Rhapsody Theorem
[ chapter 2 ]
Disclaimers: Revolutionary Girl Utena belongs to Be-papas and Chiho Saitoh.
Warnings: OOCness. Rated NC-17 for mature themes. Sort of.
Rants: This takes place after Utena 'escapes' from the TV-series Ohtori. What exactly happened after the million-sword-stabbing-her-body incident that Kunihiko Ikuhara effectively blacks out upon? Well... this is one take, and highly unlikely. By the way, this has no relation to my previous RGU fanfic, "Ugh... Men." You might be able to catch the deja-vu similar-names of the 'Real World' characters to the 'Ohtori World' characters...
Radishface
Who's there?
It's just that, your face, when you were asleep--
What?
When you were asleep, you looked like somebody I thought I knew--
-- I don't understand--
Who are you?
You'll see me later.
When?
Maybe today.
"JESUS!" Utena bolted up, out of her bed. She looked around, and was treated to a display of the old, regular, unwashed bed sheets, the African violet wilting on the window sill, and the shadow of the tree outside. She looked to her right and saw the Queer's unmade bed, pillows tossed in a corner, the mattress half-falling apart... well, that was what you got when you did more than sleeping in it. Shifting her gaze to the leaking ceiling, she muttered under her breath about the uselessness of gay men who couldn't repair ceilings, just for good measure.
Who-- are--
"Are you okay in there?" Doug called from outside, and she stared blankly at the closed door and didn't answer. "Utena?"
"I'm fine!" She burst out, scratching her head, feeling grumpier than she did yesterday. Her hair felt nice, though. The strands just sort of slipped through her fingers like gossamer, the pink dye was brighter than it was, and overall, she felt refreshed. Utena got up off the bed and stretched, feeling the vertebrae in her backbone pop, and made her way to the bathroom, where she scooped the clothes off the floor and dumped them in the hamper. It was overflowing with most of her roommate's items, she noticed grimly. Picking up a tee-shirt that still looked clean, she pulled her pajamas off and slipped it on, feeling the cool against her skin. Utena was about to dig through the hamper for a pair of pants, then decided against it. She was comfortable enough in sweats, anyway.
"I made breakfast. Again." Doug announced as she walked into the kitchen. "Help yourself." He gestured towards the buffet-style plate of pancakes.
"I didn't know you could make those," Utena admitted, and saw his eyes brighten. "But of course you could, I mean, you're a goddamned housewife."
"Au contraire, sweetie." He winked at her, sitting down at the kitchen table, setting the books on the floor. "You taught me how to make them, but you probably forgot that, too." He grinned. "But that's okay, because I don't mind taking credit for your wonderful pancake recipe."
"I never made pancakes."
"You didn't?"
"I made shaved ice."
"I like that. You should make it for me sometime. Especially strawberry-flavored."
"Excuse me?"
They both blinked at the same time.
Doug raised an eyebrow. "I said, you should make me that shaved ice sometime. You never made it before."
"Made what?" Utena twiddled her fork. "Shaved ice?"
"You just said you did." He pointed out.
"I've never made it in my life." She huffed, almost laughing. "You get strange ideas."
"But you just said--"
"I didn't say anything." She snapped, irritated. "I don't even know what shaved ice is."
"Suit yourself," Doug resumed eating his pancakes, and left Utena the one staring.
"Did I say something about shaved ice, though?" She thought out loud, eyes clouding. "Crushed ice... maybe, with different colors on them? I can't fucking remember..."
He shook his head. It was her amnesia again. Then again, she could be faking it, just to get attention. But she'd never done that before. She was such a nice girl before something happened. When they were first roommates, she'd be so wide-eyed, sort of innocent, like she didn't belong in college, hadn't been such a bad girl. Then something happened. He forgot what, he didn't keep track of it. It wasn't his business, after all, even though they were roommates. He felt as though he should care a little more, but he really couldn't bring himself to. And it didn't matter, anyway. This was now.
"Crushed ice...? Like the kind that comes out of the refrigerator? Maybe grinded a bit more--" Utena shook her head and smiled, wistfully. "Sorry I snapped at you like that. I'm still sort of grumpy."
"It's okay." Doug took the last bite of his pancake and set his fork down, standing up and bringing the dishes to the sink. Surprisingly, unlike the rest of the apartment, the sink was unnaturally clean. It wasn't filled with dirty dishes or leftover food waiting to be eaten up by the garbage dispenser. "Listen, Utena, maybe you shouldn't go tonight. I don't think you're up for it."
"And who made you my mother?" She laughed, without any trace of bitterness, which meant she had no feelings left for her dead parents. It was like she was mocking herself.
"You're still saying random things."
