I haven't been able to think since the teacher dismissed us for the day. I've been imagining this for days; just what I'll say ('I love You'), just what You'll say back ('That makes me so happy'), and just the way You'll smile at me and the world will be Right again.
I'm outside Your door.
Has it always been so solid? Wasn't it supposed to get smaller as I grew up? What if I'm too weak to even slide it open, will You simply laugh and laugh on the other side?
I pull on the edge. It slides easily. There You are, on the cushions against the wall, draped in your deep purple yukata like a beautiful tapestry.
"I-I would like to request an audience," I stammer, trying to tear my eyes away from Your slender ankles, crossed over each other. They're very pale.
Your face comes up from being laid on Your arms, and You lift Yourself easily to Your feet, like a leaf. The series of near-poses You strike are fluid, and I'm staring again as You speak unto me: "Very well."
I open my mouth, and suddenly can't remember my own name. Where is the inner dialogue from so many rehearsals? What am I supposed to say next?
You slither closer, the silk on the floor reminding me of sand. "What is it? Do you have a problem?"
I lower my head, because it seems appropriate. "I w-wanted to tell You…"
You are inches away. "Yes?" I shiver.
"I love You." I flinch at my own words, and again at the silence. Feeling as though I hadn't explained properly, I add, "Um, romantically."
I flinch again when your slim, cold hand is pressed against my cheek, and look up. You are smiling, and the world is Right, and You say, "That makes me so happy."
I feel tears pricking at my eyes, and press closer to Your touch. It's all so perfect. Next is…
Oh. Next is the kissing part. My face burns.
"It's all right," You breathe, leaning down. I'm very aware of how far it is to Your face. My forehead prickles at the memory of my best friend, and I wonder if You are waiting for me to do something, or if You're going to kiss me Yourself.
Your hand moves to my chin, and I look at You again. Moments pass. Maybe I haven't made myself clear? "I mean that I want to be Your special someone…"
"I understand the way you feel," You assure me, Your cool hand sliding almost drunkenly along my jaw, toward my neck. "I love you, too. Such a pretty girl."
My head feels light, like when I used to faint all the time. "Then, You're not angry with me? You'll be my special someone, too?"
Your fingers tangle in my hair, and it feels wonderful, and You are only an inch away, half, a quarter…
"I never said that."
Your fingers tighten, and my head is snapped back. You are above me, smile gone, and the world is dark again. "Why?" You hiss, face warped with rage. "Why do you want to be my special person?"
I struggle, and my scalp is throbbing, and I gasp, "I-don't-want-You-to-be-lonely-"
You push with Your hand, and I am thrown to the side, landing on my hip. That doesn't hurt as bad as my heart, though. It's odd; I thought that I couldn't hold onto any emotion for very long, but this pain is overflowing and spreading around me in a dark pool…
Wait, no. That's just the edge of the step cutting into my side enough for me to bleed. Silly me.
Your hand wraps around my arm, and a bruise twinges but I ignore it. I'm not connecting very well, so I allow You to pull me up like a limp puppet. Exactly like a puppet.
That's all I ever was to You, anyway.
It hurts! I'm crying, staring straight ahead, because I've been here before and I'm scrambling to get away in time. My feet leave the ground and I'm rushing through empty space and, suddenly, the empty space is filled with wall. My head bounces back with a hollow ring.
I slip down a few inches as Your hands shift to come around my neck, and I'm not breathing again. "I don't need your pity!" You snarl, squeezing tighter. Are you going to snap my neck, this time?
"I…don't…" I force out, straining my neck against Your strength and increasing the pain as you press harder.
Your eyes are like black holes, waiting to swallow me up and take away the sun.
No. I never had the sun to begin with. What I felt has never been real happiness. It has always been a paltry imitation, a gag. The closest I've come is at school, with my best friend, when he tried to get me to fit in with the others, and I had tried to live.
They were right, all along. I've never felt true love for You. But it was very, very, heartbreakingly close.
The darkness is getting closer, spreading from your eyes to the edges of the world. I'm going to go away now. But remember something for me…
I am Kisa.
Look at what I've become, for You to like me.
I never expected this to fit so well with the title. Odd, right? These things have a way of righting themselves.
