Chapter Twelve: A Thousand Miles
"So," Mami said, "What did you want to talk about?"
Kyouko crossed her arms. "Why didn't you tell her?"
Mami paused, her teacup halfway to her mouth. The two of them sat in Mami's living room, that old place again. How many bad memories had been created here? Just the sight of those gold curtains made Kyouko sick, and that overpoweringly sweet citrus air freshener didn't help, either. The place was so clean it could be featured on TV. All the chairs were neatly pushed in, not a single piece of china was out of place, and the tablecloths were so intricate they seemed ready to fall apart at a touch. It was impossible to believe that someone lived here.
"I think you know why," Mami said.
"I need to hear it from you."
"There was no need to tell her. She's much happier with the lie. Nobody wants to find out their best friend is a killer."
"It was your chance to get rid of me forever and you didn't take it."
"It was for Sayaka's sake. Besides," she said with a smile, "who said I wanted to get rid of you?"
"What I did wasn't wrong," Kyouko said, and even to her own ears her words came out rapid, desperate. "It was also for Sayaka's sake."
Mami looked at her. Kyouko could not do the same. Probably it was cowardice that made her turn to the window, listening to the sounds of the street. It was late afternoon, and the warmest day in recent memory. After a cold winter, spring was unexpectedly early. The laughter of children in the nearby park drifted in, along with the soft hum of the electric cars and the noise of construction a few blocks down. Somewhere a dog was barking. A trio of blue jays started to sing. So this was the Mitakihara they had tried so desperately protect.
"What I did I wasn't wrong," Kyouko repeated.
"Do you really believe that?" Mami said, and then, in a softer voice, "Do I?"
"All I said last night was true. All I did last night was right. Maybe you'll call it evil. Maybe – " and here her voice cracked " – maybe it is evil. But I'll carry it, because it serves a greater purpose. Hate me if you want. You've got every right to do so. But it changes nothing."
"You believe it, then, much more than I believe myself. " Mami looked down at the liquid, speaking to her reflection. "I don't have it left in me to hate. Sometimes I wonder if death will not be so bad. Maybe the best we can hope for is to leave behind a better world for our friends."
"That's no way to live."
"Our lives are borrowed. How long can we put off paying it?"
"As long as we can."
"Was it worth it?"
And here was where it all culminated, wasn't it? The same question had tumbled in Kyouko's mind long before Mami had asked it, perhaps even long before the spear had severed her spine. The ending was the most important thing, but the parts in between were not entirely meaningless, either. At the time they lived in a stagnant pool. What else could she have done? She dropped a stone. Where the ripples took it nobody could've known.
"If Sayaka is happy," she said at last, "it's worth it."
"I thought it'd be like that after all. In your time of need you didn't think of yourself but someone you loved."
The look in those eyes was so gentle Kyouko had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting in her face. So this is the difference, she thought, staring up at the ceiling. When she was young, her parents read to her passages from the Bible, stories of saints that they told her she should aspire to become. She remembered lying in the bed she shared with her sister, curled up beneath the covers with only a single light bulb for illumination as her father read aloud to them from the foot of the bed. The best stories are the ones that are true, he said. Look at the selflessness of these saints, their faith, their purity, their mercy! As she grew older – as she had to press her palms deep into her stomach to dull the pangs of hunger – she knew the stories to be parables. After the fire she realized they were lies. But now she wasn't so sure.
"Even after all I've done you're still going to be like that," she said.
Mami smiled, playing with the handle of her teacup. "I'm not as good as you think I am."
"And you're humble, too. Perfect."
"I mean it. What was your wish?"
Kyouko frowned. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just curious."
"My father. He was a pastor. I wished he would get more followers." The truth came out easily, much easier than the retort that was by now almost reflex. This was the second person she had ever told the story to, she realized, albeit abbreviated. "It didn't work out."
"I knew it. You wished happiness for someone else." Mami bent over the teacup, her head sunk so deep into her chest Kyouko could not see her eyes. In her voice there was a tremor, barely audible. "I was in a car accident. We were driving to the country for vacation, like we did every summer. I remember a sudden jolt, and a lot of noise, and I must have blacked out for a bit…when I came to I was in a lot of pain. Both my parents were dead. I didn't understand it fully, not back then. I kept telling them to get up, and I cried a lot, endlessly and endlessly, it hurt so much. I would've died back there, too, if Kyubey hadn't shown up. He made a deal. One wish for a lifetime of servitude. I wished that I would live. Not my parents – just me."