"I'll just stay away from everything, then." She stabbed the pancake with her fork, and left it there, grabbing the syrup from across the table and pouring it on with gusto. "I'll just sit in a corner and watch everybody else fuck around while I keep to myself like the good little princess I am."
"Princess?" He laughed, turning on the faucet. "You're certainly not a princess."
She cast a glare at him, but there was humor in her eyes. "And how not?"
"You're not demure, you're not feminine, and you're definitely not prissy. If anything, I'm the one who should be the princess."
"And your green-haired punk-monkey is your prince?" Utena's lips quirked, she couldn't help it.
"No, you should be." He batted his eyelashes at her, and her expression immediately turned stony.
"I'm not like that, you know."
"What about that incident with the girl a couple months ago?" He teased, pushing his luck. "You were raving about her. You were crazy over her. And you earned yourself quite a reputation."
"I don't remember a single fucking thing." She clutched at her hair, wanting to rip it all out. It wasn't fair that he kept reminding her of things she didn't recall. It was like putting the blame on her, in some odd way. She didn't even know what she was getting blamed for, or taking the blame for. "Who the hell was it?"
"I don't know." Her roommate murmured, surprised. "You never told me."
"Well then what the fuck are you bringing it up for?!"
He shrugged, ignoring her angry display. "I felt like it. And you know how I rant about my newest boyfriend or whatever when you're around, I figured you should start doing your share again."
"Well, I don't remember!"
"It's okay." Tossing his red hair over his shoulder, he sat down next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't push it off. "You'll remember, eventually. You usually do."
"Usually?" She buried her face in her hands. "Fuck you."
"I don't know about that." He smiled, apologetically. "I'm queer."
"Shithead." She muttered under her breath. "You should have taken me to a hospital or something."
"You've never said that before," he mused thoughtfully. "And besides, if they found out what was in your system, you'd have been taken away."
To the police, to authorities, whatever. She thought, with a tinge of bitterness. And then where would I be?
"You didn't stop me, either." She groaned, letting her face slump onto the table, nose pressing against the dirty plastic. "No one bothered to stop me, did they."
"You're on a roll today." Doug laughed, patting her head, and then running his fingers through her hair, gently. "Saying all the things you've never said before, probably never even thought."
"So what if I've had a revelation about myself?" She grumbled, feeling a little better. For some reason, the fingers in her hair felt familiar, and annoying, but more familiar than annoying, so she let it be.
"Watch out, world, Utena's coming through." Doug laughed. "It's a revolution."
"Fuck off." She murmured again, and the fingers in her hair withdrew. She was disappointed, but it was what she asked for.
"Are you going to take the clothes to the cleaners?" He stood up again, squinting at the clock. "If you leave now, you can hang out around the streets for an hour and then go get them again."
"What are you doing?" She drawled, lifting her head off the table to look at him. Doug was heading towards the door, putting on a white jacket he'd picked up off the sofa.
"I'm going to work." He said, as if that was all he needed to say. "And then I'm going to get some coffee."
"We have some here."
"Not that watery junk." He made a face. "Starbucks."
Her eyebrow raised. "Isn't that where your boyfriend works?" Utena noticed a faint red streak across his cheeks, and huffed. "Fucking queer."
"Yes, I know I'm strange." Doug called as he opened the door. "And tell the cleaners to take care of my silk boxers, if you haven't forgotten, I need those to be washed in cold water--"
"Do it yourself, fucker!" She yelled good-naturedly, after him. He turned and blew a raspberry at her, and then slammed the door shut.
She looked around their dorm, absently noting for the fifth time that day that it was completely, utterly filthy. Her roommate's government and statistics books were cluttered on the floor, and loose sheets of notebook paper and computer paper were scattered everywhere. Jackets and coats and were thrown over chairs in the kitchen and the sofa in the living room-- empty glasses were stacked a mile high on the floor by the television and on the television. Thankfully, there were no dirty dishes to wash.
Utena wished everything would be clean.
Clean, white, pure, untouched, unmarred, innocent, sort of clean.
She marched into her room and opened the dresser, marveling at the lack of clothes (which, of course, were all in the hamper). There were a pair of old, faded, and baggy jeans at the bottom of the drawer that smelled like mothballs, but at least she'd go out looking halfway respectable. She took off her sweatpants and put those on, marching into the bathroom to throw her sweats in with the rest of the dirty clothes, and then was faced with the frightening reality of the situation-- how the FUCK was she going to carry a two-thousand pound load of clothes to the cleaners, which was located in some location she had forgotten in her haze?
Running into the kitchen, she opened the cabinets furiously, and then grabbed the garbage bags, and raced back into the bathroom. She stuffed all the clothes into two bags and grinned-- it wasn't going to be that hard, after all.
