Interlude 2
Pierce the Mind
I still remember when I first met you. Oh how I hated you so. A creature of the light, hidden so deep behind layers of non-being that it hurt to think about. Maybe I was just angry at the time, seeing as I was so ignored by everyone around me no matter how polite or talkative I tried to be. Then you, he and his doppelgänger came along. All was well. Except you. I think differently now, of course, but there was a time where I was unsure if you were ever going to commit to dropping that act. I think I was too harsh, too judgemental. You were genuine with him, sometimes, and no matter what you always stood to make decisions that were your own – including roping me into the insanity of those three weeks, by everyone's sides. I think I should be thankful, but a part of me isn't. No, I feel… something else. And I'll you the truth – or, I suppose I'll tell it to you in my head. Do you remember at the end of the first week of that Game? When his doppelgänger abandoned us? I know I won't get an answer, but if I were to, it would be yes. When that happened my world went dark for a brief moment. Not the good dark, the darkness His Radiance emits, or the darkness those who we know dwell in from time to time, but the kind of darkness that threatens to drown you entirely, swallowing you whole and forcing the world around you to stop while you try desperately to swim to an ever-receding surface. It's awful – something I know you've felt because you've told me you felt it through tears. Last night you strangled me to death, in my dreams. I want you to know that. You won't ever know it, because all of this is in my head. But I wish you did. I want you to know you imparted on me that same darkness I felt all those weeks ago when you did that. But it wasn't you, was it? So why do I recoil at the sight of your hand being raised? Why do I feel a fray at the rope of our friendship whenever I muse on it for too long? When I once felt excitement for thoughts of our meetings, now I feel a bored sort of malaise. Sometimes fear. I have to swat away those thoughts quickly. Perhaps, if it only took a nightmare to ruin our friendship, it proves that light and dark are truly incompatible and our friendship was never meant to run deeper than mere shared interests. But when I think that way, I tear up, so I choose not to think that way. I can't not think that way. Why can't I stop thinking this way? Maybe it would be best if you disappeared from my life completely? I worry that I've fettered myself with all of what I've chosen to do with you. That's selfish thinking, though. No, it's more than selfish. I can't leave you. Not now. If I disappeared…
Disappearing. That day, when you, he and I first met, you fought a group of people enthusiastic about rivers, culverts, dams and streams. They are all gone now. No-one remembers their names. No-one remembers their faces. It's as if they never existed at all. When I was younger, I wanted to disappear like that. I remember spending hours as a child out in the sun, trying to stop my skin from being so pale – on one occasion I contracted heatstroke and was rushed to hospital. That first day in the emergency room was one of the worst of my life. I remember everything so acutely, even though I don't want to. I looked down through nauseous eyes and saw my skin was even paler than before. I asked the nurse if she could kill me. I didn't understand people then. I was so young. She looked at me like I was from another planet. Then I blacked out. Everything was so dark. When you're an adult, you're not supposed to say things like that. So I made sure I wouldn't. I strove to understand people, and suddenly it grew into a hobby. It brought my happiness to have pleasant, everyday interactions with everyone. It reminded me of the fact I could know both other people and myself. Maybe when I met you for the first time, you reminded me of that young, insecure self that didn't know what she even wanted except to not be perceived as some oddity who didn't even know her way around a conversation. You did though. No matter what, you were a natural conversationalist. Maybe it wasn't just anger that drew me to dislike you. Maybe it was jealously. Now I feel sick.
I remember what you called me before. It was nice. Surprising, but nice. It took me back to a time where anything new anyone called me would take me off guard. It's not a bad feeling, not in the slightest, but I wonder if friends should be making other friends feel it? That might just be tiredness telling me that. I feel a bit less sick now. Looking at you now, as the clock strikes six, all I can think of is how thankful I am you let me hate you. You could've chosen to grow distant from me, but it's always in your nature to not give up on others. Your genuine nature. I think I'll sleep just a bit longer. But… what I was saying earlier. About his doppelgänger. About how he disappeared. And about how attached I was. I hope I never reach that point of dependence on another again, because the only thing that pulled me from that pit I sank into that day was the necessity of fighting to survive. So, yes – I'm proud of you. But I'm also terrified of you. Terrified that nightmare means something more. Terrified that what happened with his doppelgänger may repeat itself with you. Because I know it's unhealthy. I know placing my worth in the hands of a single other is wrong, even if it has always been this way and may continue to be this way. I know it means I need to sever ties before things get worse.
I hate feeling this way. It's confusing. It shouldn't be happening. It makes me feel tired.
So tired.
Let this be a bad memory in the morning.
Don't leave, Tosai.