Chapter Text
Cold sunlight crawled alongside its back, inching further further further, gently rousing it from sleep. Well, sleep was a strong word. Despite the clear indication of dawn, of morning, of time to rise with birds chittering past its vision, it didn’t get up, it didn’t move. Perhaps it became used to her blankets, weighing it down, keeping it chained to the ground, unable to move.
It’d just prefer to sleep.
A car rumbled overhead, shaking the bridge and vibrating throughout the passage. It didn’t move. It knew it’d never get back to sleep, but sitting up meant accepting that the day was starting, and it really didn’t want to start the day. Starting the day meant walking to school meant finding the school meant getting up. It didn’t want to do any of that. Not to mention the entire struggle of school itself.
And it didn’t have her bag, so it’d need to go to her house if it were to grab that. It really didn’t want to do that. It’d need to sneak inside, grab the bag, sneak out and hope nobody noticed it missing last night, it really didn’t want a lecture. It didn’t even know why, it was just a lecture, why’s it even matter? It’s not like the things she said were wrong. It just hated the yelling. God it’s so overdramatic. Natsuki deals with so much worse, and is she running away and sleeping under a bridge? No. She sucks it up, she goes to school, she deals with it anyways.
Why’d it even do that? It’s not like it felt unsafe, it’s not like her mom was going to hit it or anything, it just ran away. It ran away because nobody hated it, God, how stupid is that?! Did it hope that her mom would detest it for being so overdramatic? Some sort of punishment for what it’s done? For the blood on its hands? She doesn’t even know about that, it’d be artificially making her hate it just for some sick idea of a punishment it never got. Nobody must know, but because nobody knows, it’ll never be hated for what it actually is. They’ll never hate it as much as it deserves for what it’s done.
They’ll never know the truth.
That should be a good thing, they’ll never have to relive it, they’ll never hate it for that, everybody is happier. That’s what's so detestable about it, some sort of fake happiness, some sickly sweet joy, artificial at best. They’ll find out, then not only will they be hurt by what happened but its lies. It hung around them, a murder, their murderer, it hung around with some disgusting smile in the hopes they’ll never know. It, like some injured animal, snuck into their house and died. They’ll know it's some slippery, disgusting beast who's taken advantage of their ignorance.
They’ll hate it for it.
They’ll hate it.
The Sun glared in its eyes, it blinked and squinted, hoping to minimize the burn. Its vision glowed red behind its eyelids, until someone blocked the light. She blocked the light.
Monika blocked the light.
It couldn’t see her face from the shadows of the Sun, much less make out what she wanted. In a rush, it scrambled up, scooching away from her. She didn’t move, didn’t take a step forward or back, she simply stood. It rested against the ground, hands planted uncomfortably against the concrete, the pebbles digging into its palms.
“What…What do you…” Someone spoke.
“What…What do you…” The other answered.
It swallowed, spit sticking to its throat with each sharp breath.
“I’m scared.” Someone whispered.
“I’m scared.” The other answered.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
It grasped the nearest ledge, pulling itself up, legs wobbling beneath it and limbs shaking in time with its heart.
“Monika.”
“Monika.”
It took a step forward, so did she.
“Monika.”
“Monika.”
It reached out, hand outstretched, hoping to reach her, so did she.
“Monika.”
“Monika.”
It tried to peer closer, see her face, see what emotion she wore, what she was thinking. Her face did not answer.
“Monika!”
It snapped up, removing its eyes from the dam’s overlook, its ears rung. The voice faded to a distant echo, but despite so, it didn’t stop hearing it echo.
It rubbed its forehead, the headache never stopped, did it? It smashed closed and rubbed its eye, trying to mush the pain back. It didn’t work, but it did make its eyes stop stinking, if only for a few seconds. It took a deep breath in and felt the cold, mourning air. What time even was it? It seemed a little late for morning, and it was meant to be Wednesday, which meant it had school, and it really couldn’t afford to miss any classes.
Not like it’s really been in them anyways.
It just needs to make it to the end of the year, doesn’t need to graduate.
It rolled its shoulder, finding it awkward and painful, serves it right for literally sleeping on the ground. Not like it’s really been sleeping well anyways. Well, most likely sleeping well.
All it needs now is to find the school…somehow.
