"Miss Miura I find you guilty of this crime!" The shallow faced judge roars, much to the delight of the baying crowd.

Icy wind burns on my face as I desperately will some part of my body to move, to let me respond, to let me do anything other than stand unbound yet immobile in front of the terrifying judge. As if sensing my pointless struggles the crowd of empty faced observers surges forward.

"You can't run from this Miss Miura! You are a killer and a liar, and you will face justice!" Tiny speckles of spit fly from his flapping jowls, landing like tiny molten pinpricks on my upturned face. I struggle, but try as I might I can't force my hand to wipe the vile substance away.

"Turn and face your sentence!" His voice is less a command and more a fanatical scream.

My body turns easily, the invisible restraint having vanished. However it returns the moment I catch the eye of my punisher; forcing me to look directly into the disgusted face of my boyfriend. No, no please, not him.

Hisao holds a shimmering silver axe causally in one hand, the blade glinting evilly despite the fact the sky is grey and the sun has been banished by tempestuous clouds. Between us sits a wooden pedestal, it's surface marked with hundreds of cuts and grooves the evidence of generations of axe swings. Blood has soaked so thoroughly into the block that it has turned black.

"Hand." It's a single word but Hisao's voice quivers with so much rage it feels like he's slapped me.

"No! Please." I beg, even as my left hand drifts forward to rest palm down on the chopping block. "No!" I scream as I feel warm wetness under my fingertips. "Hisao, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"You deserve this." He says firmly, raising the axe above his head. "You know you deserve this, you just can never tell the truth."

"Hisao no! Hisao, Hisao! HISAO!"

The axe drops.

"Miki! For god's sake wake up!" What I first assume is the convolutions of agonising pain swiftly melds into a pair of hands desperately shaking my shoulders.

Wha?

"Wake up, it's just a nightmare!" Ikuno's pale face appears hazily in front of me, obscured by a mixture of hot tears and messy hair.

What is she doing here? Before the question has even finished crossing my mind, it's replaced with the sudden and brutal recollection of a silver axe biting through dark flesh. Instinctively I move to cradle my left hand, only to find my fingers closing around thin air. It's such a contradiction between what I can feel and what my senses are telling actually exists that the twisted phantom of my hand vanishes, leaving me sweaty, scared and utterly confused.

"Where am I?" I ask, trying to shake the hair out of my face.

The look on Ikuno's face makes me wish I had kept my vision obscured, she looks petrified. Standing over me in her frilly white night dress, her blue eyes wider than I ever remember seeing them. There's a quiver in her voice as she speaks. "Miki, you're- Should I go and get your therapist?"

What?

Oh… right. I suppose that really wasn't the right question to ask when trying to assure someone of your mental wellbeing. With a slow breath I allow myself to take in the sights and sounds of my room. Messy desk, absent mirror, red illuminated numbers on the clock, all seems to be in order. It's all so strangely comforting, as if I'm returning here from a long and arduous journey - despite the fact I never left.

"Sorry," I say softly, trying to sit up. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

No.

Pain begins to seep back into my ghostly hand. The phantasmal feel of my lost fingers returning with a feeling like scolding slag being poured into a roughly hand-shaped mould. Pushing my stump into my gut I wonder if there's any way to reproduce the brain short circuit that so effectively cancelled out the phantom. Probably. But it would require a level of nightmare induced delirium that I - unfortunately - appear to have recovered from.

A warm hand gently touches my shoulder, the bed sinking gently as Ikuno settles onto the edge of the mattress. "Hey," she says softly, "You're worrying me."

I frown, what does she mean? Oh. I guess I never really answered her. This is strange, I've never been this spaced out after a dream - then again I've never gone so long without having a bad dream. I thought - rather foolishly I now realise - that my confession had cleansed my soul enough to spare me from my nightmares.

"I'm okay, honestly." My throat feels dry, and I gesture a little vaguely for the glass of water on my nightstand. At least I didn't send that flying across the room. "Why are you here?" I ask with curiosity. I don't really feel up to anger or bitterness at the moment.

"My neighbour was screaming her head off." A small smile touches her lips as she passes the cool glass into my clammy palm.

"Aren't we fighting?" I ask, before taking a long drink.

"We..." She stops herself. "I couldn't just leave you."

"It's just like old times huh?" I say, handing back the now empty glass and sitting up a little straighter in bed. Under the covers my missing hand forms into a tight fist, forcing imagined nails into imagined flesh with the force of an exploding star. The intensity of the pain makes me feel dizzy and sick to my stomach. My breath coming in desperate gasps I pitch forward onto my ex best friend's chest.

