Without Rhyme or Reason

Chapter I

—

I slowly come to, uncertain of what I'll see when I open my eyes. My body convulses with anxiety and I can't open my eyes. I have to open them eventually, but at what cost to my sanity? I feel sticky, which means I'm still drenched in blood. His blood, my blood, theirblood.

I take a deep, shaky breath.

And my eyes slowly open.

Then I'm confused. I don't recognize the room I'm in. It's lit by candles, casting shadows over the room that hide the corners. The blood staining my clothes and skin appears black in the dimly lit room. The skies outside the window are dark and cloudy, slivers of skies with bright stars and a breathtaking moon reflect back at me. I'm lying in a bed underneath the window, and I can see a desk and a dresser against the wall, then the door across from the side of the bed. Beside the door is a hanging mirror, my shadowed figure looking like it came from a horror film. I look strange to myself. It isn't the fact that I'm covered in blood though, that's a whole different layer of disturbing that I refuse to think about until I absolutely have to.

I gingerly slide off the bed, my shaky legs barely supporting me. My throat is still constricting, my stomach is sitting by my toes, and I feel nauseous. I've always been an anxious person, I suppose this whole thing might make it worse.

I cautiously walk up to the mirror, dreading what I'll see. I gasp audibly at the girl reflected back at me. It's almost the same person, almost. The girl looks terrified, she's pale and her long hair is matted to her face. An oversized hoodie that once was completely white envelops her and grey cotton shorts are dotted with red. Her hands, legs, and face are also stained red.

Blood is still dripping from the angry cut across my neck. I know that if it was deeper, if he'd check to see if it actually took me out, I wouldn't be waking up right now at all. The most striking thing about my appearance though is that I'm younger. Like, a few years younger. I look about fourteen, even though I distinctly remember turning nineteen today. Or maybe it was yesterday? It can't be that long, I'm still bleeding from my face, neck, and side; though some of it is dried and flaking off of my skin.

Is that really me? It hardly looks like me, even though I know that it is. Unmistakably, just… younger.

A rap on the door startled me out of my skin and it's sheer willpower that keeps the shriek in the back of my throat.

"Hello?"

Yet another strange thing, the unfamiliar, feminine voice is speaking in a strange language that sounds almost Japanese, yet different. The strange thing is that I understand. I know I've never learned the language, yet it makes perfect sense in my head.

The words come slowly; warbling, uncertain, and unfamiliar on my tongue, "Uhm, come in?"

An older woman, probably in her late sixties walks in, illuminated by the light on outside.

"Hello dear, how are you feeling?" She seems grandmotherly, yet I can tell she's the no-nonsense type.

"I-," I freeze, how am I? Hurt, angry, confused, lost, alone, maybe just numb, amongst so many other things, "I'm, just, I-."

A deep sigh rushes out of me, "I don't really know obaa-san." I don't know where the name came from, is that improper? To basically call her grandma?

She looks at me, pity and empathy in her eyes, "I know the feeling."

I want to cry, maybe scream a little. But it's not coming, so I say nothing.

"What's your name, child, and how old are you?"

I glance at the moon outside and stare at the moon, wondering if this is a fever dream of some sort. With the moon in my mind, wondering if it's the same moon I used to see, I answer her, "I'm Mitsuki and I just turned fourteen."

"Only fourteen, good lord."

Tears that refuse to fall form in the corner of my eyes. When do I get to wake up from this nightmare?

"Oh Mitsuki-chan, are you alone?" She looks at me, a look I don't really understand on her face.

"I think I am now."

The look of pity is back. I hate it, it makes me feel awful. Anger rages in my stomach and heart, she wouldn't be looking at me like this if it wasn't for him.

"Mitsuki-chan, first things first, let's get you cleaned up."

She changes the subject and I don't fight her, because if she notices my tears, she says nothing about them.

She leads me into a bathroom down the hall. On the sink, as if waiting for me, is a pile of clothes, a towel, a comb, a new toothbrush, shampoo, conditioner, and a new bar of body soap.

"Take your time dear."

I nod at her.