She probably looked homeless or something, with a load of plastic garbage bags on her bag as she walked to the dorm garages, and a few passerbys gave her strange looks as she walked by them. Ignoring their glances, she somehow managed to find her way to a rusted green jeep she knew belonged to her. At least she didn't forget that much.
"23-1-11-1-2-1" She read off the license plate, squinting in the shadows. "Yeah, that's it." Utena threw the bags into the trunk and jumped in the driver's seat, searching her pockets for a key.
"The key, the key, where's the key--hn." She frowned. There it was, in the ignition. Did Doug drive this piece of crap often? She had to remember to bitch at him when he got back. It wasn't safe to leave the doors open to the vehicle, much less leave the keys in the ignition itself. You wouldn't even need to hotwire the piece of crap to drive it out of this slum.
She turned the key, which made the jeep roar to life, and suddenly, unexpectedly, she laughed. That familiar feeling was creeping back into her fingers, perhaps the knowledge of driving, maybe something else-- she shifted the gears to reverse, backed out of the parking spot, and then switched the gears again, zooming out into the open. The gloom of the garage gave way to open sunlight, and for a second, Utena wished she was riding a convertible at ninety-five miles an hour, with the top down, the wind flying through her chemically-treated hair. And she wished she could be like those circus freaks, those clowns in their own cars, doing handstands and cartwheels on top of their little vehicles. She smiled ruefully to herself.
Yes, that'd be nice.
Just leave, get out of this, nobody will know.
I can't leave you.
Please, you don't understand the magnitude of it all, the hugeness and the complexities.
There's nothing to understand. I just want to protect you.
You can't. There's nothing worth protecting. Just leave me here.
I don't want to. And it's for me to decide.
I'm trying to keep you safe--
And I'll do the same.
"Argh, do you think the color is fitting?" Doug's nose quirked as he looked at the black t-shirt that had '$1,000,000 DOLLARS' emblazoned across it. A pile of clean clothes lay on the bedroom floor (where they would get undoubtedly dirty again), where Utena had dropped them when she got back from her afternoon trip to the laundromat. She'd read somewhere that the laundromat was the best place to meet hotties and pick them up. Unfortunately for her, all the 'hotties' seemed to be middle-aged women and middle-aged potbellied men. Not exactly her type of action.
"It's black." She muttered, snapping out of her daydream, and tried to force a tone of impatience into her voice. "It'll go with anything."
"I don't know about the one-million dollars, though." His lips quirked again. "Do you think Sy-Sy will think it's a bit forward?"
"'Sy-Sy?'" Her eyebrows raised. "Is that what you call him now?"
"No." He puffed, and threw the black shirt in the corner, stretching. "Do you think I should just go shirtless?" He flexed his muscles. "I do work out. And everybody will appreciate the sight."
"Egad." Utena rubbed her eyes. "Look, I'm not wearing anything that flashy. It's not as if you're trying to get laid by a random person. You don't have to dress yourself up."
"Of course I'm going to get laid." Doug huffed, and picked up a scarlet-see-through poet's shirt and compared it to the black one he had before. "The trick is to get him to want me."
"Fucking homo..." Utena buried her head in her hands. "Will you please hurry up?" She looked outside, past the African violet and the shadow of the tree, to the blood-tinged sky, streaked with orange. "It's getting late."
"All the more reason to show up fashionably, dear." He slipped on the flimsy red thing and pranced around in front of the mirror, admiring himself. "And what is that you're wearing?"
She looked at herself. She was wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck and a pair of jeans.
"You've been so uptight lately." Doug glanced at her sympathetically. "I think you need to get some. And that getup," he pointed, "is not going to get you anywhere."
She blinked, and then scowled. "And excuse me, mister fancy pants, but what makes you think I want to get laid?"
"You never know, dearest." He sighed at his reflection, apparently giving himself up, then started towards her. She raised an eyebrow and started to scoot away. "Sometimes, a good fuck is all you need." He wiggled his eyebrows. "If it's a cute girl, I hope you'll have fun. If it's a cute guy, I hope you'll share him with me. So anyway, about that outfit--"
"No. Fucking. Way." She shook her head. "I'm going in this and that's the last thing you'll say about it."
Apparently she didn't resist hard enough, either that or she actually wanted to get laid, because in a matter of fifteen minutes, her flamboyant roommate had her decked all-and-out in a pair of very cropped plaid shorts (appropriately innocently-schoolgirlish/boyish), red fishnet stockings, and a pair of knee-high black leather boots that were approximately five inches high (and it seemed that all these articles of clothing were his). Utena had been resolute on wearing the black sleeveless turtleneck, though, and managed to keep it on through the strip-and-re-plaster. Doug the Queer pouted at this, although his eyes glimmered with unsuppressed glee.
"Well, at least your lower-body-half looks sexy enough." He stated, satisfied, as he made his way around her. "And that's what counts."
