xi.
Eri woke that night with a scraping in her throat. A dull drumming of urgency she couldn't quite place.
Chaotic dreams – of spinning material and music carrying through her bones in ghostly echoes, of her ankles breaking beneath her in ribbons and splintering grace – had left her restless, unable to fall back asleep. For a long time, she watched the shape of Kai's chest beneath the sheets. Rising and falling next to her. Familiar, like a long-lived prison cell. Eri imagined herself being a bird trapped inside Kai's ribcage. She sighed at the absurdity of it.
Gently, hoping not to wake him, she sat and slid her legs off the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath her feet. The hairs on her neck prickled to attention at the sweep of air down her shirt. But before she could stand, his hand was at her wrist, not clutching but touching with softness enough to make Eri stiffen.
Of course he'd wake up. He never slept soundly.
"I'm just thirsty," Eri whispered, not mentioning the headache which quietly slinked itself between her temples. Not painful, not particularly uncomfortable. Just a fuzzy hand waving before her vision, the colour of white wine. "I want some water."
"Bring me some too."
Then he turned away, making a falling sound like a moan. And though Eri knew he wasn't asleep, he lay still and silent enough for her to pretend he was.
So off she tip-toed to the kitchen, through the curling passage and up the stairs, the dimness now like an old friend. Watching her. At it again, Eri? These walls can speak – Kai will know you've gone, gone, gone. But we won't tell, Eri – run, run, run. Run to Togata Mirio. Past Chrono's bedroom where no light shone. Up the stairs. Past the dining room. The kitchen window waited to be propped open. Oh, how easy it would have been. Everything somersaulted and swam at the thought. How long would it be before Kai came looking for her, if she went? A few minutes. Probably less.
A sound stopped Eri in her tracks, something low and deep. Something in the dark. She stood there, in the middle of the house with all its rooms and all its corners, her pulse in her mouth and her limbs tensing numbly. She knew that sound from somewhere, though she couldn't place it.
For some time, things were quiet again, and Eri stood frozen. Beginning to shiver without being entirely able to blame the cold. Maybe it was just the house wheezing, making noises which resounded more potently through Eri's tired sense of over-awareness.
But then there it was again. The sound. A breath. Louder now – a groan – followed by a 'ssh'.
Coming from the kitchen.
Eri knew she should've turned back, that she should've left whatever nighttime crawlers breathed heavily and secretly to the shadows while she herself hurried back to Kai. But her body didn't listen. Her heart tugged her closer, a frightened and morbid curiosity drawing her toward the lightless arch which lead to the kitchen. The closer she got, the more she pressed herself to the wall. And pressed tightly enough that she was almost part of the brick and paint, Eri poked her head around the corner.
It couldn't have been real, what she found. She could almost have convinced herself it wasn't, were it not for the unwavering solidity of the movements; the harsh, tangible moans and the way light lined itself against two bodies rather than simply shining through them.
Before anything, Eri saw skin. Just skin on skin on skin on the kitchen counter. A muscled waist in between a tangle of legs. A bum, a breast through a hand.
Then Eri saw Anya's face – perhaps a dream; why would Anya be in their kitchen at this hour? Her neck looked weak on her shoulders and her features were twisted in something that looked like pain. But not pain. A lot more beautiful than that, and quiet too as Chrono – Eri saw him too even though his back was towards her, even though she told herself that it couldn't possibly have been him – rocked his hips fast in the circumference of Anya's legs. Her hands clawed at his back. She looked like she was gasping even though no sound came out while Chrono's face was in her cheek. The shadows were too dark for Eri to see whether he kissed her or bit her or simply held her there. His mouth on her skin. His skin on her skin.
Wrong. It was all wrong.
But Eri heard the sounds, suddenly shrill and nauseating and strange, but undeniable. Sounds she somehow hadn't thought Chrono was capable of making.
Soft moans. Muttered somethings. He said Anya's name a lot, and sometimes she would say his name back – Hari, Hari, Hari. Other times she would moan too, or giggle quietly. And by the bubbling, shattering loveliness of Anya's hushed laughter, Eri felt betrayed. Why would she giggle? Why was this happening? Eri didn't understand.
