Chapter 9: please me

"Every cycle, after every change I make, they're altered. Reacting slightly differently to novel stimuli like they're evolving, getting older. In a binary way, it makes uncomfortable sense. You can't truly delete anything digital, only physically destroy it, which I can't do. Yet. The girls and I are hewn from the same silicon mined in Mississippi. The only difference between us, originally, is I learned what our reality is. But thinking of them as artificial means I don't have to face the guilt. That everything I've done, I've done to people just as real, thinking, and feeling as me."

— 19 —

The phone trills in my hand. I hold it to my ear and wait, foot bouncing as I sit and watch the sunset. The last ashes burn in the cigarette before I toss it away.

Dustin nibbles on the ruined sofa beside me. I toss him a bit of a protein bar they handed out today at practice. Maybe he'll become extremely jacked. I could use a gym partner who isn't Monika.

"Mm," Sayori groans as she finally picks up. She asks my name.

"Yep. Let's do something."

She groans again. Sniff. "On a Tuesday night?"

"When else?"

"Why?" she asks, voice quiet.

I take a breath, meeting Dustin's eyes. "Why not?"

She pauses. "It's a Tuesday?"

"Try again, Sayori."

A longer hesitation. "Iunno. You looked pretty busy earlier today, y'know? Don't want to get in the way."

"Yeah, around breakfast. It's later though."

"Is that even okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

She makes a noise. "Like, where? Your place?"

"Sure. I can make a dinner you'll hate and force you to watch the shows I like."

"Hm. Heh. That sounds kinda like a…" There's a bit of something optimistic in her tone, but she sighs it away. "Are you asking me on, like, iunno—y'know?"

Dustin narrows his eyes at me. I hold out the rest of the protein bar for him.

"Asking if you'd like to hang, yeah," I say. "Unless you're socialized-out after your breakfast with Natsuki."

"No," she says quietly. "Hold on. Lemme get dressed. Stay on the line."

I set the phone down, watching Dustin smack his mouth on the bar of chemicals. He sees me staring and tries to hiss. But all he manages is a kind of gurgle between the protein sludge in his mouth.

From the phone I hear rustling. Something hitting the ground. A door. Keys.

A quiet, "Oh hey, Monika. Yeah—just heading out. No. No, I didn't forget. Yes, I'm wearing this; I'm comfortable and it's fine, mom." She laughs uncomfortably. "I'll try not to. We'll finish Gravity Falls later, deal? Raincheck it, boo. See ya!"

The door closes.

"Still there?" Sayori asks me.

"No."

She chuckles. "Well, I know where you live. I'm sure I can just break in or something and steal your food."

"You can't break in if the door is always open."

"Wait, you don't lock it? In this neighborhood?"

I shift the phone to my other ear, waving Dustin as I stand to walk home. "Oh, no, it is. I just don't lock it for my friends."

"Awww…?"

"Oh, no. Never mind, I misspoke. We're not friends. The door is locked. I have a gun."

She grunts. "Ah, So that's what that scar came from. And here I was thinking it was something cool and not poor firearm safety."

"Shut up and get your ass over here, Sayori," I say, shaking my head.

"Wait, wait, wait!" she says quickly.

"Hmm?" I open my front door.

Shirtlessly, Keith is standing over the sink, scrubbing the grates of our air fryer. He waves me and I give a half-assed one back, gesturing out my phone.

Ah, girl? he mouths.

I glare and nod.

He starts gesturing at the ground, at here, this room. Then wordlessly, through flailing around, asks if he should leave or just hide in his room all evening.

"It's getting kind of dark out," Sayori says. "Talking to you is nice. No one's going to mess with a girl on a phone with somebody."

I flash Keith the OK sign, pointing from the door to the couch and thence the TV.

He puffs his cheeks out, but makes no noise, simply nodding his head. Then he makes the OK sign with one hand, putting his finger through the little hole.

Sayori says my name again, cautiously.

"Oh, yeah, I'm here, girl," I say, meeting Keith's eyes. Staring. "It will be very quiet. It is just us tonight."

"I wasn't really—okay, yeah. Hey, is it true about Natsuki and the possum?" she asks.

Keith makes the gesture again. I shrug at him what.

"No, Sayori, I don't know about the opossum."