"I swear, I'm going to kill you--"
"Oh, my, look at the time!" He exclaimed, pointing at a nonexistent watch on his wrist. "It's time to go~!"
They chased each other merrily down to the dorm's garage, and hopped in the jeep. Utena pretended to throttle him, and he pretended to choke, and then he pretended to die.
"By the way, Dead Man." She huffed, crossing her arms, as he lay with his head half-out of the window, tongue sticking out of his mouth. "Don't leave the car keys in the ignition again."
"Oof." Doug pulled his head up, and rubbed his neck. "I didn't leave them in."
"They were in there when I went to get the clothes washed this afternoon."
"That's strange." He shrugged, and then started the car. "I mean, I put them up on the key rack by the door. I always do."
"You probably forgot, you faggot." She laughed, not as pissed off as she should have been with his 'irresponsibility.' "You were probably driving home with your boyfriend and you forgot the keys in the car."
"Because we were just so tired and wanted a good night's rest." He added, as they sped along under the street lamps, ignoring the curses thrown at 'those damn speeding college kids.'
"Yeah, right."
The rest of the way, they rode on in good-natured silence, and somewhere along the way, Utena's head fell against the window and she took a nap.
"At least she'll be well-rested." Doug murmured to himself, keeping both eyes on the road.
I'm your flower now.
The music (if it could be called that) was loud, the subwoofers were turned up to their maximum so that the entire ground shook as the beats struggled out. Bodies jerked to the same rhythm with different movements, and the lights reflected eerily off of metallic jewelry, the floor, and the walls. The world seemed to swirl, not stopping for anyone, as it changed colors, from blue to green to red to yellow and back to blue again, different scents of smoke hovering in the air like fog on a cold night, and while some people were part of the chaos that consumed the center of the enclosed space, scattered others murked in the shadows, waiting with predatory eyes to spring in at the right time.
Utena's red-headed roommate had found his green-haired boyfriend waiting for them at the main entrance, hanging outside, drinking a can of soda. Utena had been faintly surprised-- after all, wasn't this a club of all sorts--? but they'd shone their identification, and scrambled on merrily inside, the two boys groping each other where they could-- and the refreshments lay in plain sight off to the corner. While Doug twiddled his fingers around Syle's green wavy locks, they both warned her not to drink anything out of the punch bowl, and proceeded to bump and grind away on the dance floor, much to her chagrin. This was a gay bar? Or was it a gay bar? Dammit, of all the places to be. She pulled her shorts down self-consciously.
So Utena hung out by the refreshments although didn't touch any, despite many a woman's (and a few bisexual men) invitation to get her one. The ground thudded to the heavy techno beat, the annoying 'sceerchsceerchsceerch' of the remixing added to the screams in the air, and her head pounded along with everything else. The blood in her bloodstream threatened to beat with the same rhythm as the music, and she pressed two fingers to the pulse in her neck, as if she could halt the process.
Her eyes flickered around, from the to-be-threesome exchanging wet kisses in front of her on the floor to the boy in the corner gulping down some sort of bright green concoction to the bar across the room where the bartender was looking appropriately stoic to the restroom signs in the corner and the niche that led to them, obscured by two females who were fondling each others' breasts. For some reason, perhaps because through all the haze, she didn't feel like gagging, for once. She stared at them for quite a while, and then watched them disappear into the restrooms.
Suddenly, a flash of red hair, and her roommate was standing in front of her, looking mildly curious, but the normal brightness in his eyes was hidden by a fine cloudy gaze that signified that yes, he had popped something into his system. She groaned, and looked away.
"She's been staring at you all night." He yelled to her, above the music. He didn't slur his words, and she wondered what exactly was it that he had taken. Or maybe his eyes were just fogged up with the lack of air.
Utena looked disinterested, and turned to examine the guy who was sitting down on the stairs, sipping something out of a bottle. He had a very defined nose, a wide mouth, and longish hair, and the part in front was lighter than the section in back. When the light turned red, his hair turned purple. When the light turned green, his hair was aqua. When the light turned yellow, his hair turned green. And when the light was blue, his hair was blue. So, through the process of elimination and the mathematics of colors, she concluded his hair was dyed blue. Absently, she wondered if her hairdresser was around.
"She's been staring at you all night." Her roommate repeated, and she reluctantly turned around to face him, his eyes changing colors as the strobe lights flashed.
"Who?"
"Her." He pointed across the dance floor, to the elevated section, where the bar was. She couldn't quite make out which 'her' he was talking about. The bartender was a man, so he was out. There was a guy leaning over the counter, and a couple girls situated in the corners, not many of them sitting down. All the people sitting down seemed to have their backs to her.