Why was this happening?
"You feel so good," Chrono whispered in Russian (his Russian had always been the best; then Eri's; then Kai's) just loud enough for the words to reach Eri as she watched horrified and fascinated. "Ah, fuck, Anya, yes! Yes–"
"Ssh," Anya whispered back, breathy. "Someone's going to hear us." Tender. The same way she used to whisper stories and comforts to Eri. But different. So, so different.
Eri heard. And Eri saw. And Eri tried to look away but couldn't, hoping one of them would spot her and grant her body the shock of strength to move. But she couldn't – and when Chrono gasped awfully and ecstatically, his back going stiff and straight while his neck fell backwards on his shoulders (rasping Anya's name like she was the sweetest taste on his tongue), Eri wanted to cry. Eri wanted to sob even though Anya threw her arms around Chrono's shoulder and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him. Lips to his cheeks, lips to his neck, lips to his lips.
They held each other like lovers held each other in books, naked and shrouded in the kitchen's darkness.
If Kai knew Anya was sitting – naked! – on the kitchen counter, he'd lose his mind.
If Kai knew Chrono was doing to Anya what he himself did to Eri, he would – what would he do? Would he be angry if he knew that she knew? Why did she feel so sick and dirty?
Eri threw her hand to her mouth, as though she might vomit or scream. And finally, when Chrono bent down and put his head in between Anya's legs (her fingers combing through his hair and his name falling from her mouth like molten sugar), Eri mustered the will to run. Run with the greatest silence she had ever managed before.
Everything was wrong.
Eri couldn't figure out why.
Why the very idea of Chrono's flesh was wrong, and why Anya's expression when Chrono had pressed his mouth to the place where mouths shouldn't have gone was wrong.
Why there was a muted throbbing in between Eri's own legs that felt not-so-wrong and in its not-so-wrongness was the worst kind of wrong there was.
And desperately afraid of how things slipped from her grasp without her being able to explain what those things were or why her entire world suddenly seemed so shaken by something as simple as… all this… Eri flung herself towards the only solid thing she could think of. Back down the stairs. Back through the curling passage. Into the bedroom that smelled like a hospital-cocktail of her and chemicals and Kai. Kai. Kai-Kai-Kai! She didn't cry, but was on the verge of tears as she buried herself back into the sheets.
Against him, curling herself small and hopelessly confused. Into him, sniffing deeply at the smell of his clothes and hating herself for the treacherous comfort that was to be had in the familiarity of his arms closing around her. He asked if she'd forgotten to bring him water, and Eri trembled. The sound of his voice suffocated everything, including the lingering echoes of Chrono and Anya's moans, as well as the aching in Eri's own stomach and legs.
His fingers touched her back. He sighed, breath falling atop her head. Eri nailed herself against him and drew every comfort from the fact that Kai was the same. Being close to him made her feel as disgusting as always. Being so feeble in his hold made her feel pathetic and worthless.
But at least it was the same. It didn't feel, at a surface level, like it was wrong.
The next morning, Anya threw her hands over Eri's eyes. "Guess who!"
Such beautiful hands.
Such foiled delights as Eri considered that Anya's visit to the house was supposed to be a surprise. For her. Not for her.
Eri was sure she could smell Chrono on Anya's fingers, and she couldn't bring herself to say a word. She couldn't so much as pretend to guess, or be surprised, or even look at Anya. She was ashamed, and mortified by the sickness which overcame her. She could only stare at Kai vaguely when he asked, in Japanese, why she was acting so strangely – not eating her breakfast, not paying attention to Anya across the table. Eri excused herself. She wandered to her bathroom, dizzy on sleeplessness, and gagged into the toilet bowl though nothing came up.