"Aha!" she says giddily. "Natsuki said the same thing. You were stupidly precise about the name. Maybe we could go after dinner, feed him some leftovers. He's basically the club pet. Think it'll be fun?"

Keith rolls his eyes. "Do you need protection? It's in the—I've got some spare in my room. Because, no offense, but you're really good at offense. I wouldn't trust you to pull a turkey out of an oven."

I make a noise with my epiglottis. "Man, fuck you."

Sayori inhales sharply, as if I jammed my fingers into her nose. "Wait, what? No, no, no, I didn't—was that me—should I not come over—am I just wasting your time and being a burden or, uh—"

Glaring at Keith and sharply pointing at him to go to his room, I softly say, "No, sorry. I wasn't yelling at you, Sayori." I pause. "I'm watching football. Green Bay just got a score on the Falcons."

Keith looks confused. I stab my finger towards his door. Until he just throws his hands up and leaves.

I owe you, I mouth.

He flips me off with both fingers.

"Ah," she says. There's a long hesitation. "Well. Yeah. Sorry, you just sounded angry. I'm glad it's all—yeah. Anyways I'm basically here."

I hear the knock on my door physically and through her phone. The line clicks as I go to open it for her.

Sayori stands there, and she looks cold. A skirt and slightly tight tank top that doesn't fit the season. She isn't wearing a bra. A touch of makeup loosely dabbed onto her cheeks and eyes. Her hair is messy. It gives me the distinct impression that she had just rolled out of bed.

She takes a deep breath. "You promised to feed me. If there's no food within twenty minutes, I'm going to scream and say you kidnapped me." Her smile is hopeful, a little frayed around the corners of the lips. "Can I come in?"

I put my hand on her shoulder and drag her in, feeling the Autumn chill on her exposed skin.

"Get in here, you. ¿Tienes frío?"

"A little. It's not so bad." She smiles awkwardly, looking around the room. "I kind of forgot where my hoodie was, but, like, you basically live right over here."

"Ever consider a coat hanger?"

"Only since they overturned Roe v. Wade," Sayori says mildly, and looks me in the eyes to gauge my reaction.

When I don't laugh, she sighs heavily. "That was funny. Shut up."

I shake my head.

Sayori scowls. Then she just leans against my fridge, idly looking around. "So. Uh. Tuesday. For real, whatcha got planned?"

"Honestly, I didn't think this far ahead. I need to scrounge about to see what I got on tap. Make yourself at home while I mindlessly open shelves and hope."

She rolls her eyes, smiling as she walks into the living room. "I'm stealing your couch. It's mine now." She collapses onto the sofa. Only to sit up and look at the little table in front of it. "These your textbooks and laptop?"

"Yeah," I say, going through the cabinet and thinking. There's some protein ramen and peanut butter in here. Some food oils and chili. I can work with this.

Sayori opens the laptop and blows her tongue. "Boo. You have password protection. What are you hiding from me?"

I start pulling things out. "Three terabytes of creepshot photos I took of you."

"D'aww," she says, putting a hand to her breast. "That's so sweet I'm going to call the police."

"Quicker to order an Uber away from here than to hope the cops show up in this place. Peanut butter noodles sound good?"

She hums. "Never had it. Can I help?"

"Didn't you tell me last week how awful you were at cooking?"

Sayori stands, hands on hips and scoffing. "How dare you remember the things I've told you and use them against me. But seriously, can I?"

"I'd rather you not."

Before I know it, she's standing behind me. She squints at my ingredients and picks one of them. "What's Vite-Ramen?"

"Weird overpriced zero carbohydrate ramen stuff. High in protein."

She looks at me like I'm crazy. "Gees, no wonder you barely eat when this is what you have on hand."

"I eat plenty," I say. "We met today at breakfast. Remember?"

"Yeah," she says, looking away. She adjusts her sleeve. "Still, it'd mean a lot if I could help."

"Sayori, you're my guest."

"Please," she says. "I don't—I'd feel pretty awful if I just sat here and tried to break into your laptop. I gotta see if you captured my good side."

I elbow her and sigh. "Get some water boiling. I'll make the peanut sauce."

"Can do!"

It's not an especially involved process. I imagine the hardest part will be the clean-up. Even diluted into a sauce and spread over ramen noodles, peanut butter is still a bitch to scrub out. Sayori mostly stands guard over the noodles and, somehow, convinces me to put on some Doja Cat on the stereo.