After she leaves, I close and lock the door behind her. I wash my hands, watching the water run red, then pink, until it's finally clear. I try to avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, mechanically going through the motions of brushing my teeth. I use the new toothbrush and a half used tube of paste that's sitting in a cup with two brushes. I return the toothpaste to the cup and wash out my mouth, setting the toothbrush that she gave to me to the side. I take a deep breath and attempt to quell my shaking body and my heart that feels like someone is squeezing it, squeezing the life out of me.

Finally, I attempt to meet my own eyes in the mirror and the tears almost fall. The girl looking back, the girl that is unmistakably who I was before I woke up in this strange house, no longer looks as terrified. She just looks sad. She looks so sad that I feel my heart breaking all over again. Her eyes are sunken in, her lips tremble, and she's visibly shaking. The blood on her skin makes her look paler than she should be, she looks almost sick, and the slash on her neck makes her look dead.

Maybe I'm a ghost, someone that can't move on.

Then my anxiety roars back to life, suffocating and angry. The blood. So much of it, all over me. Why is there so much blood?

I throw myself into the shower, uncaring that the water is freezing and that I'm still fully clothed. It reassures me that I'm not completely numb from everything but anger and anxiety. I forcefully strip myself of my clothing, throwing it onto the bathroom floor and out of my sight. I'm suddenly manic in my efforts to rid myself of the crimson ink that used to be someone else's. I reach for the shampoo on the sink besides the shower and yank at my hair desperately. I just want to be clean, god damnit. When the water from my hair seems to run clear, I grab the bar of soap and scrub at myself. My nails leave marks on my skin, I'm desperate, erratic; I completely ignore the cuts and bruises on my body if only to make the water run clear. I've scrubbed my skin raw by the time I'm done. I keep scrubbing, despite knowing that it's gone. I can still see it all.

Then I'm sobbing, almost screaming. I try to hush myself, so as not to disturb obaa-san and anyone else in her house, but I'm in agony. Hopefully the rushing water is enough to drown out the primal sounds I'm making.

When it stops, I'm exhausted. I don't have anything left. I shampoo my hair and then wash my body once more, just for good measure, then condition my hair. I step out of the shower, wrapping the towel around myself.

Now, the girl in the mirror just looks defeated (and to be honest, kind of like a drowned rat.) with angry red skin and swollen eyes.

After drying myself off, I slip on the sweatpants that are a little too big on me and a long sleeve shirt that actually fits alright. I use the hair tie on my wrist to throw my hair up in a messy bun, sliding the comb into my pocket for now. I crouch down to roll up my pant legs and I tie the string in the waistband tight, so that they stay up. After my little episode, I'm a little calmer. So I pick up my discarded clothes and wring them out over the tub. I fold them and pile them together. I then use the towel I was given to mop up the puddles I created on the floor.

With a sigh, I gather the wet clothing and wrap them in the towel. I exit the bathroom and turn off the light, then return to the room I came from.

Waiting for me in the desk chair is obaa-san.

She stands and moves towards me, "Do you feel a little better?"

I think about it, do I? I guess I do. So I tell her that.

"I, well, yeah I think so."

"That's good Mitsuki-chan, I'll take those from you." And she pulls the damp bundle out of my arms, "We can talk in the morning, until then? Try to get a little rest."

And with that, she disappears, closing the door behind her.

Standing in the dim room, I contemplate the last twenty-four hours. None of it seems real. And where the fuck am I?

I blow out the candle and crawl into the bed, then realize she must've changed the sheets for me. I don't understand why she's doing so much for a stranger. Maybe it's because I'm basically a child? Then I realize I don't even know her name. I can ask tomorrow.

As much as I want to believe that none of this is real, I think that's asking too much of the universe. I pinch myself for good measure, but with the way I was painfully scrubbing at my skin in the shower was too real. What I'm experiencing is too real to be a nightmare.

That'd be too easy. I scoff and curl myself underneath the blankets. My head aches and all I want is to go to sleep and potentially never wake up.

—

I see my family's faces as I close my eyes. I'm sure I'll have nightmares tonight, all I can hope for is that I won't remember them in the morning.

Hi marshmallows. Oops, not me starting something new again. I promise I'll get my shit together. I recently got diagnosed with ADHD and will now soon be medicated lol.

Happy Tuesday (Monday night?)!