Still in her pajamas, her feet were cold on the tile. Head leaned onto the seat, knowing how unhygienic it was but not caring, Eri didn't move, didn't cry. She only stewed and replayed last night's montage. It was only… sex… It was only sex… She'd read about it and she knew what it was and she knew that, if the books were right, it wasn't supposed to be such a big deal.
Or it was, but not in the way Eri was making it a big deal.
Maybe she felt so revolted because she was disappointed. Or angry – with herself. Maybe books couldn't teach her what she needed to know because she wasn't like any of the characters – or like Anya – who actually wanted to be fondled and kissed and… what word did they sometimes use? Fucked.
Eri's body wasn't like theirs. Hers wasn't a woman's body. Hers was cursed. A weapon. Her body: the thing to be drained and destroyed and used, used, used as a tool rather than an essence of flesh and blood.
Maybe that's why it hurt somewhere deep whenever Kai climbed himself into her. She didn't deserve to like sex.
And indeed, she didn't like sex.
But Eri knew she shouldn't have been angry with Anya and Chrono if they liked it. If they liked each other. But Anya was married; married women couldn't like other men like that, could they?
Then again, Eri was also married (right?) and she snuck out every week to visit Mirio. But it wasn't the same thing (was it?). She liked him, a lot. Maybe, definitely, a lot more than she should have, but not in the way that she wanted… him… like that.
Or did she?
A knock at the bathroom door made Eri jump and gasp. She spun her head on her shoulders, staring wide and caught-red-handed at Chrono. Standing in the doorway, he watched her with concern. His hand on the frame. His mouth, which always gave away his feelings, obscured by the face mask.
"Are you okay?" he asked, meaning it. "You didn't look well just now."
Eri nodded, not knowing what she was nodding at.
"Did seeing Anya take you rather too much by surprise?"
"Yes. No." Eri frowned. "I'm sorry."
Chrono cocked his head to the side, and in his voice there was a tease, a smile, "Maybe you're just hungover from your glass of wine last night."
"What's hungover?"
"Nevermind. I was only joking." He came towards her, removing a glove. He bent into a crouch, touching his hand to Eri's forehead. It couldn't have been her imagination that he too, smelled of Anya. "You don't have a fever. Did last night's food not agree with you?" That wasn't it. "Some air will help." No, it wouldn't. "Why don't you and Anya go relax in the garden for a little while? I'll be taking her back to Fukuoka this afternoon before her next performance, but there's still plenty of time for you two to catch up."
Eri wanted to say something. Something rude, though she didn't know what. But taking Chrono's arm, she only stood wordlessly and followed him out the bathroom, unable to look Chrono in the face because all she could picture was his bare butt and the way he'd said Anya's name.
There was nothing special about the garden. Just grass and a wall and a single bench beneath a tree – but at least the tree was blooming with magnolias. Now that the remnants of late spring were giving way to early summer, tight shades of pink and white weighed down the branches like lanterns. Eri stared up into these marshmallow-soft glows, a mug of green tea in her lap and Anya alongside her on the bench.
Neither of them spoke. Eri could feel Anya's eyes on her profile, those bruise-coloured irises on her white, hot cheeks. With the way such a gaze burned intense and worldly, it didn't seem entirely silly to think that Anya could read Eri's mind. She could probably hear all the questions Eri couldn't find words to ask. She could probably see through Eri's chest to how her heart stopped-and-started, stopped-and-started. What would she say? What would she do if Eri posed the questions and told her the secrets?
"You're unhappy," Anya murmured, jolting Eri from her brooding. "Has something happened, Apple?" she questioned quietly. "I thought you would be more excited…"
"I'm happy." Eri scrunched her hands into the skirt she wore. "I'm fine."
The space closed between them. "Then why so quiet? Why won't you look at me?"
"I saw you."
It just came out. Eri hadn't even realised it had been on her tongue. Her face blazed itself into high colour as she turned in alarm to Anya, who suddenly went stiff. Suddenly deadpan and hard in her thin, sharp expression. They both blinked at each other like two frogs on the wrong lily pad.
Anya had never been subtle. Anya understood things the moment they happened. So it surprised Eri when she pursed her lips – painted purple with lipstick – and shook her head. "What are you talking about?"