"I can't see her." She huffed, and dismissed the idea, letting her eyes wander back to the niche where the bathrooms were. The spot where the two girls were had been replaced by a well-built man and his petite girlfriend, who was eagerly leaning into his embrace, letting him do as he wished. His hands were wandering all over her ass and up her skirt, Utena noticed, and turned away, feeling bile crawl up her throat. It was disgusting, how women gave themselves up like that.
"She's the gorgeous one." Doug explained, putting an hand on her shoulder and leaned in so that they were almost sharing the same view perspective, and he raised his hand to point. "There."
A girl with volumous hair, indeed, was staring at her, with cool eyes. Her curls dripped down the side of her face like rain falling from the sky, down the side of her neck. From across the room, she noticed she was wearing what looked like half of a suit-- she was wearing a tie, which was loosened, and her blouse, crisply ironed, was unbuttoned at the top. Her fingers swirled a slim glass of liquid around, the minimal movement fluid and natural. Her other hand, in her lap, was holding her jacket, although the fingers wandering about her thighs seemed all but innocent.
Utena's eyes flickered back to Doug with a look of half-hearted disgust, as he smiled blithely at her.
"Told you she was gorgeous." He said with a know-it-all-expression on his face.
"And she is...?"
"Wonder Woman." Doug proudly announced, as if she was his own girlfriend. "Miss Justice herself. The richest lawyer ever to walk these fucking streets. Handles all the political stuff, too." He leaned in to whisper something to her. "I think I knew her back in middle school."
"Middle school, impressive." Utena rolled her eyes, although when they refocused, they had unwillingly placed themselves on the curl-framed face across the room, and those eyes were still looking at her.
"It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." He said, taking his hand off her shoulder. "And if you two hit it off well enough, you'll never have to worry about walking to the laundromat again."
"And then where would you be?" Utena said wryly. "Off in the dumpster with your loser faggot."
"I resent that." A hand reached out to snag a fistful of red hair, locking lips in a surprised 'oomph.' Utena raised an eyebrow and allowed herself to smile a secret smile as the two men-in-tight-pants made out in front of her.
"Besides." She muttered. "I'm not like that."
"Sure you aren't." The 'loser faggot' mused, as Doug regained his breath. "I think you're just in the closet."
"Listen to someone's who had the same experience." Her roommate nodded with mock sympathy, patting Syle on the shoulder. "He was all boxed up too, working in Starbucks, for crying out loud." He cast a quirky grin. "How straight do you get?"
"Most coffee shops aren't straight." Was the argument, before another kiss cut them off.
"So what the hell do you want me to do?" Utena muttered, as they looked back at her. "Go over there and introduce myself? 'Hi, I'm just your friendly neighborhood college delinquent, out here hanging with a bunch of loser faggots and I'd like to get into your pants just tonight so I can squander your money before you realize I'm just another bitchy whore?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"Fuck off."
"Well, you don't have a chance anyway." Syle grinned, licking his lips. "Looks like she's got her pussycat waiting for her already."
A well-rounded posterior and a very curvaceous back blocked Utena's view of 'Miss Justice.' Obviously there was somebody sitting in her lap now. "Meow." She purred with disinterest.
"Poor baby." Doug murmured, and rummaged through his pockets. "Here, have one."
"And I thought you told me to stay away from them?" A raised eyebrow. "Damn you."
"Well, you look depressed."
"And what are you on?"
"E, GHB, LSD... all the letters of the alphabet, mommy."
"Gimme one of those."
"Say 'please.'"
"Please."
A white pill was tossed to her and she caught it, somehow, miraculously, through all the smoke and fog and haze and the ever-changing lights. "I need something to swallow it with."
"Wuss." Syle laughed at her, and she paid him no attention.
"This thing is huge." She grimaced. True, the pill, in all it's white glory, was approximately one inch in length and half a centimeter in width.
"Chew it." Her roommate chorused. "Like those vitamins for kids."
"Forget it." She shook her head. "I'm going over there to the bar to order something. Besides, I'm thirsty."
"So unlike you." He chanted. "So unlike you."
"Shut the fuck up."
She walked in pace with the rhythm, and every time she put her foot down, the ground would rumble, and it was almost as if she was making the ground shake, like she was that powerful. She pushed her way through the squirming, writhing bodies, all of them sweating, some of them naked from the waist up. The jewelry glittered as it bounced up and down, hitting air and then skin, the hair glistening with sweat. And over there, on the other side, she looked so cool, calm, collected, that supposed lawyer her two faggots had named 'Miss Justice.' Somewhere in her memory, she could recall her, something about her, something wonderful she had done, but then again, she couldn't remember. The pill clenched in her hand wouldn't make it much better, either.
The seat next to 'Miss Justice' and her pussycat was open, and Utena sat down, signaling to the bartender. "Just water."
