Chapter 08
When I open my eyes the scent of pancakes fills the air. I take a deep breath and inhale as much of this sweet dream as possible.
When I was little my dad would make me pancakes before school. That was on the rare occasions when he was actually home, of course.
I'd always create a huge mess and he would have to clean the kitchen after breakfast. Not once did he yell at me for that. Not once did he complain or even make a comment. He'd just sit across the table, smiling, and watch me try to eat my pancakes without ruining my shirt.
I succeeded only very occasionally.
But my dad is dead so my brain must be making this up, digging up a happy childhood memory to let me start the day in a good mood. I can absolutely appreciate that.
"You're awake," a very familiar voice practically squeals into my ear and I remember.
Rachel is standing next to my mattress now and I blink a few times in the hope she'll disappear somehow. She doesn't.
Instead she smiles widely at me and it's only then that I see the tray in her hand and realize the smell filling the air is real. "I made breakfast. I hope you like pancakes," she says before kneeling down and handing me the tray.
For a moment I'm overwhelmed by this gesture, but then I remember myself and keep my face from turning soft. She does, after all, owe me.
"Thanks," I mumble, sticking my fork into the stack. "You should eat, too." Then I see she's still wearing pajama pants and add: "And put on your suit. I told you not to let it lie around." She nods tersely and disappears into the bathroom. I take a few bites of my breakfast. It's fantastic. I'll never let her know but these pancakes are the shit. My usual breakfast consists of a roll I buy on my way to school and some fruit I eat as I walk down the hallway before my first class and I almost – almost – drool as I examine the stack in front of me. I take another bite and carefully roll the slice around in my mouth, let it linger on my tongue. Maybe I can drag Rachel through just one more mission and have her killed later.
While I'm still contemplating which would be more satisfying - watching her being ripped into pieces or having her making me breakfast more often - Rachel re-emerges from the bathroom. She's wearing her suit now and the tight material wraps her tiny figure perfectly, makes her even look a little less dull and emphasizes her… "You can't go out like this, though. People will stare." I comment without stopping to chew on a piece of one of the most delicious pancakes I've ever eaten. She looks at me blankly and replies: "But I don't have any other clothes."
Of course. I get up with a sigh. Cozy times are over and the day has started. Impatiently I search through my dresser. "Here." I hand Rachel a pair of jeans, a dark blue hoodie and a belt, because the jeans will surely be too big for her. She slips them on and pulls the hoodie over her head and I bite back a giggle. She looks hilarious. It's not even the clothes themselves, it's more the way she's wearing them. As she walks a few steps around to get used to the feeling (really, has she never worn jeans before?) I can't help but think that what she does can barely be considered walking at all. It seems more like she's trying to float.
I run my palm over my face in an attempt to wipe that image from my mind. Not a chance.
"This is quite comfortable in comparison to my usual attire. I may look like a boy now but I do see the advantage of having..." I almost doze off as she speaks so I turn my attention back to my pancakes instead: the one thing about Rachel that isn't absolutely obnoxious.
Rachel decides not to go back to school, which is understandable. It also means that I'll have the day off. When I'm in the real world I don't necessarily want to be reminded of Gantz. Empty eyes from strangers that cross my way and the dullness of reality are hard enough to bear. Having someone trotting along with me, talking to me about the missions... that would be too much to handle. I'm seriously afraid I'd lose my temper and push her in front of a car or maybe even just shoot her. The battles I've got to fight, they belong in Gantz's world. I don't carry them around with me here.
I eat my lunch outside. When I was still alive and scared of everything and everyone, I tried to play their sick games. But nowadays I don't have to care about popularity and I don't have to sit alone at a table while the other kids stare at me for being a loser. The only rules I've got to obey now are Gantz's and he's not here. Out here no one can hurt me. I can choose to drop out of any other games and just enjoy a little fresh air.
"Aaaaaahh!"
A scream interrupts my train of thought and I look up from my sandwich. It's coming from the direction I was walking towards and I find my feet carrying me forward. Pure curiosity, I think.
As I chew on a bite of my lunch I find myself standing by the dumpsters near the emergency exit of the auditorium. It's a familiar place. Well, not exactly this one, of course, but doesn't every school have that one place no one ever comes to except if you're dragged there in order to receive your punch of the day? I clearly remember the smell of the inside of those dumpsters and I remember running home just so 'they' wouldn't get me. I remember how I had to make an effort to hide my bruises in order not to worry dad. He never found out what was going on, though and I remember spending the rest of the day in my room – alone – the way I liked it.
"Aaaaah!"
The scream is muffled now and as I approach the scene I understand what's going on. Finn and three of his football minions have ganged up on someone I can't see, yet. Judging from the voice I heard it's clearly a girl, though. I wonder why those tough guys always choose easy victims, people who are so obviously so much weaker than them. Aren't they embarrassed by their cowardice? They should be. I for one could beat up all four of them easily but I won't do it. I don't interfere with reality and whatever is going on there. I'm just a bystander, an observer. Life doesn't affect me anymore.
I sigh quietly before stuffing another chunk of sandwich into my mouth. People will never change. No one will ever teach these dumb thugs anything and they'll grow up to become fathers who teach their children to be exactly that: dumb thugs.