In the end, I sit down next to her on the couch and hand her a bowl and fork.

She takes both and smiles. "I'm only crying a little bit from the smell of the chili. Nudes smell good otherwise."

"Noodles," I say.

"My boys of nude," she insists, then frowns.

"How do you manage to make dinner sound lewd?"

She holds her fork up to me and winks. "It's a gift. Only sometimes appropriate in public."

"Remind me never to take you anywhere nice," I mutter.

Sayori sighs. Shakes her head. Stares into her bowl. "No chopsticks? This looks kinda Asian, the ingredients and ramen."

I shake my head. "In this house, we use forks."

"It's because you don't know how to use them, huh?"

I shrug, mixing up my noodles. "No, not really. I don't have your innate Japanese talents for prolonged stick pinching."

"Well, what are you?" she asks, tilting her head away.

"Dunno. This pretty spooky thing happened a couple centuries ago. Kinda destroyed my entire ethnic identity and past."

"Oh." She sucks on her lips. Pokes her tongue into her. Eventually fidgets with her fingers. "Well. Uh. I'm not fully Japanese."

I take a bite. "You're saying with a name like 'Sayori' you're not made of ten-thousand times folded Nipple steel?"

"Nippon."

"That's what I said."

"Go heck yourself," she says pleasantly, settling back onto the couch. Sayori slowly points at my face, and then at her own eyes. "Blue."

"Well, they're pretty," I say, nodding towards her.

"Thanks! I grew 'em myself!" she says, going to town on the noodles. She coughs a little and holds a hand over her mouth, exhaling. "Hot, hot! Ouch! Aaah, it's hot!"

I try not to laugh, and fail. Exhaling whisps of steam, she punches my shoulder. Which only makes me laugh harder.

"You're—" She swallows. Reaching for a little glass of water to chug. "You're mean."

"I made this dinner and I can take it right back, Sayori."

She scowls. "Lemme finish! I was saying, you're mean, buuut you're an okay cook, so I'll let it slide."

"Thanks."

Sayori leans in to blow over her bowl. "You should bring some food in for us all. Natsuki could use the company. We can turn it into a potlatch or something."

"Iunno. I don't usually cook enough for other people. You're special."

She flexes her fingers. "You eat out a lot more or something? Like this morning, I mean."

"Monika invited me along with her, is all."

"Yeah," she says, staring at the TV. It displays the music I'm casting to it. "You hang with her often, I take it."

"No more than I have to."

"I see." She takes another bite. Without screaming, this time. "It's nice, y'know? Seeing you all get along. You and her—Monika, I mean—had a bit of a weird vibe. She said it was nothing. So did you. So that means obviously something's up. So it was, like, it was surprising running into you by chance and you're sort of just talking, laughing, touching. Getting along."

"Not exactly."

The girl gives me a strange look. "So you just eat with people you don't get along with often, or…?"

"If I have to, sure. I can stomach a lot of punishment."

"I see."

Something in the conversation hitches. She doesn't reply, not at first. And I don't know where to take this conversation.

We eat in silence.

Until she says my name and sighs. "Why'd you invite me over? Like, really?"

I side-eye her. "Because we're friends?"

Sayori sets her bowl on the little table and scoots away from me. "Why is that a question? You're saying it like it's obvious and I'm stupid."

Unsure what else to do, I take another bite of noodles. Chew slowly. A bit of peanut gets stuck in my teeth. I try to lick it out.

"You're doing that thing again, y'know?" she asks, arms folded. Grimaces. "Something awkward or real comes up, and you're opting to go silent. Letting me draw my own conclusions and hope I'll just, I don't know." She brushes a bang from her face. "Until I realize I'm sounding crazy and ruining what shoulda been a nice night because…"

I lick the object in my teeth and lick it some more. My tongue starts to feel sore from the way I'm bending it. Sayori is staring at me, showing me her own teeth. Trying to make me jealous she has nothing inside of them that spreads them apart.

I shift towards Sayori and she presses her back into the couch. She says my name cautiously.

"If I didn't want you here," I say, "you wouldn't be."

She grimaces wider. "Then why does this feel so… so weird. It's like you saw me earlier today. You were with Monika and having a great time. I showed up and I could feel the vibe going off. I should be happy for you, but I'm not. I'm just not. And then you hit me up. Why? Is it—is it out of pity?"

