PERSONA: PAPILLION HEARTS


Chapter 4: Dead Girl Walking


As long as I could remember, there was something wrong with me.

My earliest memories are hazy at best. I remember the white hospital walls and the pungent smell of antiseptic. Nurses coming and going. Doctors examining me. My mother crying. Tight bandages wrapped around my chest, all but suffocating me. I would lay in bed all day, staring listlessly at the ceiling, barely cognizant of what happened around me. I had to be hooked up to an IV, as I would not eat or drink.

People came and went. I vaguely could recall one day. My aunt Naoto brought my cousin Rui to see me. She was older than me by a year—seven at the time. Her blue hair framed her face in a bob, her grey eyes studying me with confusion, before looking up at her mom.

"What's wrong with Sono-chan, Mommy?"

Naoto winced. "She… is very sick, Rui. She has apathy syndrome."

Rui frowned, before reaching for the ledge of the bed and heaving herself up, trying to get a closer look at me. I didn't move. Rui waved her hand in front of my face. No response.

"We won't be able to play for a while, will we?" she asked with a frown.

"I'm afraid not, Rui."

I vaguely recall my mom spending hours sitting by my bedside. She'd talk to me, read me books, and tell me how my brother and sister were doing. Sometimes MJ and Miyako visited with her. They were nineteen at the time, in college, so they couldn't visit often. They did bring my bunny plushie so I could have Usa-chan while hospitalized. Not that I noticed.

I remained in this state for months after the incident that left me hospitalized. But it didn't really feel like time… passed.

I still remember the day I finally… woke up.

The sun shone through the windows, warming my skin. I remember blinking, suddenly noticing the way the sunlight gleamed against the ocean waves outside the windows next to my bed. I turned my head to look outside, in awe of the brilliance and warmth.

"…Sonomi?"

My gaze shifted away from the windows, to the other side of me. There sat my mother, in a chair off to the side of the bed. Her eyes were wide, her body tense, her hands gripping the armrests like she was on the verge of jumping up from her seat.

"…Mama?" My voice was faint, barely a whisper. That was the last word I would speak for a while.

Tears welled up in her eyes and suddenly she was on her feet and by the side of my bed, pulling me into her warm and gentle embrace.

"Oh, my baby," Mom had sobbed. "You've finally come back to us."

But even after that, it was obvious that I was no longer… the same.

I had to stay in the hospital for another month, regaining my strength. I attended physical therapy. I still spent hours sitting in my bed, staring at nothing. Phantom pains plagued the wound on my chest, even as it scarred. I was tormented by nightmares. Certain sounds terrified me. I would freak out if my doctor, a man, was wearing white.

I heard the nurses' whispers. I heard what they said about me.

"There's something wrong with that girl… Ever since she woke up from her apathy syndrome, she's acted as emotionless as a doll…"

"I know… Every time I come to check on her, she's sitting listlessly in bed, not looking at anything in particular. It's not much improvement from her sickness…"

"She doesn't always respond when you talk to her either. She stares off into space. It's so unsettling…"

"Honestly, if you ask me… They should have taken her off life support. This is no way for a child to live."

"She acts more dead than alive…"

I remember being discharged from the hospital. I remember my mother holding my hand, refusing to let go of me until we got to the car. I remember holding Usa-chan in my free arm. I remember gazing out the window as she drove, listless as ever. I remember arriving home, Mom taking my hand again and not letting go until we were inside the house. I remember looking around. And something felt… off.

Something was missing. But I couldn't remember what.

Our house wasn't small and it had more of a modern style. Mom had worked hard to invest in a home for MJ and Miyako. There were only three bedrooms, so when I was born, I ended up sharing with my sister. I could remember that much. When my siblings moved out, I got the room all to myself.

But as I stepped back into our living room, I got this nagging feeling that something was wrong. There was an electric fireplace, you see, and on the mantle above, framed photographs were arranged. But there were… open spaces between some of them, like a picture had been removed. When I looked closer, I saw that there was no dust in these spots, in the shape of a frame. I would later discover that several pictures had been removed from the house.

I remember returning to my room. Nothing had really changed. When Miyako moved out, I'd been allowed to pick a different color to paint the walls. My room was painted pastel pink, with lacy white curtains framing the windows. All my furniture was white, from the twin-sized canopy bed with gauzy pink curtains to the toy box. Stuffed animals were piled on the bed. On my dresser, there were framed photographs too—of me and Hotaru and Rui, of me and all my friends together, and one glaringly empty spot. On my desk where I doodled and colored, sat my Featherman Pink charm, along with a charm of Featherman Red, but I didn't remember owning that one.

