51. Black is the Colour of My True Love's Heart – Never-Ending White Lights

She could just about feel her legs. They were wobbly and shaky – wibblewobblewibblewobble – and they hurt, but they still worked. She could still use them – stillkickwiththem – and that was enough. She got to her wobbly, shaky feet and made her wobbly, shaky way … away. That was as far as she could form the thought. She needed to leave.

Awayawayaway!

The air was cold. It had been snowing, big fat flakes that made the world look like something from a Christmas card. She'd been writing hers last night, scratching out names of her father and those of his family who'd stayed in America in her cursive script and tucking tiny gifts into each envelope. She liked giving gifts when they were unexpected, though there were only so many things you could slip into an envelope before people guessed what they were, or you got charge the Earth for postage because of the weight. She'd limited herself to key-chains and candies this year, but that was okay. Everybody liked key-chains and candies, especially when you made sure to get something ridiculously appropriate, the way she always did – something that reflected people's personalities and … and ...

Blurry. Scatteredenvelopes. Handandfeet. Armsandlegs.

Her legs really, really hurt now. There was a big scrape on her left shin that had soaked the front of her tights bright red, and another on the back of one hand where it had grazed the brick wall. Her skirt was wet too. The back was cold from melted snow, as was the back of her jacket. She tried to pull it around herself, but the zip had broken last week and her fingers were too fumbly – rumblefumblycrumbly – to pull it up anyway. She'd just thrown on this jacket as she left the house because it was handy. She hadn't meant to stay out long – justmailingmycardsMomI'llbebackinaminute …

There was something under her fingernails – redredred – but she didn't want to look at that right now. She just wanted to get back to the main street she'd left so she could dash through the shortcut to the Post Office and get out of the snow.

Except that she'd left all her envelopes on the ground, and there was no way she was going back there to fetch them.

Where was she going then?

Awayawayaway!

Her ribs hurt. He'd been heavy. When she kicked him, it had felt like sinking her foot into a lump of half-dried concrete. She was a little surprised nothing was broken, actually. Maybe she'd done more damage than she originally thought. She liked to think so. A nice big fat bruise the colour of a stormy sky, right in the middle of his stomach – fightbackfightscreamthat'swhattheyalwayssaytodo – and another on his leg – Idroppedmypepperspraynononocomebackcomeback – to match the one he'd left much higher on hers.

She tried to smile. It wouldn't come.

She surprised herself with the sound of the doorbell and the realisation she was the one who'd pushed it. Everything seemed blurry and out of focus, like a photograph taken while stumbling, giving only the impression of shapes and smeared colours when the film was developed. Did she hit her head, or was this something else? Whose door was this? Her own? It opened and she blinked at the profusion of fairy lights and tinsel.

"Oh my God, what happened to you?"

Hands tried to touch her. She flinched away.

"Anzu?"

She blinked, shaking her head to put everything back into focus. "Yuugi." The name came out a sigh; one long gust to blow away everything clogging up her thoughts – getinsidegetsafegetaway. She needed to consider things clearly. She needed to think this through and figure out what to do next. She hadn't even been consciously aware of where she was headed, but she was glad it was here.

Yuugi gazed at her with open concern. "What happened?" he asked again. "Are you all right? You look a real mess. Were you mugged? Can I get you anything? A towel? Some bandages? Anzu, talk to me."

She stared at him. He was wearing his Beaver Warrior slippers and had glitter in his hair. Somehow the sight of this, compared to the burning hurt inside her and the feel of blood soaking into her skirt and tights, made her wobbly knees give out. She sank into the snow that surrounded the back door, since there had only been time to shovel the front of the store this morning. Mr Mutou couldn't do it because of his bad back, but he never even had to ask Yuugi to do it instead. Yuugi was kind like that. He was giving and nice and safe and … and safe …

Ohgodohgodohgod.

The ground was freezing when it met her knees and the palms of her hands.

"Grandpa!" she heard Yuugi scream. "Grandpa!"

"I was … just mailing some cards," she murmured, hugging herself and shivering with more than just cold. It had taken less than five minutes. She could barely finish writing a personalised holiday message in five minutes, but it had taken less than that for someone to pull her off her feet in the smelly, noisy alley behind the restaurant down the street. She didn't even get a good look at his face, though she'd raked her nails down it and still carried the evidence under them. That was important. She remembered watching TV shows where the police said that was important, so she balled her hands into fists to stop the snow taking away the evidence of what had happened to her.

Redredredredred –

She'd been less than five minutes away from Yuugi's house –

Getinsidegetsafegetaway –

Less than five minutes from safety –

Supposedtobestrongdon'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry –

"That's all," she said through her tears. "I was j-just mailing some Christmas cards."