Her arms wrap around me. "I wish we could be like we were back then."

"Why can't we be?" I ask, closing my eyes. Please just let her forgive me.

"It's complicated." Her arms are still around me, but the muffled quality in her voice tells betrays her reluctance to look at me.

"I'm sorry." I say quickly; pointlessly.

"I know. I'm sorry too." I don't understand why she's apologising, but I don't interrupt. "There are things I need to work out, not just with you but with myself."

If she has problems wouldn't it be better to work them out with a friend? Then again, how much of a friend can I really claim to be. There's enough uncertainty in my future to make even the most experienced of gamblers hedge his bets.

"You couldn't bring yourself to speak about this when we were at your parents house, could you?" I keep my tone intrigued, rather than accusatory.

A lone tear runs down my cheek as I open my eyes. Ikuno's sapphire gaze meets mine, a tiny smile on her lips. "I didn't think you would remember that."

Strolling into the territory of what I can and cannot remember seem's like a fine way to break up the first amicable talk we've had in weeks. Hell, this is the first time we've spoken since I came back from the police station. It suddenly hits me how important it is to not jeopardise this moment with stupid or misjudged words, a task that would be a damn sight easier if my hand didn't smart so bloody much.

"Once you've worked things out." I say slowly, relying on a tactic of selective deafness for her last comment. "Could we see if we can work us out?"

"I thought you would be angry at me?" She replies softly, demonstrating her own clever use of temporary hearing loss.

"I was, perhaps with good reason, perhaps not. It's just all so pointless, Ikuno I'm-" I stop myself, sitting up with a grimace so I can meet her eyes properly as I continue: "I'm so scared right now… I just want my best friend back." My own honestly surprises me, I'm not sure I meant to say that. Well I obviously meant to say it. Just not so bluntly.

She cooks her head to one side ever so slightly. "You know, that's the first time you've ever admitted to being scared by your dreams. I mean, I could guess before bu-"

"It's not just the dream." I say quickly, cutting her off. "It's everything, I still don't know if I'm going to court or not. And I'm starting to think I made a huge mistake when I confessed." I gasp for air as I finish my rapid sentence, unsure if my ex-friend heard even half of my ramblings.

"When do you find out?" she asks softly. "About going on trial I mean."

I sigh heavily. Now there's the question. "It could be any time. All I can do is wait for my granddad to phone with the prosecutor's decision."

"Will you tell me when you know?"

She cares?

"Of course." I pause for a moment, biting my bottom lip. "If I do go to court, will you go with me?"

Now it's Ikuno's turn to bite her pale lip. I want to tell her it's okay to say no, that it's a lot to ask, and it's not like we are even friends - Not at the moment anyway. But I stay quiet, watching in amazement as her head slowly starts to nod. "If you want me to be there, I will."

"Thank you," I reply, using my good arm to pull her into a gentle hug.

Our embrace ends naturally, but the space between us after we part seems much wider than before. There is an air of finality in the room, like a somber presence that accompanies a funeral. Ikuno stands up slowly, using her knuckles to rub at her big blue eyes.

"What happens now?" I ask.

"Things go back to how they were I guess. Just… Just give me more time, okay?"

"Okay." I whisper. A part of me wants to berate her for her selfishness. She's the daughter of millionaires, and her most painful medical issue is having to prick her finger, how much time does she really need to sort out her head? But where's the gain in vocalising it? If she feels she needs time for whatever messed up reason then I have no choice but to give it to her, to be patient and hope she comes back to me.

She turns, slowly padding her way back to the door. I notice her gaze flicker over to the section of wardrobe where my mirror used to be, but she doesn't say anything.

"Your parents," I say suddenly, causing her to stop. "Will they really be affected by what I've done?"

She grimaces, before looking down at her feet. "No, I just." Her hand reaches out for the door handle, escape apparently foremost in her mind. "I just wanted a reason to not be friends with you."

"It's okay."

"No. It isn't." Ikuno spills out of my room in a swish of white lace.

Well, that was surreal.

But somehow, after all of tonight's events, I feel more hopeful. Sliding out of bed, I rejoice in the routine of striping out of my sweaty nightwear and pulling on the cool lycra of my running gear. It will be dawn soon, and the sky is just bright enough to let me claim a sliver of the rebellious night. These really are like old times.

— — —

"That was so good!"

"I know right? Timeless, a masterpiece. Truly art at it's highest level." I'm impressed Ryouta managed to say so much with a mouth full of pizza. Impressed and disgusted.

"Do you think," I start slowly chewing on my own slice of pizza. "That all the people with conditions like ours in the Matrix also have them in real life? Or do you think the machines just gave a certain percentage of the population disabilities just for realism?"

