It was so cold.
But that's alright. It was how she usually did this. She rarely ever used warm water while showering. After all, why would she waste the energy needed to produce warm water when cold water would accomplish the same goal? It's not like someone like her deserved such luxury anyway.
She closed her eyes and massaged a handful of shampoo into her scalp. Her hair felt thin and wiry - It was like running her hand through a pile of hay. It reminded her of the wigs that Junko used to make with her cut hair. They always looked beautiful, but felt extremely uncomfortable to wear. Just thinking about them made her hands and scalp start to prickle.
After rinsing, she opened her eyes and looked down. There were numerous strands of hair at her feet. Just looking at them made her feel disgusted at herself. It was like she couldn't even take care of herself properly without Junko around. Why had she acted like a pouting child for so long? Refusing to eat or practice basic hygiene… It was pathetic.
'Damn it. Why am I so helpless?'
Her movements stilled. Her arms fell to her sides.
The thought ran through her mind like a derailing train, crashing into any other clouds of thoughts that might have been around.
'Helpless.'
That's right. If it weren't for Makoto and her other classmates, she would be dead right now, wouldn't she? Bubbles of laughter briefly began to surface in her throat before she slammed a closed fist into the back of her neck, quelling them. She was a soldier, and yet not only did she fail to protect Junko, but she couldn't even stop herself from nearly meeting death. Now that she thought about it, what was the point of being a soldier if she had nothing to fight for?
She was useless, not needed.
'This is so familiar. So familiar. Why is this happening again? Can't I stop myself?'
She kneeled down in the shower and put the plug in the drain. As water began to slowly but fill the bathtub, she laid down so that she was looking up at the shower head. Why was it so cold? It was freezing now. This wasn't water. It was snow. She was being buried in snow. It wasn't supposed to be like this, like ice. Why is it freezing?
' .'
She couldn't do this. Not again. Not so soon. Every fiber of her being was screaming at her to get up. To stop being so selfish. But she couldn't. All she could think about was how useless she was, now that Junko was dead. She had no reason to exist.
'END IT'
She was crying. She loved Junko so much. She was dead. Her everything.
The water was already up to her chin. It wouldn't take long for her nose and mouth to be submerged as well. She closed her eyes. The water wasn't just cold. It was freezing. It felt like sharp daggers were tearing into her skin. It hurt. It hurt so much. She couldn't feel her toes or fingers. They were gone. Cut off. Nothing remained. It was so cold.
And then she couldn't breathe. It was so cold.
'It's all going to be okay.' Junko said, smiling gently. Mukuro didn't believe her. She was lying. It was so cold.
But that couldn't be right, could it? When was the last time Junko said something like that to her? And so softly, at that. She sounded so caring, like a mother. This wasn't real. Not real, not real, not real. Not real. She would have been angry, but everything just felt numb now. It was so cold.
It was so cold.
She couldn't feel anything except for the tightening knot in her chest. At any moment now, her lungs would run out of oxygen and force her mouth to inhale. All she would get is water. Frozen, sharp water. They would fill her lungs, and she would drown. Rightfully so. A stray, long-forgotten memory crashed into her mind. She was waterboarding someone. An interrogation session, one of the few that she had participated in. It happened so long ago. Was this how it felt? Did she deserve this?
'Why is this so familiar? Why is this happening again? I'm doing this to myself.'
Whatever. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Everything would be okay, even if Junko was lying about that. She knew it. She remembered that she locked the door anyway, so she would be okay. Even if he followed her again, saw her car, drove after her, was worried, told his friends…
'Huh?'
Didn't he… He said. Makoto said "I don't want you to try and hurt yourself again."
She sat up, eyes flying open. She inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled…
…
She looked down at her hands. They were trembling so badly that for a second, she thought that she was seeing double. She opened and closed them, but couldn't feel a thing. Somehow, she managed to pull the plug on the drain and turn the water off. For the next minute, she just sat there, staring down as the water slowly drained from the tub. Her brain could barely process what had just happened.
By the time it was empty, she could feel her limbs again.
She looked at herself in the mirror and was struck by how normal she looked.
While she was showering, Makoto had gone to his sister's - Komaru's - house and borrowed some clothes from her. That is, being a soft pair of plaid pants and a blank white T-shirt.
'Was this a good idea?'
If she had just gone home, then she could have saved Makoto quite a bit of trouble. Not only did he have to care for her before she woke up, but he even cleaned up her mess, even though she said that she would take care of it. It didn't make sense. And now, this? Even though they hadn't seen each other in so long, he was still very much the same kind, caring person she had known him to be.
She sighed and dumped her used towel into a nearby laundry basket. She was in the guest room again, though she wasn't too happy about it. It felt wrong to be here, staying at his house. She didn't deserve to be treated like this.