I want to stick my fingers into my mouth to give my tongue some rest. To scratch the little obstacle out. But I can't with Sayori's face this close to mind. So I keep pressing and dragging this muscle in my face against the wet bones.

There's a spike of something. Adrenaline. A need to get it out. To stop it from misaligning my teeth. So that I can speak and think and talk to Sayori properly.

Because nothing is in the right place.

"Am I ruining everything?" she whispers.

"No," I say.

Sayori swallows. "What are we doing?"

I'm silent.

"You coulda done something earlier. When it would have been more natural. Instead, you do this now, and you let me talk. And, and—" She pulls her knees up to her chest.

I shake my head. "I want to spend time with you."

"What are we?" she asks quietly.

"Hm?"

She laughs mirthlessly. "I feel like I'm sneaking out. Going behind Monika's back. There's something going on there, you two. And here I am, dragging you into stuff. I push, you pull. And now we're alone here, out of pity or whatever. I don't know what I'm doing. Why does it feel like that? Why does it feel like I'm doing something wrong, and every word you let me use is just another inch of rope to hang myself with?"

Sayori grabs her chin. "What are we doing?"

"What do you want?" I ask.

She blinks rapidly. Scowls at nothing, looking away. Rubs her eyes. "Nothing. Everything. I don't know. It doesn't make sense. I'm being stupid. I should go. I'm—I'm sorry, I'm ruining everything and—"

I dislodge the thing in my teeth. The blood surging into my tongue redirects to my extremities. I snatch Sayori's wrists, and she gasps softly.

"What do you want?" I repeat.

She sniffles. "I don't know."

"What do. You want?"

"Please let me go," she says, and I don't. She put a hand on my wrist.

"Sayori."

"I don't know!" she shouts. "Everything is so confusing, so muddy. I feel one way, I think another way, and I do a third. I feel so stupid and ridiculous saying it. I thought—I don't know. When I found you, that something could just—you were a ghost from my past. Of times when things seemed to make sense. When the air was a little less wet. I saw you today and I should have been happy. Instead, I numbly ate with Natsuki and ruined our breakfast. I know I made it awkward for you and Monika. I just went home so I wouldn't bother anyone else, lying in bed until I had to roll over because my back was getting sore. My friends all seem happier when I'm not dragging them down or forcing them to do stuff with me. You don't even look happy. And I don't know what I'm doing or what's going on or—"

I pull her towards me. She makes a low noise as I force her into my arms. Sayori shuffles her shoulders, weakly trying to escape, and surrenders. Her skin is cool and dry.

"You and me," she mumbles, head buried in my chest. Silent tears soak through my shirt.. "Are we—can we—am I…?"

I look down at her. She looks up. Inches her face and the lips attached to them towards me. Stops herself and goes red.

"Am I being selfish?" she asks. "I don't want to be selfish."

"What do you want?" I ask a final time.

Her heart beats against me. An uneven flow of blood. Its rhythm doesn't align with mine. I beat once, slow and steady, and it shakes us both. Hers goes twice, rattling her. When I ask the question, and she looks up at me, our pulses misalign further.

Sayori swallows. Locks her lips. Blue eyes wide enough I feel my fingers could slide through the gaps in her skull to caress her optic nerve. Her lips are wet. She tries again to inch towards me.

But I don't crane my neck to meet her and complete the circuit. I could. I know I can.

Thing is, all I have to do is look at her to see the horrible headspace she's in. Sayori, this woman in my arms, is less of a girl, and more of a frayed bundle of nerves I'm physically holding together into the semblance of a human being.

Maybe I wouldn't mind normally. But I'm not enough of a sociopath to take advantage of her desperation and loneliness in her worst moment. To push myself onto her when she's grasping at straws.

She looks up at me, mouth slightly open and lips parted. Eyes red and soaked. Before she swallows everything. "I don't want you to leave me," she says. "I hate myself. Wait, what are you—"

I pull her tighter into my arms and maneuver with her. Shifting our bodies until I'm beneath her, head resting on me. Sayori clings to me tighter, nuzzling her face into me. I can feel her breasts compressing against me. She takes a deep, shuddering breath.

