just cereal for breakfast! Just what can I tell her? I'm just as worried! And here you are coming home wet as hell with a ton of bandages in your hand... then, nothing! It's all nothing, isn't it? You don't really care for me in the first place, do you? All you think is that having me all nuking out is such a hassle so you try to keep me in the dark! That's what's really going on, isn't it? It's not fucking nothing, isn't it?"

Dumbfounded, I try to reach a hand out to her, but she backs away.

"Honestly, when you came right in the door just a moment ago... I didn't recognize you at first," she shakes her head. "You're like a completely different person..."

Every breath feels like my last, every breath makes me ache for it to be the last. My cries of help is not something I would want Komachi to hear. The screams inside my head echo, filling the silence with burning flames of self-loathing. I did this to myself, I was the one dancing with the devil bidding on my heart. What was I even thinking, trying to sabotage the inevitable? Didn't I know it would only kill me, too? That it may also endanger other peole important to me? God. And there's Komachi! I can never forgive myself is she ends up being in danger because of me. Just look at me. What do you see? Nothing, right? Nothing but ashes on the ground, dirt!

The thoughts in my head are swirling so fast, so fucking fast I didn't even realize I'm already talking. My tongue and my brain disconnected with each other. And now, my words race out from my mouth on their own with nothing to stop them.

"Yukinoshita's on mortal peril. In fact, she already died two times. Once with a bullet through her head, the other crushed with a delivery truck. Funny, right? What's even more funny is that I already died three times, too. And all of that was because I was stupid enough to try to save her over and over. But I never learn my lesson, because now I'm being suspected for criminal offenses. What's going on? Simple, sis.

"I'm going mad. Like, literally.'

A hollow, deathly-sounding laugh echoes inside the kitchen. It takes me a moment to realize that was from me. When did I start laughing like that? Right, after my deaths and the helpless people around me. Funny. Whoo. How funny. My mind is crumbling, and I feel the surge of mixed emotions that come with it. The despair that gnaws at my chest, the inexplicable need to drop on my knees and scream, even though I'm already fucking tired, even though all I want is to have a good night's sleep and wait for the January twelve to come.

I'm so awful. I'm so fucking awful, and I'm starting to get used to it. I'm starting to get used to every fucking minute of it. Oh, just how deranged is that? Because I'm starting to think that this will never end, and that the progressively manifesting toxins of everything I have been through would evolve into a deadlier poison, and I would never be able to stop it from infesting me.

And oh, it's beginning to happen. I'm sipping on the dregs of this high, the sadistic pleasure of inflicting fear, the absence of guilt whenever I lie, and the satisfaction to see someone cower before me. It's a parasite eating my very soul, leaving me sick and nauseous.

Suddenly, my vision is blurring, and my eyes stings with an itching sensation. Oh, how did I let this happen to me? I'm so out of control, out of head, out of my body— and oh, the pain, oh the mistakes, the failures, the crushed bones, the severed limbs, the rotting bullet wounds, and the guts and the innards sprawled everywhere.

Oh, and her.

All I could see is her, beautiful, perfect and immaculate, and all I ever want is to snag her away from this world and lock her up on a glass case so no one could hurt her.

My legs itch to run down the hall and just do so. It's so tempting. So fucking tempting. Maybe I could kidnap her and hide her somewhere? Who cares about the goddamn killers? Let them come. Let them rip everything. I will fucking kill them myself if I have to. I will be the fucking murderer if I must. I'm so sick of this.

"O-Onii-chan..."

However, the impulse is quelled by a quiet sniff from the young girl in front of me.

Komachi is... crying.

Suddenly, the world steadies itself and I'm back.

As if by instinct, I pull her into a hug, holding her quavering form tightly.

"Look at you. So gullible. That was a joke, of course."

"...you're not joking."

"I was joking."

"You're not... Onii-chan, you're crying..."

Tears stream down my cheeks and I hastily wipe them away.

"Not crying at all."

Komachi is the best, the finest, the one I could rely on no matter what. She's the one who understands what I value the most, the one who would always offer me warm hugs and kind words. She will walk so tall even when I got beat down. There's no one else who ever does it better.

So what in the world was I thinking saying all those things to her? Letting her see me breaking down? Damn it, I'm supposed to protect her from all these!

Oh, maybe I could die again, and I could live a kinder life than this harsh, disgusting, ugly, deteriorating state. I could cast myself off the highest building and all of these would end.

Heh.

Oh, who am I kidding?

In my case, it would just start over again.

How cruel. Even death is not an option.

My hands automatically tighten around Komachi who's still sobbing.

I wish I could stay in this warm embrace forever. Living life in a single moment. Wouldn't that be so beautiful? I want to go on and on and let this happy moment repeat so that there would never be a bad one. But in reality, happy moments always come to an end. And between the happy flickers of happiness are grand hollows of empty spaces where happiness itself gets thrown away to vanish for eternity.

We stand there for a long moment, holding onto each other, then Komachi's phone rings and we break apart. It's vibrating atop the table. Someone is calling.

—It's Yuigahama.

I turn away from Komachi and head to my room.

"Tell her I said she should mind her own fucking business."


In a way, I find writing a character with a slowly deteriorating mental state to be so liberating. There are no rules to stick to, no limitations to worry about, no concerns about going overboard, for the possibilities inside the crumbling psyche of an insane person are endless.