An alarm blasted through the air, she didn’t move, she’d been awake for the past thirty minutes and she hadn’t moved, an alarm won’t move her. It never did, she always set it, always allowed it to run until the blaring became a silent metronome. Nothing ever changed, she never changed. She doesn’t know why she bothers, why she makes an effort, why she does it knowing nothing ever changes anyways.
She lets it wail. Wail like a siren.
Discomfort shot through her, spiders crawling up her limbs. Finally, she forced herself to sit up to turn off the alarm and crash back onto the mattress. Maybe now she’ll get back to “sleep.”
ERH ERH ERH ERH!
She groaned and covered her head with one of her various plushies…Mrs…Bird? God, she couldn’t even remember her own plush’s names, she’s really losing herself isn’t she? Was there ever a “her” that wasn’t like this? Even her first memories were tainted with this cold, chasming hole of exhaustion and anger in her gut. Every moment had a slight sting below her eyes and a painful tug of knotted hair and the slight stink of unwashed clothes and unbrushed teeth.
Is it losing yourself if you were always like this?
No, it’s just rainclouds, they’ll go eventually, they aren’t all she is, she’s more than her thoughts, than her emotions, than her rainclouds. But it’s been overcast for so long, so so long, she can’t even imagine an end now, she can’t even imagine when it started. The rain’s just become a background noise, soaking her clothes, weighing down every moment, every action, every thought. It's just so…tiring. And she’s not even doing anything, she’s just existing, just breathing is a strain against her lungs, each thump of her heart is exhausting. It’s just so…tiring.
If she could just sleep forever it’d be so much nicer, she’s just so…tired. Her eyes burn so much, her muscles are so tired, so exhausted, so strained, she just wants a nap…A very very long one. Not even to die! She’s gotten better! She has! Promise! She’s just…very tired. And a very long nap would surely help with that!
She’s just tired.
She’s just very tired.
Don’t worry about her, she’s alright, she’s just tired and needs a very long nap. It’s not like she’s had a very good sleep schedule anyways. She could miss one day of school, it’ll be alright, nobody will notice…They’d be happy, wouldn’t they? They’d be glad she isn’t here, her weird, awkward, annoying presence would be gladly gone. She smells awful, she knows she smells awful, she never showers, never enough. She doesn’t even put on deodorant, she just puts on her old, unwashed clothes, and sinks in her shame.
“Eugh someone here, not going to name who, didn’t shower!”
She shrunk back, she knew exactly who they were talking about. She hadn’t showered in the last few days. They knew she had a tendency to forget, last time they told her she stunk she’d rushed off to shower, embarrassed but thankful. She’d rather be told she was being irritating than just laughing around and stinking. But at that moment, she was at her house, where she could shower.
They were in the middle of the town right now, she couldn’t just go home, she didn’t even know the way back home.
She just hung in the back, she wouldn’t want to be any more offensive than she already was. Eventually she’d be able to make it back home and shower, maybe then she could make it up to them. Maybe then she could prove she didn’t want to smell, didn’t want to stink, didn’t want to be like this. God, she wished she wasn’t like this. She wished she could just go to the shower, could just get out of bed, could just wash her clothes, could just eat normally. God, she wished she could just be normal.
She always stunk, always smelled, was always disgusting. Her hair was unwashed and tangled, her teeth were unbrushed, her face was unwashed, pimples making their presence known along her cheeks, nose, and chin. She was disgusting, and everyone knew it, but nobody said anything, because social etiquette said that it was rude.
She just wanted to know how annoying she actually was. Every time they said she wasn’t, she had a spark of hope, only for it to flicker out minutes later when she stood to the side, waiting for someone to talk to her, someone to choose her as their assignment partner, someone to take her seriously. Someone to notice. Someone to see exhaustion, to just see how tired she was. Even if she’d wave it away with a smile, even if she laughed and said that she was fine, she just wanted someone to notice.
How disgusting is that?
The alarm continued to blare.
She just wished she could just go back to sleep, and sleep, and sleep. She doesn’t have to deal with it all if she’s just asleep, she doesn’t have to deal with the exhaustion, the nagging, the loneliness, the assignments, the things she can’t do, the things she can but doesn’t, the gaping hole.
It wasn’t cold, not in the way ice is or a blistering frost, it was just…Nothing. Cold in the absence of warmth, not in the presence of a chill. It was just…a gaping hole. And it burned, but it was so cold and no nothing, not an inbetween but an absence of it all.
She just wanted it to stop. She was just so tired. So, so tired. She wished she could just pull up google and ask when it’d stop, ask a friend when the hole was filled, scream to the stormy skies. She knew it was impossible.