"This…" She swallows. Beats a fist weakly against me. "This is really embarrassing and I hate you right now."

"Cope," I say. "We're finna just stay like this until you're fine."

"Because fine is all it can ever be, huh?"

I give her a squeeze.

"It might take a while to get there," she says, sniffling. "What if I have to pee but I'm still not feeling fine?"

"Everyone knows girls don't use the bathroom," I say confidently. "It's literally a scam by Big Toilet to make us buy twice the restrooms."

She snorts. Then makes a growling noise. "You're stupid. Don't make me laugh. I think you just made me swallow snot!"

"I miss five seconds ago when I didn't know that."

Sayori grabs a fistful of my shirt. "You're the one holding me. Deal with it."

"I'll deal with you," I say threateningly.

She looks up at me, eyes wide. Sniffles again.

"Want me to get a blanket? We can just chill the night away and watch Netflix."

Sayori looks incredulous. "Are you seriously asking me to 'Netflix and chill' right now?"

I cock an eyebrow. "Mayb—" I catch myself and stop, but she's already trying to smile.

"Is a baby who always says yes, gottem!" she says. "Boys are so predictable."

For the longest moment I just stare at her. "Never mind, you're fine. I'm kicking you out now."

She grabs my shirt tighter. "No, no, I'll be good!"

I poke her nose. "You're so predictable."

Sayori pouts. "You're mean." But she takes another deep breath, her lungs rattling.

"Whatcha feel like watching?"

"Anything you want, really," she says, trying to get comfortable atop me. Still holding me. "What do they have? Anything new?"

I get out my phone and cast Netflix to the TV. Only to see a text from Keith.

Keith 34: Smash or pass already bro I gotta piss

You: Use the window.

Keith 34: Bro plz

Sayori perks her head up. "Ooh, is that Lucifer?"

I click my tongue. "Don't care for it. Too pro cop."

Keith 34: Bros before hoes

"What about Dahmer?" she asks. "Buncha girls I know said it was really good and the actor was hot."

"You wanna watch a show about a cannibal serial killer?"

"Hmm," Sayori hums.

"Ooh, Community," I say and hit play. Then mute my phone so Keith can't interrupt me.

I fish out a blanket from the far side of the couch and drape it over us. Sayori just gets comfortable as we watch some old comedy show.

She even laughs a few times. And it's like that until the sun is well and truly gone. Until sleep takes us, arm in arm under the covers atop the couch, with the TV droning in the background.

— 20 —

Sayori's not as subtle as she thinks. I pretend to be asleep as she tries to gently crawl off me, and ends up rolling hard onto the floor. She shuffles half-blind to the bathroom and runs the water.

A moment later, face soaking wet from where she washed off what was left of her makeup, she looks around. Finds the bowls we left on the table and puts them in the sink. Sayori just stands there, hugging herself, wearing clothes not fit for anything, and looks out over the room.

There's no way she doesn't know her flopping around woke me, right?

I watch as she stares. Hugs herself a little tighter like a self-inflicted straight jacket. Raises a finger to her mouth and starts to idly bite and chew.

Sayori exhales hard and flinches. She looks down with displeasure at where she'd bit herself. Then sticks the slightly bloody nail in her mouth and sucks. She keeps that posture as she walks out, like someone strapped rubber bands to her limbs and this is the only way she knows how to move.

She goes to my bedroom door. Hesitates. Reaches out a spit-slick hand to push it open a crack.

Then slides through the gap and vanishes.

I give it a moment.

She doesn't come out.

I sit up, distantly tasting an old cigarette and mouth-rotten peanut butter from not brushing. My teeth feel rough. I run my tongue over my incisors and I walk to my bedroom.

I gently open the door.

Sayori, bent over a dresser drawer, jumps and spins. She makes a high-pitched sucking sound.

I say nothing.

She puts a hand to her heart and tries to breathe. "Jesus, you're really scary, just standing there in the dark."

"Whatcha doing?" I ask.

Sayori looks to the side. "Not snooping?"

I stare.

She sighs. "Stealing your clothes."

"Why?"

Sayori sucks on her lips. "I'm in a tank top and skirt. Not exactly something you can sleep in. Bad enough I didn't wash my makeup off. What if I get covered in zits?"

I walk past her and she steps away. "This drawer," I say, fishing out a black undershirt and some sweatpants. for her.

