Yuri Worlds
[53] Broken
Last time, Yuka could feel the fight she kindled meeting a yielding acceptance on the other end. Misaki may have been locked away behind a girl who seemed like she didn’t care what or who she was supposed to be, but her girlfriend was still there, reaching out. This time, it was just like a cold, unfeeling wall. What if she was wrong about Misaki? It had only been a few days. Even with Ayame‘s spiritual aptitude for sensing people and the creepy things that Grandma Okura did, these were people from an entirely different world, from a separate half of humanity that none of them had ever experienced.
Misaki leaned over and gave her a faint peck on the forehead before relaying that she could switch rooms with anyone Yuka preferred or bunk with Yasha and Naoko. Yuka had to remind herself to breathe. This couldn’t be real. This just could not be real. She had no idea what to think or do. They were so happy just a short time ago. She was so happy, at least. But she ran away. Did Misaki sense that hesitancy? She looked over at her…at…Miss Takano, who looked eager to get up from the bench and walk away and out of her life.
“Okay. What… Whatever you decide to do…” She was able to fashion those words into some coherence. And Miss Takano just got up and walked away. Yuka wobbled and slowly turned her head like she was a boat pitching and stumbling on the waves. It hurt. It hurt so much. But she couldn’t find it in herself to cry.
The messy swarm of emotions dropped away, leaving behind a dark and hollow emptiness eating inside her. She could sleep, just sleep and let tears anonymously wash over her face, if they ever returned. The left side of her neck felt so dry and irritated. She just wanted to rub at the spot as hard as possible, dig her nails in, and carve off the flesh. Misaki could do nothing about any of this, but she focused all the love she could summon from her thoughts and envisioned a version of herself standing with Yuka, hugging as tightly as possible, and trying to explain and understand what was going on.
Yuka attempted to pull her legs up into a fetal position, but she couldn’t do it, so she just dangled. A dozen wandering, hiding, fuming urges rushed through her, adrift from strong emotions but still intrinsically linked to them. She wanted to eat something and never stop. Swallow the world, and then nothing could hurt her again. That sentiment surged through a flash of imaginings. Shove Misaki into the dirt. Launch her on a rocket to the moon. Slap her. Let wild dogs carry her off. And worse. She felt disgusted at her own mind. She coughed with shaking and strained to draw breath.
Yuka felt woozy as she struggled to find her feet. Throwing up in the hallway would cause trouble for the rest of the guests and the innkeepers. She delicately cradled her tummy and returned to the bathroom. Standing over the toilet expectantly didn’t move things in one direction or the other. She screamed into her hands, tightly squeezed over her mouth. All that came out was more like the whimpering squeak of a mouse. The world wobbled with little flares of color and darkness. Drifting over to the sink, she looked in the mirror, and her eyes immediately widened.
Her hair. Instead of the soft and often glossy dark gray locks sprawled to her shoulder, it appeared blackened and diseased as badly as each occurrence of the marks on her leg, as though hideous tar had been slathered across her head. She wanted to run to tell Misaki. This had to be more of the nightmare, and only holding her… only holding… her girlfriend’s hand offered any prospect of relief. It was so warm, like the soothing hot spring waters, and soft, like the gentlest lace. The memory, a frail trace of beautiful things just a few hours lost, wasn’t much, but she was still grateful for it.
Straightening herself, Yuka ran the sink with the biting fury of the hottest, steamiest option and vigorously splashed her hair, getting scalding water in dark spots all over her dress. It didn’t matter anymore. And no matter how much water she threw at herself, the blackness wouldn’t abate. Slumping against the countertop, she struggled to hold herself up. Please, Goddess, help. Have pity. Spirits of nature and whispers of light, help. She was a string puppet without anything to support her.
I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you… Misaki fought to will those words through the barrier between them, even though they occupied the same space. Words of a racing, running heart. A breath of life flowing through her and into the girl she loved. Yuka slowly picked up the shambles of herself, but she briefly paused, as though catching some strange flutter of sound. It was something! So Misaki pushed it harder, like a watery breaststroke she never learned, or a racing sprint she never could’ve attempted, and with unyielding purpose, she proclaimed her love.
Misaki could feel so many aspects of the girl she loved, even the unceasing whisper of her heart. But she would make these words the unrelenting constant of her life for as long as Yuka needed them. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you. Not a mindless repetition but a tireless war against any trace of sadness.