Kyouko laughed. "A careless wish. Just like mine. Is that your point? That we can be friends? That deep down we're both alike?"
Mami shook her head. "You're wrong. Our wishes were nothing alike. You wished happiness for someone else, while I wished happiness for myself. It's in our time of need that we show our true selves. In my worst moment I was selfish. That's the truth of it."
"You were a kid. Anyone else would've done the same."
"That's exactly it." Mami looked down at her hands, her voice so soft it was rivaled by the hum of the electric cars. "Had it been you, or Sayaka, or even Homura, I'm sure you would've made the correct wish. You even said so yourself – you made your wish to help your father. And Sayaka made her wish to help that boy."
"You think that makes my wish good?"
Outside the sky turned to gold. A chilly breeze blew in, the last remnant of winter, making Kyouko shiver as she watched Mami tremble. Was there a magical girl alive who didn't regret her wish? The more Kyouko thought about it the more convinced she became. A wish made with even the best intentions betrayed itself in the end. That said something significant about the state of the human heart – or more probably, Kyouko thought dryly, about the deviousness of Kyubey and his race.
"So this is the great secret you've been hiding," she said, forcing her tone to be light. "A single mistake in childhood and now you think you've got it made. You think that makes you a martyr?"
"That's not what I meant – "
"Let me continue the story. When my father found out I was using magic to help him get followers, he locked all of us up in the attic and set the house on fire. Then he hanged himself in the living room. Everybody but me burned. My mother tried to shield us from the flames. My little sister begged me for the pain to stop. When it was over their corpses still clung on to me, charred and warm. So don't you – " she snarled, grabbing a fistful of Mami's hair – "speak to me about regret."
Red eyes stared into amber. Then, softly:
"Oh, Kyouko. I had no idea."
Closing her eyes, Kyouko sank back into her chair, feeling the blood drain from her as if her veins had holes. She brought a hand to her chest, clenching her traitorous beating heart through her dress. To think it still harbored so much venom after so long. The fabric was rough beneath her fingers and the ringing in her ears still did not die down. Time had let skin close over the wound but had also, she found out, let it fester beneath.
Absentmindedly, Mami touched the spot in her hair Kyouko had grabbed, staring at some distant spot on the table. "Forget it," Kyouko said before she could speak. She was in no mood for kindness. Especially not from someone who spewed kindness from a fire hose and drowned anyone standing in her way.
Idly, Kyouko swirled her teacup, breathing in the scent of chai. She had never been fond of tea. It had always been too expensive for her family, and even now when she had more money than she knew what to do with, she found the taste of it bland, preferred the sweetness of juice or soda. Perhaps it was a difference in upbringing, she thought, watching Mami sip from her cup, or perhaps it was a difference in genes.
"Don't think this makes us friends," she said. "I told you because I want you to know your moping is pathetic."
Mami merely smiled. But she said nothing, and that, too, was kindness in its own way. She rested her head in her hands, looking out the window to the sky. Kyouko followed her gaze to a patch of clouds that looked like the smoke from a train, or the wings of an airplane, or the ripples from a boat. Time passed faster as you grew older, she remembered hearing from somewhere. Certainly the last few months had flashed by, so quickly she was afraid it would vanish like a reflection in the water. But she told herself there were still many more years to come.
Mami returned her gaze to Kyouko.
"I'm leaving Mitakihara."
Kyouko's cup fell sideways on the table. "Why?"
"It's what you always wanted, isn't it?"
"Yes!" Kyouko caught herself, shook her head. "That doesn't answer my question."
"Do I need a reason? You said it yourself. There's not enough room for four magical girls in this city – "
"What a joke. We both know that's not it."
Mami stirred her tea, long drained dry. "There's nothing left for me here." Her voice held all the qualities of a sigh. There was a fragility in her pose, slumped against the chair, as if the lightest breeze would carry her far, far away, and when it dropped her she would shatter. Kyouko remembered her as she was last night: proud, indomitable, alive. That Mami on the battlefield had been immortal. This one was broken – but by what? What could have broken her if cutting off her head had not done it?
"I was jealous, you know," Mami continued. "Of you. Of Sayaka. Of the relationship you two share."
"Us?
"Your friendship and more-than-friendship. It's what I've always wanted but could never have."
"You have more friends at school than both of us combined."
