Chapter Six: Stomach Pains
Fists collided, the resounding thuds evidence of a tough battle waged between the two spirits. Although the room was quite serene save for the sound of the blows, a conversation between fists existed beneath the surface, hidden from the naked eye. The duo fought in an external silence, but internally, their words could not manage to be any louder.
Left hook. Look out, old man.
Side step followed by a leg sweep. They call me hero for a reason brat.
Spin away and high kick. Soon you'll be needing a hip replacement you over celebrated loser.
Duck and chokehold. Better watch your step.
Shove and backflip. I always do...but do you?
Rush forward finished with a choke slam. Of course, I practically invented this game.
The conversation through contact abruptly ended when Ayumi's throat was forced to the floor by Aizawa's trained hand, the girl's wind knocked out of her stomach and pipe. His rough handling left her with an itch in her throat and an even larger itch at the pit of her stomach, pins and needles where her back had made impact with the floor. The brunette sputtered helplessly on the ground, the urge to cough up her breakfast grossly irresistible. Unknown to to the man in black, however, Ayumi had taken pain killers in anticipation of her loss, the girl almost smiling at her clever deception. She moved her hand under her thin training shirt, placing her fingers lightly onto her stomach while concentrating on her blood stream's contents. While locating the pain killers, the man standing over Ayumi had other ideas, a cloth rapping around the hidden arm and stealing the girl's control over it. With a gasp, Ayumi struggled against the binding material desperately, unwilling to accept a loss she knew she could correct. Before she could retaliate with words, though, the wide eyed girl's eyes widened even more as she flung herself onto her side, emptying her stomach's undigested bread and sugar mixture from the morning. Ayumi panted heavily, livid at the physical pain's foreign nature; ironically she was unequipped to deal with the very thing her quirk was equipped for.
"So you thought you'd get off easy, huh," Aizawa drawled, circling the incapacitated girl slowly. If one were to stumble upon the scene, Aizawa would easily be mistaken for a malicious villain, his blunt black toned theme portraying him as such on the surface level. "Pain and power are a package deal, so get used to learning to deal with both."
"Was it necessary to let me puke all over the floor?!" Whether her voice was laced with venom or vomit was indiscernible, the exhausted girl heaving herself up into a sitting position. Her pained expression was replaced by an annoyed one as she whined, "Dang it! We both know who has to clean this place after, and I don't remember seeing you scrubbing the floors after hours!"
Smirking, Aizawa walked off into a corner of the room, only to walk back with a mop and bucket. The man with the black hair threw the set on the floor next to the nearly debilitated girl, turning towards the exit while calling out, "Try coffee next time. Maybe you'll be able to land a hit next time."
"I'm more than capable without my quirk enhancing my movements, thank you very much!" Ayumi's stoic facade was cracking, blind rage oozing out through her scowl and clenched fists. She hated being underestimated and hated it even more when people underestimated her hatred of being underestimated. Living alone for sometime branded independence upon her clogged up heart; Ayumi had nothing else to cling to besides herself, her heart's purpose futile as she lacked anyone to love. A while back she learned to prefer her brain in the grand scheme of things.
"That's not what it seemed like when you went to numb your insides a second ago," Aizawa jeered blandly, yet Ayumi could tell the man was joking. The two had trained like this for the last week following her hospital release: going at it in hand to hand combat, endurance with running and weights, obstacle courses that fostered agility. Ayumi was perceptive, however, and clearly saw the lack of quirk training built into the regimen. She wouldn't admit it, but the wide eyed girl was hurt, the feeling of not being enough gnawing at her, starting at the heart. But once again, she reminded herself of the job's temporary nature, as getting attached to people was never clever in the long haul. Ayumi moved on, though, not wanting to exchange words that were meant for herself and her own incompetence only.
Picking up on Ayumi's distracted mood, Aizawa began to scrub the floor by himself. Throwing a nonchalant glance Ayumi's way, Aizawa questioned, "So...what do you think of my kids?" The man in black wasn't shocked to hear his student's grunt in response, another smile flickering like a candle over is lips - small, bright, then gone.