"Just water?" The lap-cat smirked as she played with the lawyer's tie. Utena noted with some surprise that the lap-cat was the same woman at the salon the other day. 'Shirley,' or 'Swirlies,' or something like that. She was wearing some metal corset with leather ties and it didn't look too comfortable. The leather miniskirt hitching up her crotch didn't look like it would keep her from catching a cold, either. She wore simple ankle boots, and Utena saw those fingers sliding up and down them, caressing them.
Her water came, and Utena looked into her hand at her pill, at the water, which didn't look like it was spiked with anything, but how would she know? She put the thing into her mouth and took a long gulp of water, feeling the foreign object slide down her throat as she swallowed.
"Do you want anything?" 'Miss Justice,' or 'Wonder Woman,' or whatever her name was-- asked her. Utena blinked a couple times, and then shook her head 'no.' The eyes just sort of looked at her, and then looked at her lap cat, who was now peeking into her shirt.
"Get off." She said, without raising her voice, but it was clear, low.
"Me?" An indignant toss of short magenta-streaked hair and the batting of fake eyelashes. Her legs opened a bit further to straddle her, the skirt rode up and exposed more thigh. "You want me to get off?" Her voice was light and airy, almost girlish, completely opposite of the muttering tone Utena heard at the salon.
"Yes, cat, pet." The lawyer said. "Get off."
"I'll do that." A rustle of leather against cloth, Utena could hear it even with the music pounding in the background, which sounded strange to her ears, now. And then, without bothering to pull the skirt down, the short-haired woman walked away.
"Are you sure you don't want a drink?"
"No." Utena found herself muttering. "I'm fine."
"It's on me."
It's on-- She coughed. "No, really, it's fine." Now that she was here, she noted those curls were orange, her eyes were greenish-blue, teal. Cold, very calculating.
"Jerry." She extended her hand, so formal.
The lights flashed orange, for a split second.
There are no miracles--
"Utena." She announced herself, shaking the offered hand. Her name was a man's name-- but what was she supposed to expect? Typical lesbian here in front of her, except for the fact that she was gorgeous as hell, without the gallons of makeup that others seemed to carry about on their faces.
"I've seen you here before." Jerry stated, as if they had met before on a summer cruise. "You come here often."
Stupid. Amnesia. She shook her head. "I guess I do."
"And I suppose you know them?" The curly-haired woman pointed up to where the bathrooms were, the popular niche-corner, where her roommate and his boyfriend were now engaged in eating each other.
"I do." She murmured, looking down at her glass of water. "Unfortunately."
The low voice laughed quietly. "I knew the red-headed one back in middle school."
"That's funny--" She said, feeling that this conversation was slightly corny and lame and out of character for the both of them. "He said the same thing--"
And then--
Purple waves--
Her eyes darted to the entrance, where somehow, suddenly, a person had materialized, and from all the way across the dance floor, through the mists and the flashing lights and the crowds of people, she seemed to be able to see the person face-to-face-- the dark skin, the wide, startling green eyes, and the mass of wavy hair that seemed to cascade like a waterfall down her back, the way she held herself, so demurely, her hands, fingers clasped in front of her like she was a little schoolgirl on her way to Sunday morning church, and she wore a white hat on her head, the most ridiculous pastel-pink outfit that looked like something somebody would wear to Mass, her shoes were white, she carried a white bag, and some animal rode on her shoulder, something that looked like a mouse.
Hair like that--
The vision was still there, still hadn't disappeared.
Those green eyes were piercing, they were electrifying. But they were tired, very, very, tired, world-weary, and fatigued-- like she knew so many things but couldn't tell one of them because they were secrets, great secrets, horrible secrets. But the way she stood, the way she held herself-- straight up, like she was proud, unafraid, staring at danger in its face, not laughing, but looking at it. She looked like she had seen the devil himself, among many other things. She had seen things, known of secular things. And yet, she seemed full of life, ready to start something new, ready to cast away all the old and break out of her shell, new, invigorated. It was like that, something like that.
Then it was as if they locked eyes, from opposite corners, sides of the dance hall, the club, and they stared at each other as they couldn't believe it, she for a different reason and Utena for her own. And suddenly those green eyes lit up, the dark cloud over them gone, and those lips curved up, tentatively, in the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, and there seemed to be a visible aura of happiness that surrounded her, bright, vibrant. Her lips moved, Utena observed, and her head turned, slightly, to the animal that was perched on her shoulder, and the chittering thing seemed to nod as well, and then those pairs of eyes were fixed on her, again.