"No. Not friends. Not even close." She closed her eyes but just before she did so Kyouko caught the glimmer of tears. "Those girls at school see one side of me and that is enough for them, and they never stop to wonder that perhaps I'm just like them, that I have my own fears, my own flaws, my own insecurities. They want to believe that I'm perfect and I have no choice but to follow. Loneliness is never more heartfelt than when there are so many people around you. If only there was one person, I thought, just one person that I can love and who understands me, that would be enough. Once I thought I had found her…" she laughed, three beats like broken bells. "But she has found her own happiness. And I was left behind, as always."
Kyouko turned her face away. There was no reason for her to feel guilty but she did.
"Perhaps it was for the best. I once thought I loved her." Mami folded her hands on the table, head raised high. "I'm grateful to you. You taught me what love is, long after I had forgotten it. There's nothing left for me here. I should've realized it a long time ago."
"It won't be any easier in the other cities."
The corners of Mami's lips tugged upward. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me to stay."
"I'm glad you're leaving," Kyouko said immediately, and it was not a lie. She ran her teeth over her tongue, trying to rid herself of the bitter taste that had appeared as if she had swallowed a pack of almonds. "When?"
"In a while. Things need to be arranged."
"Have you told Sayaka?"
"Not yet. I've…I've been getting around to it."
"You're not worried about leaving the city to me?"
"Of course I am. But Sayaka will be with you."
"I had always thought it would end with one of us dead," Kyouko confessed.
"Sorry to disappoint you."
Was that what it was? Disappointment? She had been prepared for threats, thinly-veiled, and she had been prepared to fight. What she not been prepared for was victory, so easy that it could hardly be called victory at all. She leaned against the chair, remembering back to her own exodus. She had left Kasamino with a sadness tempered by relief, a nostalgia tempered by fear, a hope tempered by finality. She had left Kasamino after scattering ashes over the embers. And she understood that Mami needed this more than she did.
"I hope you find happiness," she said. "Wherever that might be."
She found Homura in the playground, sitting on the swings. A short distance away a group of kids played in the sandbox, forging cities and castles with the intensity of architects. A pink-haired boy who could not have been more than four diligently piled wet sand into a pail, upended the pail to create a tower, strung towers together to create a fortress. Homura watched them with a smile that was out-of-place with those black eyes.
"I didn't expect to find you here," Kyouko said, despite knowing perfectly well she would. She took a seat on the swing next to her, rocking back and forth, trying to remember how it went.
Homura's smile disappeared instantly. It was practically a magic act. Her lips pursed into a thin line, hands folded neatly in her lap. But it was not coldness, Kyouko thought, more of a self-defense mechanism. Like a caterpillar crawling into a ball when touched.
"What are you doing here?" Homura asked.
"Just passing the time."
If Homura disbelieved her she gave no sign, instead turning her gaze back to the children. But Kyouko's arrival seemed to have disrupted something inside her, sent the moment evaporating into sunlight, and this time the look in those eyes was to something far beyond the sunset. What are you searching for? Kyouko wondered. How long have you been looking? Can I trust you? And, almost unbidden, "Who are you?"
Homura's smile held all the happiness of a crushed flower. "I'm just another magical girl who's lost someone dear."
"Is there any other kind?"
"Once, long ago, but she herself was lost instead." Homura's fingers gripped the chains of the swing, and they were clinking, clinking, with the groan of rust. "Don't get too attached. That's my advice to you, as your senior."
"You're not much older than me."
"So you think." There it was again. Kyouko flinched away from her, from eyes that suddenly looked old. "You may try to grasp happiness, but the harder you try, the more it will slip between your fingers, and all the decades you have struggled will come to nothing. The end only matters if you can get there. Death is not reversible, not in this world."
So she knew after all. "Awfully talkative today, aren't you?" Kyouko said, trying to keep her voice steady. Even though she had expected it her breath became very fast, her fingernails digging into the wooden seat. Homura caught her eye and shook her head.
"What happened between you and Mami can be solved between the two of you. I'm simply giving you some advice. This might be our last conversation."
Kyouko understood it, then, in a flash of insight like lightning on a clear day. "Mami already told you."
"I've decided to leave with her."
Kyouko wanted to ask but she couldn't. She wanted to ask why she was leaving, if it was for the same reason as Mami, if she expected to find whatever it was she was looking for in the other cities. She wanted to gaze into a crystal ball and watch the story of how this girl came to be but she couldn't, of course, do that, either. She wanted to touch her hand and that was the most impossible thing of all. There were things in the world she would never know, she reflected, things that nobody would ever know; perhaps it was for the best.