Whatever. I've got more important things to think about. Like the fact that I've taken a huge bite and for a few seconds it's hard to chew. The bread has gotten squishy and is now stuck to the roof of my mouth. It's kinda annoying, because I'm wearing my gloves so my fingers won't be of any help in the battle sandwich vs. Santana Lopez. Impatiently I groan and finally manage to detach the offensive chunk from my gum with my tongue. Victory.
I look up again and see one of the guys grabbing a strand of blonde hair. Four high school boys and a girl; she's lucky if the dumpster is all she has to fear.
Why the fuck am I still here?
I take another bite – a smaller one this time – and watch the scene unfold. If I were still alive I'd probably run. But the suit doesn't only give me physical strength, it also boosts my self-confidence. Even if the bullies notice me I know they can't harm me at all, not with words and surely not with fists.
Those thugs, I almost pity them. Death gave me the chance to quit playing, while they remain stuck, probably forever. They'll continue doing what they do, not because they want to, but because it's what they do. It's what they are. It's their status, their reputation, their label. They, too, are fighting their demons. They, too, are losing every day. They, like everyone else, are afraid. Their jerseys and their violence are their Gantz and they obey the rules. They haven't made them and they can't find it within themselves to break them.
Thinking about it, their choice of victims totally makes sense. Right now the line between pity and hatred blurs more than ever.
"Let go of me!"
The voice sounds familiar and when I take a closer look blue cat-like eyes find mine. I drop my sandwich out of shock. It's definitely her and now – again – she's the only one who sees me.
"Fuck," I mumble and can't decide whether it's because of the lunch I just lost or because I was recognized. She stares at me and quits screaming and even fighting. She stares at me and pleads silently. She stares at me and I haven't even realized I've started walking when I hear myself say:
"Let her go."
Now there're four more pairs of eyes staring at me, but I can't tell what they look like. I'm mesmerized by hers, hypnotized even. I know I'll regret this later, but I'm entirely unable to stop. Her eyes are keeping me in place, almost forcing me to repeat: "Let her go."
Her expression is blank or at least unreadable for me and as the guys let go of her and focus on me instead she instantly takes a few steps back and breaks the eye contact together with her spell.
Suddenly I find myself surrounded by four guys who are up to no good at all and although I know I could kill them all within the blink of an eye I've got to hold myself back. I can't reveal myself to them. But then the Finn guy grabs my shoulder and smirks to one of his friends. Obviously they think they've found a replacement for the blonde they just lost.
Pondering how much damage I can inflict without raising a fuss I suddenly feel very tempted. To be honest, I've always wanted to take revenge for all these times I was afraid. I could easily pay them back for every time I was humiliated, for every time I'd wished to pass out. That's what Nishi did. That's how he died.
He never told me about it, but the papers carried the story for almost a month: "High school student kills classmates in violent rampage." His own death was only mentioned briefly at the very end of some of the articles. "Oh, what a tragedy," people would say and they were never referring to the suicide of a sad lost teenage boy who never had a single friend.
Of course, it's so easy to feel sad for those whose story you don't know. It's easy to think of the dead as victims and it takes a lot more effort to even consider the story could have two sides. Kids can be so ruthless. They can make each others' lives hell. They made Nishi's life hell. They made my life hell.
One incident he did mention to me once, accidentally, was that he was pushed out of a window. "Die!" they yelled as he fell to the ground. The building was only two stories high, though, and he survived with a broken leg.
"Die!" he yelled two months later while firing his dad's rifle, coloring his classroom red. Only one girl survived. The news called him a monster. The bullied became the bully.
Oh, what a tragedy. What a tragedy.
Before anyone else could get to him, Nishi shot himself.
I hear heavy breath behind me and just to calm down again I remind myself of the fact that these guys haven't done anything to me, yet. I won't become a second Nishi. I won't let the others win.
If you can't find a way to live with dignity then die with dignity, is what I had always told myself. They had taken so much from me, I couldn't let them have what was left. I couldn't allow them to mourn my death. I didn't even leave a note. They'll never know why I did it. And now that I've come back they won't even know that I did it. I'm no martyr, no saint, no monster, no one of any interest at all. I died the way that I lived. I died silently and all by myself in my basement back home. I don't like the spotlight very much, not like Nishi obviously did. My death wasn't for anyone but me.
My foot shoots forward and Finn goes down. I'm not stupid enough to break his shin or anything, but I know I've dislocated his knee. It's perfect. The injury is bad enough to make him give up but not bad enough to raise a fuss. For all anyone knows he tripped over his own feet during football practice.
The battle is over before it even began and I'm quite happy with the result. "Crazy bitch!" one of the others yells at me. "You'll pay for that!" I hear another say, but I'm not concerned. These cowards won't ever admit they've been beaten by a girl. It's an empty threat.
They'd also have to explain how exactly they got into the situation and that would only cause more trouble for them than it would for me. Besides, I'm just an average girl, the kid in the back of the row. I'm a nobody. I don't have a motive and a loser like me can't possibly know how to intentionally dislocate a knee.
Right?
Right.
I'm sure I'm safe.
When I look up the blonde girl is still standing there staring at me and yet again I'm caught by blue. "I knew it's real," she says. I furrow my eyebrows and she quickly shakes her head and says, "Thank you," before running off, leaving me standing there, stunned.