"Okay," he sorrows, wiping his hand on his trousers. "Who are you and what have you done with Miki."

I try an Emi-like pout, but given the grin on Ryouta's face I probably just look like a fish. "You're complaining because I finally like one of your movies?"

"Hey, no complaints from me. I'm just shocked, I had no idea you were so deep."

"I can be deep." I grumble, taking another bite of nearly cold pizza.

"Deeply annoyed maybe." He smirks.

I'm still not entirely sure how I ended up at this impromptu movie night. School's been a strange place since my police interview, and not just because Ikuno is no longer - or at least very rarely - talking to me. There's a sense that people know I left the school that storm-battered morning, but they don't exactly know why. I suppose I should be thankful to Ikuno for that, she could have done a lot of damage with only a little gossip.

It's strange also in how little things have changed. Life moves on much as it has before. I am still expected to go to class, Hisao still has duties with the student council and I'm still the second fastest runner at the track and field club. Though not for lack of trying, damn adorable little speed demon.

And perhaps most importantly Ryouta is still my friend. Despite not sharing a word in anger we haven't spoken since the interview. His proximity to Ikuno just made everything super awkward. I wouldn't even have been surprised if he was angry at me. After all, of all my friends he was the only one to not hear the news directly from me. For those reasons - and let's be fair - through my own cowardice I let the situation stagnate. That is, until he ambushed me outside the changing rooms tonight.

"There's the Miki I know!" He exclaims happily, "Staring off into the middle distance halfway through a conversation. How do you and Hisao get anything done?"

"Slowly," I grumble. "Glad to see your still a smart-arse."

"The one and only." He pauses, half his face screwing up in concentration. "Is that your phone?"

Wha? Oh shit! How the hell did he hear that? Throwing the pizza crust back into the box I dive off of his bed, wrestling with the pull cord of my gym bag. Come on, come on. I barely register who's phoning me before I have the handset pressed to my ear. Why the hell did I listen to smart arse when he told me to put the damn thing on vibrate.

"Hello?" I say a little shakily, aware of Ryouta's eyes on the back of my head as I kneel amongst the detritus spread across his carpet.

"Good evening Miki." Grandad replies, in a disturbingly professional tone. Oh that is never a good sign. "I've just finished speaking to the prosecutor." He continues, still in a voice that gives nothing away.

"And…?" I ask with nervous impatience.

"They have decided that there is not enough evidence, nor chance of conviction to pursue the matter of the truck crash any further."

Relief swells in my chest like a physical, tangible thing. Is this what it feels like to be on drugs? All the pressure and worry that has been slowly piling on top of me vanishes in one swift euphoric release. I fall back against Ryouta's bed, thanking every deity I can think of. Perhaps it's selfish, being so elated over the fact my confession came to nothing. Tatsuo's parents still lost their son... Was justice for them why I did all this in the first place? No. If I'm being honest, even though I feel immensely guilty for what I've done to them, none of this was for their benefit. I confessed to avoid being the incomplete person my father warned me about, and the fact that I found the courage to bare my sins is not nullified by the prosecutor's decision not to push ahead with a trial. Somewhere, perhaps far off in the distance grandad says something, but I don't catch it, or particularly care what was said. I've done it, I'm free. What else matters?

I've almost forgotten Ryouta is in the room until I catch sight of his puzzled pudgy face. He gives me an awkward half smile, and I realise how strange my reaction must look when you can only hear half the conversation. In an effort to put his mind at rest I give him the biggest smile I can muster, which even then does not seem to do justice to how I feel. Regardless Ryouta gets the message, flashing me a toothy grin and by an exuberant thumbs up. Vaguely I can hear my grandads voice, but once again I completely miss what he said.

Never again. Never again will I put myself in such a stupid pointless situation. I've risked everything, I could have lost Hisao. I definitely would have lost Ikuno, but now she can have all the time she needs. "Thank you so much." I whisper into the phone.

"Miki! Are you not listening to me?" He's almost shouting now, so desperate is he to be heard that I falter, the smile disappearing from my face.

"I… I'm sorry I was just excited," I say honestly.

"Well, be that as it may, we are not out of the woods yet. They are going to press ahead for a perjury conviction."

My thought process grinds to a halt as I try and comprehend what he just said.

"I'm sorry," Grandad continues softly, sounding more like my guardian now. "I did everything within my power, but they believe they have a strong case."

"O… Okay." I jitter in reply, a tight knot forming in my stomach.