Ayumi was utterly unimpressed (to say the least) with Aizawa's misshapen Brady Bunch of a class that year. Although she had only viewed a few training sessions, Ayumi's idea of the class was concrete. From a candy cane looking guy who thought he was a gift to everybody in that class, to a kid who planned on making his living as a hero by sticking things to purple balls, that class was full of kids who were full of issues in one way or another. Ayumi wouldn't call herself pessimistic, but she could confidently say she had at least three justifiable problems with each of the wannabe heroes. That, coupled with the fact that she had to be at least a year older than the group, made her raw discontent with the group and her current world very hard to bottle up. But Ayumi did because she was a survivor and would rather have less enemies if she could.
"They're okay, Aizawa."
The man scoffed, replying, "Bubaigawara, you don't have to lie to me. I know the class is a bit rough around the edges - "
"Just a bit?"
"But," Aizawa continued, unappreciative of being interrupted by his unforgivingly critical student, "I see great things for them in the future. And, although you may feel alienated from the world, I see great things for you too." The hero turned teacher wasn't used to praising people, the fact that he averted his gaze from Ayumi while he spoke making his lack of experience evident. Noticing the brunette's searching eyes, Aizawa awkwardly cleared his throat, and began to speak again: "With that said, I do have an assignment for you that stays between us."
Ayumi's eyes lit up ever so slightly - you could see it in the way her celadon skin crinkled at the very edges of her eyes. In another life, Ayumi liked to think she could've been on an American dollar bill, the way she crinkled like the paper and was colored like a president. Green was the staple color of envy, after all, so it was no surprise the way Ayumi dreamed about what others had. Yet in this moment, her thoughts were clear of envy or greed; the girl had a piece of the world she was never a part of at her fingertips. This is a happy moment, Ayumi. You can smile.
The brunette didn't smile, though, instead opting to question, "And? Well, what is it?"
Aizawa's demeanor changed drastically in an instant, the once reverent and pensive thinker's smirk deepening into an evil one. He dropped the mop he was scrubbing the Ayumi's zombified breakfast with and cracked his knuckles ever so slowly, releasing his fingers' tension while building it up in the air around the pair. "I'm glad you asked."
—
"Well, brats, I've found another hiding place for you two."
The building was not an eye catcher; Ayumi knew her mother liked it better that way. The motel room couldn't have been big enough for two, two in cooperation with each other, two who could both sustain themselves on their own. The room seemed to be shrunken in, as if its potential to grow had been cut short at one family room and one bedroom with a half bath. The walls were a mustardy yellow with a few brown splotches decorating them here and there. A beaten wooden strip at the bottom of the walls joined them and the off-setting plum colored rug. One couch complete with lumps and a layer of dust settled over it was placed awkwardly in the very center of the room, along with a small coffee table directly in front. In another life, both pieces could've been loved and cherished as a family staple, but all they got was a negligent mother and her two fading kids - not like they hadn't seen that before. The kitchenette on the left side of the room could be considered a kitchen nightmare - rust on the metallic appliances, mold growing in the joins between uneven tiles, cobwebs strung like streamers celebrating the degradation of the subpar motel room. The right side of the room had the bedroom, complete with cream colored sheets and one brown blanket. The bathroom was a toilet and that was all.
The room carried an odd sadness about it, the type that would trap you first then scream about its sorrows while you couldn't leave. There wasn't really anything to love about the shady room, Ayumi's only form of comfort stemming from the water-stained window to the immediate right of the front door.
The two brunet kids turned to their mother as she leaned in to whisper. She hissed, "You two are not to make a sound. A SOUND. As far as the world knows, you two don't exist, so keep it that way." Their mother, cigarette and everything, shoved Jin and Ayumi through the door, slamming it curtly behind them. Ayumi moved to the window, taking a seat by it hazily. She could see rainbows and swirls outside the window, the wide eyed girl reaching for her mind's creations. Before she could feel the glass, however, Ayumi felt arms around her stomach, Jin carrying her over to the couch.