With a growing pit in her stomach, she opened the door and headed downstairs, where Makoto was lounging. He was living in a fairly large home, which was somewhat surprising to her. She wouldn't have expected him to even be able to afford a place like this.
'Maybe he won a lottery? He IS supposed to be lucky…'
That still didn't explain how he was even able to own a home in the first place. She doubted that he was old enough for it to be legal, and…
She shook her head. 'Mind your own business.'
"Mukuro? Is that you?"
She rushed down the remaining steps and there, sitting on a three-seater couch, was Makoto Naegi. He had a bowl on a low table in front of him with food and a white plastic spoon, though it looked untouched. Both of his hands were clenched tightly around a cellphone.
"Hi." She said simply. After some hesitation, she made her way over to the couch and sat next to him. For some reason, her insides twisted and turned from being so close to him. If she had to guess, it might be remnants of her crush on him from back when they attended Hope's Peak together. Though there was no way she could still harbor those feelings, when so much time had passed.
"I called Miaya. She said that she would be happy to help you." Makoto said. "But right now, she has a long list of patients, so she's pretty busy. It might be a while until she finds some time."
"Well, that's ok." Mukuro said. "I feel alright. Good, even. I don't think therapy is necessary."
"Mukuro-"
"Honest." She interrupted. It was the truth - At least, partially. She did feel perfectly fine. Of course, less than fifteen minutes ago, she had nearly drowned herself. But she stopped herself, so that had to count for something, right? She was probably just feeling stressed from Junko's death. She would get over it soon, she was sure of it. "I can take care of myself. Just let me go back home."
He gave her a tight-lipped stare. It was fairly obvious that he wasn't completely convinced. "How can I be sure that nothing will happen? I hope that you understand, but… I'm just really reluctant to leave you by yourself right now. You seem better now, but back at the funeral, you really weren't yourself. I don't want something like that to happen again."
"I was just tired." She countered weakly. "And besides, it's not like I'll accomplish anything by staying here, except continuing to be a bother. You don't have to waste time babysitting me."
"Mukuro. This is serious. I care about you." He said. "You don't have to go through Junko's death alone. Trust me when I say that you're not bothering anyone, least of all me."
"You… care about me?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
'Because I'm not worth it. Because you have better things to do.'
She wanted to scream these things at him. Make him understand. But she couldn't. She just couldn't.
"... Okay. Okay, whatever." She was confused. It wasn't as if they were very close. Even when they attended school together, they rarely ever interacted, though mostly to her own fault. She was surprised that they could have even been considered friends. It made no sense to her that he would be this nice to her, even if he was a generally kind person.
He exhaled in relief and gave her a smile. One of the first she's seen in a long while. She suddenly found it hard to concentrate as he began speaking. What was he saying? It just sounded like vague muttering. All she could think about was the sudden warmth in her chest. Was she drugged? Probably not, but it definitely felt like she was.
" - sure to do that. Oh, and if you're hungry, I made some food for you." He said, gesturing to the bowl at the table. It was a small bowl of what looked to be fried rice, complete with peas and small chunks of chicken. "Nothing special, but I did my best."
"Oh. Um, thanks." Mukuro said, snapping out of her daze. Now that he mentioned it, she was pretty hungry. For the past few weeks, she had only been eating just enough to not starve to death. She took the bowl from the table and began eating from it. Even though it tasted great, and her stomach screamed for more, she continued to eat at a painstakingly slow rate. It just felt so wrong to have someone be taking care of her like this. Especially since she wasn't injured or anything.
"I'll be in my room upstairs. Knock if you need anything, okay?" Makoto said. She nodded and he gave her another smile in return. As he got up from the couch and started towards the stairs, Mukuro could only stare at him while robotically spooning food into her mouth.
She didn't know what to say.
"Ah. That's not good." Junko said dumbly, looking down at her chest. There, the tip of a large machete was present, covered in her blood. More of the red stuff was slowly dripping down her cardigan, more than likely leaving irreparable stains. Who knew how long it would take to clean? She might even have to buy a new one. What a waste.
Mukuro stared at her. It happened out of nowhere, really. One second they were alone, walking down the sidewalk. The next, a gray figure appeared behind Junko and ran that blade through her. She could see their face, equipped with a sadistic grin and glinting eyes.
They withdrew the machete, letting Junko fall forwards onto the ground. Her eyes were already half-closed, and more blood spurted out of the now open wound. The gray figure didn't get the chance to move another inch before Mukuro planted a bullet within their eyes. They dropped dead.
Now, she was alone.
Everyone else was dead.
Their bodies turned to dust.
The sidewalk vanished. She was falling.
Now, she was really alone.
Her eyes shot open. They closed a second later.
'Focus. Breathe. Calm down.'