"She's pretty, isn't she." The curly-haired lawyer leaned in, whispering in Utena's ear, and reminded her of her presence. They were both staring at the same person, in the same direction. The dark-skinned girl was making her way towards her, trying to, jostled this way and that way through the mass of bodies, and she seemed so tiny, insignificant, in the mess of squirming flesh and gaudy lights, so out of place. The animal on her shoulders had disappeared into her hat, but her eyes never left Utena's as she made her way through, never pushing, always letting others move in front of her.
So patient. Was the thought. So lenient.
"She's new." The low voice had a hint of a laugh in it, but it wasn't one that was directed at anybody. "And such a pretty girl. A rose out of the weeds."
"Rose--"
Bride.
"I don't remember." Utena gasped, eyes widening, the world turning black, turning grey. The drug was starting to take effect, finally. "I don't remember."
"Don't remember?" Jerry whispered in her ear, lips almost touching the lobe. "You knew her? Lucky you."
"No--no--" Utena stood up, and immediately felt the world crumble around her, the edges melting away, the sharp corners falling down, and she saw things as if she was holding her head at an angle. Frantically, she looked for her roommate, he wasn't there. Nowhere. The place was filled with strange people she didn't know, primal instincts, base desires, and this wasn't what the girl approaching them was coming for. She knew something. And Utena didn't know what she knew, didn't want to know. She'd seen her somewhere before, yes, she knew that much. And she didn't know anything else. "I don't remember--"
"Strange, funny." The voice came at her from behind her through a world of water and smoke, she could barely hear it, yet it was heard with perfect clarity. "She seems to know you."
"I'm not like that," popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. Jerry suppressed a smile, and leaned back on the stool.
"Really?"
"I'm fucking sure I'm not like that." Utena muttered, clutching at her hair. "No, no, no, no--"
"Look at her, though." The lawyer mused, sitting back in her chair. "If you won't, then I'll take her. Home."
"Oh, but you can't!" A voice cut through Utena's haze, and Jerry turned around. There was her Cat, standing there, half-naked, a semi-indignant look on her face. Her hands were place indignantly on her hips as she leaned in, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and blowing smoke all over Utena's face. She turned to Jerry and smiled prettily, eyes narrowing. "You promised me that I'd be on your agenda tonight."
"I suppose so." Jerry acknowledged with a slight nod, and stood up fluidly, before her Cat could sit in her lap again. "But I could always make exceptions." She cast a sideways glance at the awkward, pink-haired college student, who was looking back between them two and the approaching dark-skinned girl. "Would you like to come with?"
The Cat hooked an expanse of leg around Jerry's own, entwining her own arm around hers. "Maybe." She sneered, but smiling, all the same. "It'd be interesting, don't you think? Us three, on her king-sized bed, I'm sure she'd enjoy making you writhe--"
"I trust you will keep everything discreet." The lawyer gracefully bent down and gave the whore a chaste kiss on the lips. "As for tonight, it was enough to see you here." She smiled benignly at Utena, who didn't exactly register what was being said to her. "Maybe I'll replace her," she gestured towards the indignant Cat, "with you, someday."
"Don't you dare." The Cat pouted adorably, clawing at her shirt front. "I couldn't bear it." She hooked her arms around her neck, breathing heavily, mock-crying.
"Good night." Jerry brushed a strand of hair aside from Utena's face, tucking it behind her ear. "I'll see you again, won't I?"
And then they walked off, leaving her flustered and confused and the lights still flickering, the music still pounding. The world spun again, spun again, and she realized that somehow, somewhere, a weight had been lifted off her heart, her mind, and she wanted to dance with the rest of them, join in with them. But she didn't, at the same time. She wanted to be a spectator and watch as if it was a spectator's sport.
"Utena?" A soft, melodic voice called, and she turned around, suddenly afraid. It was the dark-skinned girl, her cap askew on her head, her clothes rumpled after her journey through the mass of bodies. And she was covered in dust and in dirt, although she didn't carry an odor. Like a rose sprung up from the ground. There was something clean about her, yet her appearance made it clear she had been traveling. Her eyes shone even in the darkness, almost emitting a glow of their own, bright orbs of happiness and satisfaction and contentment. Something was wrong, Utena thought desperately. She didn't know this girl. And she didn't want to know her, because there was something she was supposed to know.
From this day forward
You are the Victor
and I am your flower
I am the Rose Bride
She didn't say anything, didn't look to acknowledge the voice. She merely wondered, wondered at many things, like how the light was so many different colors, why her breathing felt so constricted, why she felt like crawling on the floor and flying up in the sky at the same time, so many things--
"Utena." The voice came again, and a hand brushed her bare shoulder, she wanted to brush it away. "Do you know me?"
I don't know you. She thought, desperately. Should I?