She had no idea if it was actually doing anything, but she continued anyway because the only other alternative was giving up. She never really fought for anything before. Fighting for the sake of love was a good start. This time, they both knew that something made it through. Yuka shook her head and sniffled. She didn’t need an empty, pitying sentiment from her own mind. Looking up in the mirror, Yuka at least had some small measure of relief that the inky black, tarry look of her hair was gone, as though it were a simple prank wig placed upon her head by troublesome spirits. But she was still soaked and damp all over. Searching around, she found a heavy, nice towel to dab the spots with and press soothingly against the patches of angry pink on her face. That didn’t stop or even slow Misaki down.
The words nagged her consciousness, like a song she couldn’t shake. Misaki struggled to express details or nuance that she was somehow present within Yuka, and these words came from her. But none of it matched the simplicity and power of love. Yuka grumbled but didn’t do more than that. She figured she might as well see who wound up being her new roommate. With her luck, it was probably her sister.
Not that she disliked rooming with Ruka; it was a familiar state of affairs when they were younger until she finally got her own space after her moms’ early efforts at remodeling. They had some family discussion about whether Ruka was autistic or somewhere thereabouts. Yuka just said she was a weirdo, and Ruka never complained about it. She always envisioned her as an observer from another planet trying to practice human social mores.
Finding her way back to the suite, Yuka braced herself with a long breath that almost blotted out the repeating love sentiment. Inside, both of her moms were gathered around a heated table and quietly chatting. She resisted the immediate urge to swing around and retreat.
The moms took turns wrapping her up in insistent hugs and encouragement. Either someone had been listening to the bench area or Misaki spilled her thoughts to others. Her mothers avoided saying anything specific, instead focusing on having her rest around the table, having something nice to drink, and maybe something sweet from the leftover travel snacks. No matter what they knew, Yuka didn’t take long to spill the key details as coherently as possible.
Misaki dumped her. It would be better if they just acknowledged that this was never going to be anything. So on and so forth. It was exhausting to get out, and her words ambled through definitive conclusions. Maybe the girl had something more on her mind, or the weird thing that happened the other day with her changing and acting out of character was happening again.
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Mum Kei did her best to be charitable to uncertainties regarding their guest while also spinning up a scolding tone. Mommy Fuyuki gently brushed Yuka’s hair in a way no one else could reproduce. She knew how to dodge around whatever dry or greasy spots there were and make it all feel better. Yuka did her best not to dwell on or fret over any lingering traces of their earlier activities. Her moms in her room always inspired a certain degree of irrational anxiety. But she was emotionally exhausted, and a little bit of family helped. The drumbeat of incessant affection wasn’t going to go away, so she just let it be as she resumed the show for her moms to watch too.
The urge to give up started to sink into Misaki even as she continued to convey her love. Whoever took over her body deserved every terrible fate the two of them could come up with for bringing such sadness to Yuka. But at least they could sit closer than they ever intended to and enjoy the show. For the sake of not giving Yuka a headache, Misaki rotated her expression of love with cheerful, exuberant commentary about what they were watching. It was a little over the top, but thoroughly sincere.
She laughed at the appropriate moments and added exuberant gasps to flares of tension. It felt like more effort than any Gal Hotner theatrical, playful performance for the Internet. But love takes effort. Eventually, Yuka actually cozied up with a careful lean, as though pressing up against someone who wasn’t there, but who felt like they should be. This exact notion fluttered through Yuka’s thoughts for a few seconds before she dismissed it.
That reaction disheartened Misaki a little, despite holding fast to her determination. It was difficult because she had a portion of her own existence stuck in Yuka, and she shared so much of her being. So, it was a quiet battle between lining up with Yuka’s thinking and carving out her own thoughts. She only briefly indulged in the panicked possibility that she might be stuck like this, basically haunting the girl she loved.
Halfway into the episode, which involved the captain being split into multiple personality pieces—a plot that neither Yuka nor Misaki recalled—Ayame stopped over to indulge in some of the remaining pastries before settling down for the evening. She laughed and shared little observations of the innkeepers with the Sasaki moms before glancing over and automatically commenting, "Hello, Yuka, and hello, Misaki, how are the two of you doing this evening?"