It didn't matter how many times she had these types of dreams. No matter what, she always woke up like this. Covered in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a headache. Junko always died. It was only this time that she died like that. Sometimes, she was shot. Sometimes, she would have a heart attack. Sometimes, she would kill herself. It was always changing, always shifting. It was always such a surprise.
But that remained consistent. Always, no matter what, Junko would die. And she would be too late to save her. A failure, caught in that terrible loop. She would always watch her die, over and over again, every night. If she was lucky, she would only dream once a night.
Mukuro shuddered and shifted around in her bed. It was too hot all of the sudden. But cold too. So cold. She wrapped her blanket around her body. Did it help? Not really. Sweat clung to her skin like sticky sap. She could feel goosebumps rising on her arms. She hated that feeling. The prickles and static, terrible things that didn't mesh well with drowsiness. Every night, every single fucking night.
'I hate it.'
Drugs for restful sleep never worked either. They just made it worse. She wouldn't wake up. She would just see her. Dead. Dying. Resurrected, in the void. Her body would tear itself apart and then repair itself, stuck in a loop until she woke up. It was like being set on fire. The burn, the flames, like seeing portals into hell where all of the souls were Junko, Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko Junko…
Why did she have to die so much? It never stopped. Will it ever?
It was like the universe itself hated Junko. It wanted to see her die in every single way imaginable. Fine. Whatever. Just leave her out of it. Why did she have to see every single death? Why did she have to be the sole audience member in her hellhole? She loved her. She wished that she would just vanish. Be erased from existence. She didn't have to have a sister anymore. She loved her so much.
'Calmcalmcalmcalmcalm calm down calm down go to sleep go to sleep'
It was impossible. How cold was it in here? It felt like she was stuck in a freezer.
Mukuro cursed silently and shook off her blanket. She got up from her bed, one hand against the wall to steady herself. Her entire body couldn't stop shaking. Each individual muscle kept tensing and untensing, sending shivers and shocks that made walking straight an almost impossible task. God, couldn't she just be normal? Why? At the very least, ACT NORMAL.
'Self pity gets you nowhere.'
It gets no one anywhere. And why was it so hot anyway?
She paused.
Just snap out of it already. This is stupid. No one cares if you're cold, or hot, or if you're in pain, or if you want someone to help. It would be better if you just acted normal, and stopped bothering everyone with this ridiculous depression act. You're just lazy. Get over yourself. Haven't you done all of this already? Get over it. Get over it. Get over it. Stop repeating yourself. You look like an idiot. No one cares.
'Self pity gets you nowhere.'
...
Eventually, she managed to get out of her room. Now, where should she go? She had no idea. Her mind couldn't focus on answering that question.
Finally, her body decided for her. Seemingly out of no will of her own, she started to walk downstairs, still shivering and trembling all the while. It was dark. She couldn't see anything. Black, dark, nothing, void, she kept walking down each stair… 'I hope I don't fall.'... The sounds of her footsteps, gunshots, so loud… She stopped. Her leg was jerking about like it was being electrocuted. God, it wouldn't stop. But this happened all the time, these days. These days, these sisterless, lonesome days...
Oh, there we go. She was on the couch. Well, a set of two. She was still shaking. She was even colder down here. Crouching, almost curled in a ball. Almost.
Wasn't there a lamp around here? Somewhere?
Fuck it was dark. So damn dark. It made sense though. Wasn't she supposed to be sleeping? Just do what you're supposed to. ' And stop shaking stop shaking for fucks sake STOP IT STOP SHAKING I CANT MOVE'
She couldn't stop. She was just a spectator, watching her own body flail about like a fish out of water. Like a fish that was drowning in air. Drowning. Drowning? No, she wasn't drowning. She wasn't supposed to be drowning. She stopped. She stopped herself. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. She was free. Get over yourself, hold yourself if you need to, will you?
So what if she died? She mourned her, there was a funeral, all is well and good. So just 'stop being such an idiot. You're better than this. You're a soldier. Trained. Get better so you' can leave and do something with her life.
Fuck, her chest was too tight, too tight, she just wanted to dig her nails in and tear her skin apart. Breathe. In, out, in, out, in, out. She couldn't see anything. So dark. So dark. She stood up from the couch, a hand grasping her chest. Her heartbeat sounded like someone was punching a drum. She was going to die. She was going to explode. Her face was burning and itchy. On fire.
'I can't I can't I CAN'T.'
Was that her heartbeat or gunshots?
She dropped to her knees and started crawling. She couldn't feel her legs. She couldn't feel her LEGS. But she knew they were there. Jerking and spazzing, useless twigs.
She blinked. Ah, light? A small strip of pure, white light was there on the floor.
Her eyes wandered until they found a window. The curtains weren't closed completely, so some moonlight managed to make it in. Where was she? Those were tiles. The floor, white tiles. Where was she?
She reached up and barely managed to grasp the curtains. With a desperate, strangled cry, she pulled them open as hard as she could. Light, blissful light flooded the area, pure white moonlight that made her eyes hurt but made everything more okay.