"It's Anthy--"
anthy, anthy, anthy, anthy. should i know an anthy? there's no anthy, no rose bride, i don't understand why am i so upset it must be that pill, that pill, stupid chemicals in my body, raging around like wild horses on a desert plain
"I'm Anthy--"
wild horses, stampede, running things over, running over my rational thought, who's anthy? i should remember. i can't remember things anymore. i couldn't remember since i woke up. i'm not that way. i'm not a faggot, a dyke. why do i keep worrying, then? who are you
"Look at me."
voice is heartbroken? no, not heartbroken. no, not yet
She clutched her head, things were spinning around. Why had she come here again? Because she had been convinced to. That was right. Remember, above all things, don't forget again. It's not bad when you forget but you feel bad because you don't remember. Things happen all around you and you won't know why. Remember things. Remember that there is a government that supports the idea of a welfare state. Remember that the sign of the antilog is represented by a ten-x, remember those things. Remember you have a test next week about Freud. The lights were confusing, they kept moving. Stop, stop, make them stop.
They didn't. The world didn't wait for her.
"Anthy?" She found herself saying under her breath. "Anthy?"
"It's the first time somebody's escaped." The dark-skinned girl beside her murmured. "All the other times, Akio was the Victor. And he never wanted to escape. But it's different this time. You won. This is your revolution."
"This is my revolution?" She laughed, giddily. "Excuse me?"
"You remember, though, don't you?" Those eyes were cast down. "You opened the Rose Gate. You made your wish. And then you escaped."
"You're crazy." Utena found herself saying, standing up. "I don't understand a fucking word you're saying. I don't even know you."
She saw the eyes blink, uncomprehending, for a moment. Then they looked up at her, widening, unbelieving, yet accepting some sort of grim truth, at the same time. "Oh." She said, voice bleak. "Oh."
"Don't sit there and feel sorry for yourself." She snapped, laughing at the same time. How could such different emotions run through her at the same time? She didn't understand it. There was nothing to understand. This girl in front of her was pathetic. Who did she think she was, running up to her like this, as if there was some big secret she needed to know, needed to find out?
What purpose?
"Shut up." She said, and everything blackened out except for the two of them. "Shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear it." And without knowing what she was doing, she leaned in, angrily, and caught that upturned face, turning the face to the left and then to the right, admiring the high cheekbones, the full lips, the eyes. Something strange about her. Weird. Mystery.
You'll tell me if anything's wrong. I'll always be here, you know.
She didn't remember.
And she realized she was kissing her, without knowing why, fingers running through her hair, thick, over her shoulders, like water, ripples, tasting the dust on her lips, the faint smell of lingering roses, clean, pure, and yet tainted, in some way, and it was familiar, and not, and it was strange, strange, to be kissing somebody she didn't know, said she didn't know, but how could it be familiar, so many different things, conflicting things, the feelings, the tastes, the emotions, the smells, the look in her eyes, like a deer caught in headlights, like a rabbit ready to bolt--
Wait wait wait wait wait stop
She pulled back abruptly, and the world fell back into pieces around her, she was back where she was, the girl she let go, panting heavily, clutching at her mouth, hunched over, tears falling from her eyes.
"Cut it out." She breathed out herself, not wanting to know why she did that. She just did. And it wasn't because it felt right, it felt good, or anything like that. It hurt. And it was a good kind of hurt. "Stop your fucking crying and let's get out of here."
The dark-head lifted, stature broken, for some reason. Her hand slowly fell from her mouth, and her lips were bruised, swollen, and Utena felt a mark of satisfaction, that she had done that.
Such a pretty rose.
"You've been fucking living off the fucking streets, haven't you?" She didn't ask, she stated. Grabbing her hand, she reveled in the feeling of her stiff, cold, fingers, not wanting to clasp hers. That was fine. That was okay. "Fucking streets."
"The streets." The dark-skinned girl whispered, shaking her head. "I didn't know. Streets?"
"The streets." Utena gritted out, dragging her across the dance floor. "The road, the pavement, the black asphalt. Brick walls. Where did you sleep?"
She didn't answer.
"I don't know who you are, or what you're doing here." She felt like screaming, yelling to the world. "But you're coming with me."
"Yes, Utena." The soft voice said, submissive. "Whatever you say."
There's a good girl. She felt like saying, felt like whipping her, hitting her, over and over again. She didn't know why. There was no way to describe this, the frustration, the coldness, the anger.
The strange content.
There's something back again. She thought, as they reached the doors. I don't know what.
And then they were outside, and it was cold, the wind drifted, calmly, through the sky. The air wasn't choking them, the smells were clean, fresh. The moon was hidden behind a fog of clouds, the stars glittered, like they were laughing, all with them, along with them, at them. Shut up, she felt like screaming, hoarse. You don't understand.
No, YOU don't. They whispered back to her.
The dark-skinned girl who called herself 'Anthy' kept her head bowed down, and pretended she didn't hear, although the tears still ran down her face.