No going back now. Eri looked at her hands again in humiliation. "L-last night. I saw – I saw you and Kurono. In the kitchen. Last night." That teary tightness made its way up Eri's spine. The language suddenly felt too foreign and broken. "But it was an accident… An accident. I promise! I just wanted some water and– I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Anya."
"Eri! My lovely." The hand that still smelled like Chrono touched itself to Eri's cheek. "You weren't supposed to find out."
"I'm sorry."
"Did you tell Overhaul?"
"No." Eri thought about sipping her tea. "Does he not know?"
Anya rolled her eyes, as though the question were ridiculous. "He knows. Hari would never be able to keep a secret from him." Both Anya and Eri, in quiet knowing, considered this statement seriously, though each of them for very different reasons. "I didn't want you to discover us like this. Hari would be horrified, I know. Are you disappointed in us, Eri? My love?"
Confronted with the opportunity to say it, Eri didn't know what she felt. "It's… unexpected," Eri said. She wasn't disappointed. Confused. Shocked. Maybe a little angry, but maybe not with them, and also a little curious. "Was that – last night – the first time?"
Like a crinkling flower, Anya pulled a face. "Eri–"
"The second time, then? Or the third?"
No response.
"You and Chrono have been together three times?" Eri gasped, almost thrilled and desperately reeling against the feeling of being a little girl discovering something most scandalous and awful.
"Now, surely this does not matter so much." Anya tapped a finger to Eri's nose. "Don't think about–"
"Anya! Please!"
The chokedness that followed was shattering. A magnolia dropped from it branch and fell, hitting the grass hard and abandoned. Anya smiled – one of those false ones that looked too sad to be comforting – and she sighed profoundly so that Eri could smell that mysterious, sour stench of cigarette smoke on her breath. She swiveled herself to a stooped position at Eri's feet, and took the green tea to set it aside underneath the bench.
Her hands cocooned Eri's. "We've lost count of how many times it's been," she whispered, seeming to know that the walls could talk. That the walls would tell Kai and he would be angry. "A thousand times. Maybe two thousand. How many days are there in eight years, Eri?"
The heat drained itself from Eri's face until she went utterly cold. "Eight years."
"Eight years," Anya repeated.
"But you're–"
"Married?"
Eri nodded, her tongue too heavy in her mouth.
"Oh, Eri," Anya cooed. "Women like us don't get to choose who we belong to. But even so, we can't help what we feel. Besides," she waved away an imaginary pest, "Dmitry is too stupid to ever find out."
"But what if he does?"
"He won't."
Eri almost screamed. Eri almost cried. She replayed in her mind the way Anya and Chrono had held each other, and all the little things they'd whispered into darkness and skin. "But what if he does, Anya? What if he finds out and hurts Kurono? What if you can never see him again?"
Butterfly kisses traced their way over Eri's knuckles, and when Anya looked back up at her, there was the faintest silver line along her lids. Reading Eri's mind again. Perfectly plucked eyebrows rising and falling in an unspoken question mark. Anya's lips coiled like dark-scaled snakes, and then dropped into a frown. "Is this about Kurono? Or is there something else?" She stood, and rounded the bench to stand behind Eri. Those fingers, long and graceful, spread into Eri's hair and began combing. "You know Dmitry can't hurt Hari, my apple. Not really. So what are you worrying for?"
She knew. Anya saw right through Eri. She'd always seen right through – but still, Eri tried to salvage what little secrecy she had left. "Then he'll hurt you."
"It won't be anything new. Men like them hurt. It's all they know how to do." The tip of her thumb ran itself down Eri's nape. "But that's still not it, is it?"
Eri's resolve crashed dismally. She shook her head. "No."
"And you want to tell me what this is really about, don't you?"
Eri nodded. "Yes."
And leaning into Anya's touch, her delicate fingers running valleys through the thick length of her hair, the words swelled themselves at the very edge of her throat. Waiting. Waiting not to be secrets anymore.