Sink, oven, microwave, fridge… Kitchen.
With a shuddering breath, she stood up and staggered over to the sink. She began drinking from the tap. Nice, smooth, lukewarm water. Feeling returned to her limbs. The moonlight lit up the kitchen nicely. It was nice. Calm.
She left the kitchen and found a lightswitch. The room lit up instantly. There were the two couches and the low table. Another table, along with chairs - the dining area? Some doors… More stairs, and a television! A pretty big one too.
She smiled unconsciously, though it didn't take long for her to realize what she was doing. The smile died down almost instantly. It felt unnatural. Wrong. It didn't fit at all, not with her.
She peered at a wall clock. It was a few minutes past midnight.
She sighed and turned off the lightswitch, though she left the curtains open. She quickly walked back upstairs and went back inside of her room, where she went to bed and pulled her blanket over her body. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep.
News, cartoon, more news, a documentary, a crime flick, a reality tv show, another cartoon, more news, weather report, educational show, another documentary…
'Why not?'
Placing the remote down, she began eating her breakfast, which consisted of an omelette and toast. Makoto made it for her which was nice, even though she protested against it. It made her feel useless, being cared for so intensively. Sure, she didn't know how to cook anything other than MRE's and microwavable foods, but that's besides the point.
"Hm. I didn't know you were a fan of nature?"
Mukuro glanced at Makoto who was eating his own meal, which was identical to hers. He was standing and eating, which for some bizarre reason made her feel like getting up from the couch and doing the same. She spared another glance at the television - An alligator was displayed swimming in a lake, while a cool-toned narrator went on and on about how amazing it was.
She shrugged. "Not really. It's just that nothing else that's on is any more interesting."
"What kind of shows do you watch then?" He asked.
"I… don't really watch television." She admitted. The only times where she would actually choose to watch TV were the times where Junko would be on. She had been interviewed a few times for her appearances as a cover model on magazines. "I guess I was never really interested in just watching stuff. It's kind of boring."
"Boring?" He echoed. "I remember that you had one at your dorm room though."
"Huh? How did you remember that ?"
"Erm, I'm not sure?" He laughed awkwardly. "You had a game console hooked up to it though. I remember playing on it with you once or twice."
"Yeah, the rec room at Hope's Peak was pretty slim on things to do. They had like, one pool table and some board games." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I would have been happy with even a single FPS."
"Erm, FPS?"
"Ah… First person shooter. Like, games where you shoot stuff." She clarified. 'This conversation seems familiar… Why though?'
"Ah, you did mercenary work, didn't you? I guess it makes sense for you to like that kind of thing." He frowned. "You... aren't a mercenary anymore, are you?"
"... No, I'm not.." She scowled down at her right hand, where the mark of Fenrir was branded. As far as she knew, they had been disbanded for several months now. That was what she was told, anyway. Who knew? Maybe they decided that they didn't want to have ties with her anymore, and just fed her a cover story. They could very well still be in operation. "I tried to work with them again after graduation, but I've had no luck."
"Phew, that's good." He sighed.
"Why?" She deadpanned.
"Huh?"
"Why is it good?" She pressed. "Do you think that I can't fend for myself?"
"Wha- No, no! Nothing like that." Makoto stammered. He suddenly seemed a bit flustered, patches of red rising in his cheeks. "I-I mean, I know you're really good at fighting, and being a soldier, and all that stuff, so..."
"Why is it good?" She repeated.
"Well, wars are… They're pretty dangerous, you know?" He said lamely. "I-I mean, I know that sounds pretty obvious, but it's true. Doing that type of work, killing people… I'd hate to see you get hurt, or worse."
"Makoto, I haven't even received a single wound from all of my time in Fenrir." She stated. She wasn't trying to brag or anything - It was just a fact. At this point, even if she returned to the battlefield, it was less than likely anything serious would happen to her. "And besides. I'm the Ultimate Soldier. I'm supposed to fight. It's what I'm meant to do. It's what I need to do. "
"Even if you've never been injured before, there's no telling whether or not it would happen in the future. No matter how good you are, an accident could happen. You could be seriously hurt." Makoto said. He put his plate down and sat on the couch adjacent to her. "Maybe you're supposed to fight, but you don't have to. You're your own person."
'Why? Why does he keep doing this to me?'
It almost hurt, hearing him say those words. No one had ever said those type of things to her. It went against almost everything she knew. Again and again, his words kept nailing themselves into her head. Was he lying for some reason? No, that wouldn't make sense... Her head began to pound heavily, warning her of the headache that was about to come. How could he keep saying these things, day after day? It was almost like being brainwashed.
"I guess..." She muttered. She couldn't even look at him anymore. It felt like his eyes were burning a hole into her.
"... I guess you're right."