"Miki, I know you don't want to hear this but perjury carries with it the possibility of up to six months in prison. It's low chance, but still a possibility that you will serve a custodial sentence. Do you understand?"

"Yes." I say breathlessly.

"But I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that won't happen. Okay?"

I make a sound somewhere between agreement and a groan. Damnit, why couldn't he give me the bad news first? This sucks so much more for piggybacking on my moment of happiness.

"Try not to worry." He pauses, as if realising the futility to his words. "We are going to get through this." Where the hell is the 'we' in this? "Would you like me to tell your parents? Or would you rather?"

"No, you." I say quickly, regaining some of my frazzled senses. "Please."

"Of course, will you be alright for tonight?"

I don't know.

"I think so."

"You're the strongest person I know Miki." I can't help but scoff at his words. "You are, and you are going to be fine. I will call you again as soon as I know the court date. Okay?"

Despite my assertions that I will be just fine he enquires about my well-being several more times - I just can't force false sincerity into my voice it seems. Finally, either satisfied or admitting defeat he says his goodbyes. Silence smothers the room, punctuated only by the snap as I close my phone. To his credit my normally exuberant friend remains in his seat, quietly waiting for me venture back from my tangled web of thoughts.

My phantom hand begins to prickle - a sure sign that a dose of pain is on its way. Oh you can fuck right off. With a snarl I force my stump into my stomach. This sucks so much, and what's worse is that I have no one to blame but myself. Hell, people tried to talk me out of it. But oh no. I just had to be the noble hero, I just had to be a warrior of truth and justice. Bloody stupid…

"Miki?" Ryouta says tentatively.

Right, I'm still in my friend's room - Not the place for an epiphany regarding my stupidity. "Sorry," I mumble.

"You look like you're about to punch someone." I suppose he would know that look well. "That was your grandad right? What has he done?"

"Nothing," I grimace, leaning my head against his soft mattress and staring up at the ceiling. "Well, he told me I'm being put on trial for perjury, but that's not his fault."

"Perjury?" He says confusedly, the rest of his sentence left hanging. I thought Ikuno said you killed someone.

I exhale slowly, not entirely sure I have the energy to explain my situation to Ryouta. Then again he waited for me and welcomed me back with open, albeit unequal arms. That's the kind of friend a girl behind bars could do with, come to think of it, it doesn't matter if I'm incarcerated or not, Ryouta is the kind of friend I can't afford to lose.

"They've dropped the manslaughter or whatever it's called charge, but because I made two contradicting police statements…" I trail off, assuming I don't need to explain any further. Truth be told I never really gave the perjury thing much thought. Why would I? Killing someone seemed to make my other crimes rather a mute point.

"Well that's good right?"

"How the hell is it good?" I snap, the searing pain in my hand giving my words a razor edge.

Ryouta winces, pushing himself away from me. "Chill!" he says, showing me the flat of his palm. "I just meant it's good they dropped the manslaughter charge. That's all."

I didn't think about it like that. Ryouta's right though, I've avoided the far more serious charge. I guess the shock and disappointment blinded me to the fact that I've actually had a remarkably lucky escape. A few months, after all, is a whole lot better than several years spent behind bars.

"I still might go to prison," I mumble, unable to meet Ryouta's gaze.

"Nah." He says nonchalantly.

"You know something I don't?" I grunt, my irritable words tasting bitter in my mouth.

"I just know everything is going to be alright." He shrugs. "And if it's not I will smuggle you a file inside a cake."

"Thanks." I smile begrudgingly. He sounds so much like he believes his words absolutely that I find it hard not to do the same. But I can't allow myself to grow complacent, if living with my drunken mother has taught me one thing it's that I need to prepare for disappointment. I've managed to dodge one hell of a bullet today - An all the more fortunate feat when you consider I fired it at myself. I can't rely on that same luck again.

"Eh," he grins getting ungracefully to his feet. "I like to think of us as a team, my one armed amigo. We look out for each other."

"I suppose we do." I admit, deciding to ignore his term of endearment. I don't much like being defined by my stump. I risk a glance down at my butchered appendage, paranoid the phantom will sense it's being watched. But no, the pain, through some great act of cosmic mercy, has already started to fade away into nothingness, leaving behind only a few tendrils of prickly heat.

"Anyway," Ryouta says, opening his wardrobe door to reveal pile upon pile of DVD's. I guess that explains why all his clothes are on the floor. "You wanna borrow the Shawshank Redemption? It has subtitles."

"What's it about?" I ask suspiciously, Ryouta has never once in all the time I've known him offered to part with one of his precious movies.

"A prison break." He says with a huge lopsided grin. "Might be educational."

"Thanks smart arse."