Misaki wanted to scream at the top of her nonexistent lungs. She could see or feel her? She promised never to doubt the healer lady’s weird abilities again! But that initial comment and determination wavered as she did a double take and puffed a breath through her nose. Dipping her head and waving her hand, Ayame was quick to apologize for her mistake, noting, "Oh, turtle splashes. I thought I felt Miss Takano with you. Must just be my assumption that the two of you are always thick as thieves. Are the two of you having a nice evening?"
A leaden silence settled over the room despite Misaki still yelling as loud as she could—as loud as anyone could. Even with no throat to thrash, the endeavor felt deeply exhausting. They paused the episode to give Ayame a rough overview of the situation. Misaki turned her away, saying that it wasn’t worth it, it didn’t matter, it wasn’t really love, and it was better to rip the bandage off now.
Swiftly, Ayame shot back, “Cow crap! Misaki would never. And, if she did, it’s not her. That girl has a heartfelt soul that would travel to the end of her being just to make sure you had a smile on your face. I looked inside her and inside you. So many beautiful things. Ladies may sometimes say what they don’t mean to the one who matters most to them. I screamed at my moms plenty of times when struggling to overcome the most difficult days, but they knew, and I can say with all my heart that I never stopped loving my family. That girl could never stop loving you. She’s such an intrinsic and inescapable part of you that I still sense her essence clinging to you. She loves you. I don’t care what spirits may have made her say or claim to the contrary, but you need to go remind her of the truth!”
Yuka was stunned but also vibrating with all the primordial constituents of determination. Misaki amplified what she could from her isolated perch. Kei and Fuyuki clung to looks of concern and uncertainty throughout Ayame’s whole spiel, but they looked to their daughter most of all and recognized her broken uncertainty coming together into something solid.
Yuka didn’t run out as though she were some sports hero ready to tackle her goal. Even putting one foot after the other towards the sliding door and out into the hallway failed to deliver her anything but a roiling sea of stomach unease. The stark expanse and striking proximity between the suites unsettled her. What could she possibly do and say when she arrived? She didn’t really have an answer, even after she firmly swung open the door to her destination.
Naoko was there and looked more like she was tensely bound up in invisible versions of the ropes and cords Yasha was still quietly and diligently fashioning at her end of the room. The aura of discomfort was obvious. Before anyone else could speak first, Yuka swung her arm around, pointed a piercing finger right in Misaki‘s direction, and boldly declared, “We need to talk right now."
The Misaki who lived with them this entire week should’ve jerked around in surprise and concern with that statement, her eyes swarming with uncertainty, unearned guilt, and unbridled concern. But the figure seated there wearing her face seemed to shift out of a holding pattern and mechanically twist her head in Yuka‘s direction as though she were an incensed robot or some ancient predator regarding her dimwitted prey loudly stomping along.
No protest came as they walked not so much together but separately in the same direction and out the door. They didn’t return to the bench but to the other end of that hallway, on the left side. Yuka immediately recited all the insightful determinations that Ayame planted in her. They didn’t have the same unfettered energy and certainty as the original, but Yuka poured out all the emotions she had at her disposal, which hadn’t hardened into jagged pain yet. And then she waited.
Misaki said nothing for several seconds, staring at Yuka with undisguised contempt. Then she let loose everything.
“You’re worthless. You’re nothing. Why do you think I would ever care about you? You’re going to be alone. All alone. Lost and alone in the dark, little one. Small and pointless. Do you know what kind of thing you really are? I’m going to tell you…”
She had enough. She couldn’t take any more of this evil corruption of the girl she loved while the faintest trace of her voice echoed in the depths of her mind and heart. Yuka lunged at the vile pretender, not exactly sure what she was going to do but grabbing wildly. Her fingers hooked around the fringe of the gray wristband—that horrible thing that felt like mental razors on the edge of her brain. Fighting with every ounce of energy that she had, she ripped at the edge of it. She imagined her gross, adolescent grease becoming like acid to eat away at its grip. That couldn’t happen, but she got lucky and snagged enough of the band to snap it loose as a single piece of strange graphite.
As soon as the wristband left Misaki‘s flesh, it was like flipping a switch; the light in her eyes immediately vanished, and her body tumbled like an unthinking, unfeeling heap to the floor with her limbs sprawled out unnaturally, unmoving, dead.