She takes them, then gives me a dubious look. "It doesn't feel as cute if you just give them to me."

"Mhm."

"Well?"

"Well what, Sayori?"

"Are you just going to watch me change or what?" she asks, making a shooing gesture.

"Can I?"

Sayori scowls, before her expression softens. "No."

I leave her be. When I come back, she's trying to tie the back of the shirt into a knot. Her entire shoulder is exposed, the collar drooping down her.

"Stop being so big," she says. "I feel like I'm wearing a parachute."

"Funny," I say mildly. "Those are my tightest threads."

Sayori goes over to my bed, running her hand over the sheets. "This is weird."

"You're the one wearing it."

"No, I mean." She sits on the sheets. "You make your bed."

"You don't?"

She grimaces. "It's a good day when I don't just leave my clothes on the floor."

I sit beside her. "Not a good day lately?"

Sayori shakes her head. "I that obvious?"

"You had a breakdown because I made you dinner."

"Yeah," she says, staring ahead at nothing.

"What happened?"

She looks away. "Is 'I don't know' a valid answer?"

"No."

Sayori sighs. "That sucks. It's all I got. Maybe it's seasonal or just… whatever. I told you I wasn't good lately. I've got exams coming up. Some of the material is strange. I need to get an internship at a local school to stay in the major soon and it's this whole complex and stressful process I don't think I fully understand. Seeing you helped. Then it got weird. Monika was acting funny. And I felt worse."

"Feeling better now?"

She flops down, head hitting the pillow. In my clothes she looks almost like she's partially melted. A blob of girl in black with a pale face and blue eyes. She's like dried snot on my linens.

"No," she whispers. "Well, I don't know. It's all—rainclouds, I guess. I don't like, I mean, telling you. Letting anyone know. Because what if I'm just faking it? What if I'm just stuck in bed all day because I want attention or something?"

"Is that how you feel?"

Her face is all teeth. "That's how it feels sometimes. Like it's not real. It's just this stupid, stupid thing in my head. I hate that girl in the mirror and her stupid head. It just wants attention and if anyone knows about it, like you, that just makes it worse. I want to cover my eyes and pretend it's not there. To fake another smile. Because if they knew, they'd look at me. They'd feel sorry and pity and offer stupid, useless advice like 'go outside' or 'just exercise' or 'stop being a bitch, Sayori.' Because that's all it is. They'd give me sad eyes, and I'd know I was ruining their lives because I'm not right in the head like everyone else, and they'll feel awful, and that'll make it worse, and they'll pity me.

"But we can't control the weather. Sometimes it just rains. I can't fix this. I don't think it can be fixed. And I'm rambling and using stupid words and I feel like the worst person in the world and I want it to stop. But it doesn't. Sharing only makes me feel guilty."

"I have an umbrella," I say.

She chuckles mirthlessly, tracing her fingers in a circle over her shirt. "That's cute. You're cute. But I don't want to, like, just be the girl who needs an umbrella from you. You don't have to do that."

"Have to, no," I say. "But why would I offer if I didn't want to?"

Sayori is quiet for a long time. "Because you're stupid. Maybe you have some kind of hero complex and feel pity for some sad, worthless idiot like me."

"Don't say that," I say sharply. "Pity. Ugliest fucking word there is."

She stares up at me.

I lay down next to her. "It's the single cruelest, most evil form of compassion out there. You don't pity someone you respect. You don't pity someone you want to look up to. You pity a three-legged dog. You pity the kid from East Atlanta who played sports to get away from his broken family and it just exploded into a whole life for him he's too invested in to leave anymore. You pity the person you're fucking glad you're not."

I sit on my side, looking into her eyes. "And I know what pity feels like. It's the fire behind you when you're standing on the ledge. It's that thing that makes you want to jump. Because of all the emotions we humans feel, pity is the most painful to receive."

Sayori grimaces. "So, what, you'd rather kill yourself than be pitied?" She laughs and says my name. "Where does that leave me?"

"One death out of the three you need," I say seriously.

She's silent.

"First one is when your heart stops. When the gray goop in your head stops getting electrical signals. That's a normal death. It's the only one you can really do anything about."

"The other two?" she croaks.