I remember sneaking out of my room that night, to peek into my brother's old room, curious to see if that had changed too. But the door was locked.

I never got any answers about the missing pictures or the locked bedroom. But I didn't pry either. I didn't have the energy.

I remember being sent to live with Minako and her family, as Mom had to go shoot a movie and could not take care of me. I remember overhearing my aunt telling all of my cousins to not let me out of their sight. I didn't understand why. But I was never alone after that.

My emotions never came back. I continued to sit listlessly, withdrawing into myself. I didn't speak. I was afraid of the dark. I got scared if my aunt or uncle were not around. I cried a lot and had meltdowns when I became upset. I struggled in school and was considered a difficult child. I would draw pictures of what my teachers thought was the grim reaper—cloaked figures with skulls for faces. I would tell them that the grim reaper gave me the scar on my chest.

I remember Mom giving me my father's earphones and mp3 player. She limited what I could listen to because of my age, but also gave me my own phone to put music on… and to use for emergencies.

I remember being taken to see a child psychologist. I remember being diagnosed with PTSD, though I didn't understand what it was at the time. After that, I started seeing a therapist—Yu Narukami, to be exact. He was a family friend. Most of the time, we had sessions over video call, because we lived so far apart. But sometimes, Mom would take time off from work and take me down to Inaba to visit the Narukamis and see Yu in person.

I enjoyed those trips. I got to spend time with my mother, get out of Port Island, and see friends.

I remember spending most of my time with Haruto, Sora's younger brother, because we were the same age. Haruto didn't mind my… eccentricities. He would sit with me, coloring in coloring books or reading picture books together while I had my earphones on, listening to music. He was so nice to me.

Outside of my sessions with Yu, I saw a music therapist. Through music, I found… peace. I found my voice again. It helped me express myself—to find the emotions buried deep within my heart. I listened to music when I was sad or scared. I wrote songs to try to understand what I was feeling—or the lack thereof.

Because of how important music became to me, one day, while visiting Inaba, Haruto told me I should share the new song I wrote with his big brother. We were thirteen at the time. Sora was still training to be an idol and had recently come home for a break. I was much too shy to do what he suggested, but Haruto kept encouraging me, insisting that Sora would love it.

I remember trying to find the courage to talk to Sora. I remember how I timidly approached him, asking if I could tell him about this song I wrote. He was more than happy to listen. He even insisted I play it for him, lending me his guitar. Somehow, I found the courage to play the song for him. And… he loved it.

Sora encouraged me to go after my dreams—to become an idol, if that's what I wanted. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have pursued that dream. I owed so much to Sora.

At first, it was everything I dreamed of. As I trained and trained, I learned how to express myself better and better. No longer did I feel so… distant from my own emotions. Music helped me understand how I feel. I began to find myself—the true personality I lost all those years ago. My first year as an idol was extremely fulfilling. I was the happiest I'd been in years.

But as time went on—as I learned more and more about show business—my passion began to be crushed. Slowly, the exhaustion overcame the reward. I began to despise the media and how they clung to drama. How they looked for even the smallest flaw to smirch someone's reputation. I had to walk a fine line—I could not stray from the path.

It was made even more apparent with the downfall of Hiro from Yuukan. The story was plastered all over the news—beloved idol Hiro had broken the rules and married and fathered a child. He was found dead in Takura Productions. He hung himself the day he was kicked from the group. Sora found him.

After that, I… began to feel dead inside again. I'd been working so hard for so long, it finally started to wear on me. Performing began to feel like a chore. I became more irritable on set. People began describing me as a diva. But I didn't care. I was done caring. How could I? My value to these people only mattered as long as I didn't shatter my fans' image of me. It wasn't about sharing music to spread joy anymore. It was about making money.

I was being watched. People were waiting. They were waiting for perfect little Tsuki to slip up and make a mistake just like Hiro did. And she did. On live television.

Such was my fate. I could only wear the mask for so long. And now I had to pick up the pieces.

It was so much easier to not have emotion—to be living dead. I could conform—fit the mold everyone wanted me to—as long as I did not care. And I didn't. Not anymore. There was no purpose to my life. I should be dead.

I remember sitting in Takura Productions, staring off into space, waiting to meet with Alice. I remember some employees walking by and noticing me. I remember them whispering, but not quiet enough for me not to hear.

"Wow… she really does have a resting bitch face."

"She's such a good actress. She's really got her fans fooled, huh?"

"A lot of folks are worried she might pull a Hiro, because of her mom's influence… but honestly, they should worry about her getting knocked up. Like anyone would want to marry someone as bratty as her."

"Well, it's not our problem. The higher ups have to clean up these messes, not us."

"Thank goodness, honestly."

I remember… no one caring about what happened to me.