He smiled sadly for her, reassuring, "It's okay, Mimi. She'll be back soon."
The pair snuggled up on the couch, their only source of warmth coming from their own rushing blood. The view of the outside hallway reminded young Ayumi that the world wouldn't disappear if she did.
"She never is."
—
It was late afternoon when Ayumi approached the door to her new room. Irritation afflicted her mind, the brunette unable to cool off after another unsuccessful tutoring. Ayumi shoved the key into the lock, aggressively fiddling with it, then whipping the cream colored door open. She had been living in the security wing of UA for a couple of weeks now, as those who took the red eye shift watching the gates needed to stay overnight frequently. Her new room was roughly the size of the motel she squatted in once, but had a completely different feel to it. Ayumi felt welcomed by the baby blue walls and television set above her new bed. Her new bed. Ayumi couldn't remember the last time she had slept in a bed (her own bed much less), bringing another layer of frown upon her face.
Perks of being a nobody.
Ayumi threw her keys onto her table; she threw herself onto her bed. Hero society had never been reachable in her mind before, so education hadn't either. The brunette knew that those in the shadows stayed shadowed. You had to be on the good guys' side to become a good guy, or just a rounded person in general. Heroes watched over their people, while villains used the "everyone for themselves" philosophy, hence Ayumi never receiving a decent education. Now it showed, the girl unfit to even enter a third grade class. And so, Ayumi was irritated as she laid in her bed.
What was even worse - the brunette had to find a training partner in a class full of kids she found problematic. Anger bubbled over the cracks in her facade, but this time Ayumi let it seep out. That night, the girl privately rampaged, her bubble of independence and self sufficiency bursting. It was hard to bottle things up for so long, but Ayumi had been since age twelve, no stranger to the taxing effects of the endurance battle.
She destroyed about twelve plates in the span of fifteen seconds. Emotions satiated, Ayumi bottled things back up, sealing the bottle of emotions away for a while.
In that moment, Ayumi wished she could send that bottle out to sea, seeing it never again.
A knock at the door interrupted the rampage's aftermath, Ayumi forcing any remnants of her earlier irritation back down her esophagus. She didn't need a second vomit fest in one day. The brunette moved smoothly - surprising even herself - to the door separating her emotions from someone who no doubt was about to pry into them. Ayumi inhaled melancholia and exhaled frenzy, pulling the door open.
"What?"
The boy across from her remained silent, instead conversing with his eyes. Heard a ruckus and now I'm here.
"Go." Ayumi moved to close the door, but the pale boy managed to hold it open. His unruly indigo hair baffled her, as it resembled her teacher's with his quirk activated, yet it seemed natural. It was just as on edge as the boy seemed, his eyes scanning the area at one hundred miles a minute. Then, out of the blue, he made eye contact with her, startling Ayumi to the point of a falter in her expression.
The boy said, "Y'know, I've seen you lurking around 1-A's training sessions with Aizawa."
"Yeah, and?"
"What I'm trying to say is..."
"Spit it out or I'm closing the door."
"Do you wanna play cards?"
"...no."
"Look. You're angry. I'm angry. Cards are competitive and can help you get some of that out more healthily than - " the boy's eyes scanned her kitchen (which was right passed her), " - breaking a full dinner set of plates."
Ayumi struggled to understand why, why someone would persist with her just to play cards, why someone would reach out, why they wouldn't pry into her hurricane of emotions if they knew of it. But, she wasn't the most intelligent, her tutoring sessions making that clear, so maybe the answer was just something she hadn't learned yet. Ayumi rolled her eyes, demanding, "No personal questions. If you don't ask anything, I won't ask anything."
"Sounds fine by me."
"Then why haven't you come in yet?"
Ayumi and the boy with hair and eyes the color of a post-sunset sky entered her room together, both making their way over to her table. Strange thing was, Ayumi couldn't find one issue with him the entire time they played.