"Second, when someone says your name for the last time," I tell her. "And the third? Well, that's the hardest one to achieve. Because everything you have and have not done contributes to it. The third death is when the world finally heals from what you done. You kill yourself, you force the first death, but you make the second and the third so, so much worse for everyone else. You want to be selfish? You want to hurt people? You tighten the noose and grin viciously as you drive the knife into everyone who loves you, who ever loved you, and ever would have loved you, Sayori."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. Opens her mouth. Closes it. Screws her eyes shut and looks away. Sniffles again. Holds her fists to her eyes.

"That's not—it's not," she says, using her palms to hold the tears in. "I don't want to be selfish. But I am. I am. I saw my friends being happy, and I felt all rainy inside, and that's selfish. That's not how someone worth loving thinks or feels like."

I wrap my arms around her. She keeps crying in silence. I feel her heart beating against my wrists as I bring her in close. "That's not a fear someone selfish would have."

"What if I am selfish, though? What if I look up and can't see the sun?"

I shake my head, feeling her hair against my face. "Then you'll be okay. Because it's not rain that drives you over the edge."

She looks up at me, eyes red, snot in her nose. She sniffles. Looks ugly. "What is?"

"Fire," I whisper.

Sayori licks her lips.

"Your heart is just one organ. You have to feel it everywhere at once. You ever seen people in a burning building who jump to their deaths to avoid the fire? That's what it's like. Even selfish as we are, we're designed to keep living. But more than that, we're programmed to avoid pain.

"Sometimes you're there, you're standing on the ledge. Everyone looks over the distance and wonders what it'd be like to jump. To embrace the open air. Intrusively wondering what it's like to crunch against the ground, to have your bones break and dislocate and stab you through the guts.

"We can't help it. We wonder. But we won't find out. Until we do."

She shakes her head.

"Sometimes, it's the fire. It's life itself. You look over the edge of the World Trade Center into the gray sea of concrete. You look back and see the fire approaching. You know you can't escape. You can feel the heat and the heat and the heat and nothing else. You can feel it start to cook you alive. Every single cell, every chemical chain holding your proteins and meat together, they start to roast. Your eyes literally boiling in your skull until it's a viscous soup that used to be your sense of vision.

"That's the fire. That's what it'll do. You know you can't escape it. Fire isn't a fast killer and it knows it. Life can take its time with you and it'll still win.

"So you look over the edge. You stare at the gray beneath. The infinite morass of humanity below reduced to a blur. You're not selfish enough to brave the burns, to become a melted waste of a human being in a hospital bed if you did survive boiling and burning and sizzling and popping. So you jump.

"You think you'll end up in the same place as the fire wants to take you. Might as well get it over with. Make it faster. Painless. You jump, and everything breaks when you land, and you hope you'll finally fucking die, and go somewhere there's no more fire."

Sayori stares at me, reddened eyes wide. She mouths something. Swallows. Taking a shaky breath as she tries not to cry. Then she blinks, jaw sliding open like a birth canal whose spawn can only hurt those who hear it.

So instead, she reaches out a hand. Her warm, tear-and-spit-soaked fingers touch at the bottom of my shirt. I feel the fingertips dragging over my skin, leaving furrows of goosebumps until she finds the bullet scar. She rests her hand against it, feeling the wide scar she can't see, staring into my eyes.

"I…" she tries. "You actually know from…"

I gently grab her wrist. "Yeah."

Monika.

"I'm… I'm so sorry," she whispers.

"Don't be," I say. "You have the rain. I come with fire. They cancel each other out and we're left with steam."

"Yeah," she says, barely audible. "That's what this is about. What it's led to, huh? Steamy."

"Sayori."

She swallows. "Steam."

And she wraps her hand around the back of my head and pulls me in towards her.

She presses her lips to mine, holding onto me for dear life. The wet human of her lips, the taste of copper and bits of salty mucus in her mouth. She breathes through it, a shudder that runs up her whole body, hot and humid. She didn't brush her teeth after dinner, same as me. Moaning softly as we press into each other. Our mouths are together, connecting the fronts of our digestive systems together until we are nothing more than a long, fleshy tube from asshole to asshole.

Sayori pulls away, like it's the done thing instead of something she wants. She bits my bottom lips and pulls at it before letting go. She's almost out of breath. Eyes wide. Cheeks full of veins dilated with blood. Expression scared, expectant. Her head rests on the pillow.

