Sound and Fury

"Don't even."

It was not worth a response, she should not even be entertaining the idea. It was dumb, it was weird, it was creepy. She was over it. Her hands sunk into the soft, grey fur of Naota's old cat, a soft rumble rising slowly from the unmoving animal. Across the room, separated by such a short distance, her head lolling to the side, Samejima Mamimi sat listlessly propped up against the wall, apparently unmoved by her frank refusal.

This reaction, this absence of reaction, rankled. She felt it crawl up her skin, waking from hibernation in the cat's fur and clawing multi-legged up her arm to nestle at the corner of her mouth, manifesting as a twitch in her lips.

"Don't make it weird," she said, further defining the parameters of her refusal.

Samejima's head did not move, her glassy eyes staring blankly ahead, occupied with nothing.

"i T ' ."

"It is weird," Ninamori answered briskly.

This was the way to do things, she had learnt this from her father's reactions. You prodded, you jabbed, you needled until you got a reaction, and then you turned away, you took the high-ground, you acted like the other person was blowing things out of proportion.

The older girl sighed softly, the gentlest exhalation of air, her slight frame limp in amongst the cheap polyester of her Christmas outfit. Mrs Claus, Ninamori had seen the costume sold as, gathering dust on a drugstore shelf, waiting for someone stupid or bold to pull it down and take it to the counter. Haruhara Haruko was both of these things, manipulative too. She had opened the door on the two of them earlier, Haruko leaning in close, Samejima in a state of undress, pale skin, cigarette burns. She didn't want anything to do with that.

"D o N ' ? ."

"No. I'm a kid. Kids don't overflow."

She looked away, trying to seem above the discussion, aloof and detached. Still, however, Samejima's voice came drifting over to her in reply, wistful and carefree.

" ."

Ninamori shook her head.

"They don't."

She sunk her hand deeper into the fur of the cat.

" ."

Deeper and deeper, soft grey through to pale pink.

" ."

Sharply, the cat hissed, its head jerking about in alarm. She realised she was digging her fingers into its back and she quickly recoiled. Unhappy and overweight, the cat rose, waddling across the short distance, turning in a circle before settling down next to Samejima, glowering over at her unhappily.

A spark of fire, the scent of something burning, white paper turning black.

"Stinks," she said, her nose wrinkling.

The other girl's head remained against her shoulder, a cigarette between her lips. Pink lips. Her arms remained limp against her side. She wished she hadn't thought of Samejima's lips. She wished she wasn't looking at Samejima's lips. Kids don't overflow.

" ," the older girl said softly.

Ninamori drew her eyebrows together, slamming her hands down against the tatami. Don't think about Naoto. Don't think about anyone but me. Even when I tell you not to think about me, don't listen; don't think about anyone else.

She placed one hand after the over, crawling over on her hands and knees, dark hair sweeping the floor, the shape of the t-shirt she was wearing loose and worn. Naoto's brother's t-shirt. Inhabiting the space of someone else. Playing their role. Standing on stage. The Marquis de Carabas. Enough to make a cat laugh.

She reached out and took the cigarette from Samejima's hand, holding it as it turned to ash, the smoke wafting upwards.

The older girl's eyes turned slowly to look at her, questioningly, although her head did not move.

Ninamori leant forward and pushed her tongue into her mouth.