"Good luck," she said.
Homura nodded, and Kyouko thought that had they all lived a thousand years she would never hear so many words from Akemi Homura ever again.
Sayaka was waiting for her on the rooftop of the school.
"You're late," she said, hands on her hips. "I thought you would never come!"
"What an honor student you are," Kyouko said, "going to school after you almost got killed by a demon."
"Some of us are productive members of society."
"Yeah, yeah, just give me some of your lunch." Kyouko scooped up Sayaka's lunchbox, tossing her a bag of dumplings in exchange. Sayaka's mother was a much better cook than that street vendor.
For once, Sayaka ate faster than she did, no doubt trying to finish before lunch break ended. There was something different about her, Kyouko observed, something more saturated, more dazzling – like a blade of grass after rain. Her skin was brighter, her eyes more blue, her lips fuller and red as carnations.
"What is it?" Sayaka said. "Do I have food on my face?"
"Wanna catch a movie with me?"
"I have midterms."
"That old excuse? You just saved a city. That calls for a little celebration, doesn't it?"
Sayaka crossed her arms. "That means I need to work more, not less. I haven't gotten a single good night's sleep since that thing showed up. I fell asleep in third period this morning. The teacher called me out on it!"
"Sounds like a pain." Kyouko stretched out on her back, basking in the sunlight. Laughter drifted upwards from the courtyard below. The students' voices were too far for her to make out but their tone was unmistakably light, a melody rising and falling with the cadence of her thoughts. None of them realized how close they came to total annihilation. Living on day by day without worry for the future, because they didn't need to. Their only demons were test scores, school trips, crabby teachers, gossip, club practice, does-she-like-me-or-does-she-not. "On second thought," she said, closing her eyes, "it doesn't sound so bad, school. Maybe I'll try it out again."
Sayaka doubled over.
"What's so funny?" Kyouko said, glaring at her. "Weren't you always bugging me about going to school?"
"It's just – I can't imagine you in a uniform. I can't imagine you fitting into class, either, with that attitude of yours. You won't make any friends."
"Of course I will!" Kyouko scowled. "Forget it. I don't know why I even brought it up.
Sayaka laid out on the ground beside her, her laughter fading. "It'll be difficult. Your parents need to be there. They need to sign forms, meet with the principal, pay the school…"
"I guess it was too much to expect, after all," Kyouko said softly.
Curling up on her side, Sayaka rested her head against Kyouko's shoulder. "I still can't believe we did it. Sometimes I wonder if it really happened."
"Of course it happened. We won. That's all there is to it."
"Is it really? I feel like there's a lot more left to tell." She played with Kyouko's hand, brushing against her fingertips. Her touch was light as rain water and as bracing – her touch sent shivers up Kyouko's spine. "I waited for you all day yesterday. Mami told me you went to see her. Why didn't you come to me?"
Because I was scared. I gave my heart to you – do you even know what you can do with such a thing? Do you realize that with a touch of your finger you can make it bleed, with a sideways look you can make it beat, with a harsh word you can stop it forever?
"I was tired," Kyouko said.
"So was I, and I waited. I waited for you to finish what you were saying."
Kyouko turned away. This is exactly why I didn't come to you earlier, she wanted to say, and this is exactly why I come to you now. What had been so easy to say in the face of imminent death was now so impossible. But there was no escaping it, not unless another demon suddenly materialized above their heads. She gazed longingly upwards. No luck. She took a deep breath.
"I love you."
"You said it better before," Sayaka said, laughing. "Now you say it like someone forced you."
"Because you just did!"
Sayaka placed her hand on the back of Kyouko's neck. Gently, she brought their faces closer.
On the sunlit rooftop they kissed once, briefly; then again, longer. Kyouko's fingers knotted in Sayaka's hair, urging her closer, refusing to part. It was the warmth that she would remember afterwards, holding the memory like a flame against her chest. Warmth, and softness, and the taste of pomegranates on a tongue that was not her own. Sometime during their kisses the lunch bell must have rung; when they finally broke the courtyard was silent, and they were the only ones left in the world.
Kyouko couldn't remember when Sayaka had slipped her hand in hers but it was there now, smooth and warm. She squeezed her hand. The flesh was real and solid and not a dream.
"On second thought," Sayaka said, "how about that movie?"
A/N: Epilogue (sort of, more like a super-short chapter thirteen) up in a few days.