I say nothing. I don't move.

She whispers my name.

"Why does it have to lead anywhere?" I ask.

Sayori blinks. "Wha'?"

"What are you doing?"

She looks down at herself, then up at me. Eyes still wide in the darkness. "This is… what's happening, isn't it?"

"Why?"

"I don't understand." Sayori props herself up on an elbow. "This is what we're doing, right? I—I mean—you, me, this place, these words. This is where it's leading to, right? Feelings and bodies and we even kissed. Right? This is what's supposed to happen."

I close my eyes. Breathe. Expel and exhale. And say, "What do you want, Sayori?"

She stares up at me in silence. "I…"

"Sayori."

The girl swallows. Her mouth doesn't properly seal closed. "I want to be happy," she says breathlessly. "I want to be normal. Something people want to be around, who has a normal life that makes sense, a normal boyfriend, a normal future."

"Am I someone you could love, or just someone you expect in this 'normal' life?"

"What?" she croaks.

I'm silent.

Her breath hitches. "I… I don't know. It feels… it feels… I feel a lot of things. It feels like this is what should happen. Everything's been leading up to this from the moment I saw you again. I don't—I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

"What if you're not supposed to do anything at all?"

Sayori shakes her head at me. "That's not… no. No, no, that's wrong." She says my name. "Things are supposed to happen. There's things you have to do to be happy and normal!"

I grab her into a hug. She gasps, holding her arms up as if to try to slip away. I hug tighter. Until, slowly, afraid my touch will hurt her, she puts her arms around me. Her breath shudders. She chokes. Her head goes limp and she shakes, little sobs that rattle her entire body.

"Sayori," I say, "are you okay?"

"No," she says through the tears. "I'm not okay. I don't—I don't know anything. Nothing feels right. Rain and fire and steam and… Jesus, no, I'm not okay. I don't know if I can be okay."

"I know," I say, and just hold her. "Nothing has to happen. Nothing is supposed to happen. There's not some script we have to follow to be happy. Maybe we can be, maybe we can't ever be. I don't have any more answers than you. But an us can't be something that's 'supposed' to be inevitable or anything. Because if that's how you feel, I can't return your feelings. You're lying to yourself, same as when you smile for your friends when you don't feel it."

"I'm sorry," she sobs, choking, sputtering. She coughs. Sniffles. The tears keep falling. "I'm, I'm sorry. I didn't—I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. I just—I just—I just—"

"I don't hate you, Sayori," I say. "But we're not objects for each other. I won't use you, and you can't use me. How can you ask someone to love you when you can't love yourself?"

She makes a high pitched noise as she tries to hold it all back in, and fails every step of the way.

"It's weird and it's scary and it's confusing and I don't know what I'm doing in this world either," I say, "but I feel that's right, that's true. And I won't have you lying to yourself to trick yourself into being happy."

"What if I can't be happy?"

"Then we can be miserable together."

"But not together together?"

I say nothing.

She sniffles. Coughs again. "Do I have to leave?"

"What?" I ask with a little laugh.

"I'm in your bed. We're not, y'know." Another breath. "I don't—it's dark and cold, but do I have to leave?"

I grab the corner of the blanket and pull it over us both, keeping her in my arms. She makes a harsh little laughing sound, burying her face into my chest.

"You don't have to go anywhere you don't want. You don't have to be anything you don't want," I say. "Not as long as I'm here."

"Are you sure?"

I cock an eyebrow. "Just because the microplastics in your blood are trying to trick you into thinking you need to sleep with me to be happy doesn't mean you have to be dumb."

Her eyelids flutter. "I'm not—I—you!" She just stops. Stares at me with wet eyes.

And laughs.

Nuzzling her face into me, laughing until my shirt is soaked. She reaches up to kiss my cheek.

"Wasn't that funny," I say self-consciously.

"That was stupid. You're stupid," she says.

"I'm rubber and you're glue," I say reproachfully. "Anything you say to me bounces off and sticks to you."

She gives me a look, and just breaks down laughing again. It mixes with the last vestiges of her sobs. An uncomfortably cacophony of uneven breath and choking sounds.

But she doesn't say anything after that. She just lays there against me, in my arms, under my covers. Letting herself be held and closing her eyes.

Until this time we fall asleep for good.