The alarm continued to blare.
Natsuki would notice, Yuri would too, they’d grow worried like they always did. She didn’t want that, she didn’t want them to worry. It wasn’t that bad, she wasn’t that bad, she wasn’t worth it, not really. They’d pace and get anxious and dote on her too much, worried that if they didn’t make their love way too clear she’d think they hated her. She hated that, she’s not some fragile object, some little doll, she’s dealt with this her entire life. Just let her fail, let her crash and burn, let her hit the ground, let it hurt, let her get back up. Don’t touch her, don’t grab her, don’t pick her up, don’t. Just. Don’t. Let her work through this, please. She’s used to it, stop it.
She shoved herself off the mattress and swung her legs over the bed.
There! Now she was sitting up, she could do it! She could!
But she was so tired, and it’d be so easy to fall back onto the mattress and just…Sleep. Fall back asleep and not get back up…Never get back up. She couldn’t imagine waking up, not with how tired she is. Just like someone whose starving being unable to imagine being full.
But Monika would notice. Monika whose been going through so much already. Poor Monika, that’s someone whose actually suffering, not whatever stupid-ness she’s got going on right now, not whatever self loathing she’s got going on. Monika had her brain smashed in and all the stress of good grades and of popularity and her parents and all that expectations. She doesn’t have any expectations, she’s never exceeded expectations, only fallen just short: a room that's messy for too long, brushing once and not twice a day if even, unwashed clothes, poor grades, late for school if she even goes. Her teachers never told her she wasn’t meeting their expectations, she’d never been told her work was disappointing.
Her work was just what was expected of Sayori. She wished she saw disappointment in her teachers eyes when she submitted an unfinished homework assignment, she just saw resignation. She’d never been told her work was subpar, even on her worst days, even during moments where she knew her work was subpar…Or at least thought. She’d hoped her teacher would pull her aside and scold her for her bad work, they never did, they never said her work was unusually bad.
Usually being told your work blew your teacher’s expectations out of the water. She hated the one time it happened. It happened because she submitted her work in on time and there was just an ounce of effort put into it. It wasn’t even that good, in fact, the work was pretty bad. She could do so much better and she knew it. That’s what sucked when her teacher said it was good, when it was unusually good.
Because it wasn’t. Not for anyone, not for her.
Their expectations were just that low, to the point where being as good as everyone else was seen as exceptional.
She was just that pathetic.
She stood up, exhaustion hitting her immediately, weighing heavy on her back, her legs, her arms, her head. She picked up her uniform from the ground, stained, dirty, old, unwashed. She gave it a quick sniff and was hit with the stink of body odor, but she didn’t have the energy to wash it. She tossed it back on the ground and sifted through the various dirty clothes on the ground, looking for any spare uniform that smelled better. Not clean, but better.
She found her shirt from last week, her skirt from the weekend (slightly the wrong color but nobody would notice), her vest from this week, and her blazer that she’d not washed in maybe a month were the cleanest of the bunch. Her vest did have a big stain on the front, but if nobody looked close enough, it wasn’t obvious.
Her bow was still in her hair, of course she’d forgotten to take it off. It tugged at her scalp uncomfortably, she tried to take it out of her hair, but found it’d knotted itself inside her rat’s nest, so she just let her hands drop to her sides. She tied her ribbon, sealing the uniform like some last minute gift that you knew they wouldn’t like very much, but you didn’t really know what they liked, and you’d gotten this gift a few years back and didn’t care about it, and you really just wanted it gone.
Normally she’d just grab something from the kitchen, even if it wasn’t good and didn’t fill her up, just to fill a routine. She sure grabbed something, but she didn’t have the energy, she just held it. She told herself eventually she’d eat it when she had the energy. She knew she’d just shove it in a pocket and forget about it until it began to rot.
Despite there only being a computer, a few notebooks, a few empty folders, and loads of loose, crumpled paper, the bag felt unreasonably heavy. She presumed it was the computer, but she knew it’d be heavy even if it was empty.
“Bye, see you later, love you!” She cheered into her house.
“Bye! Love you too, see you later!” She knew it was just a formality, a thing that’s done every day, that’s why she didn’t let it fill up her heart, because it was just an automatic response. Just words without meaning.
She walked up to the road crossing, finding a small gaggle of people chatting to each other. She knew none of them, she could assume based on their uniform that they were in the same school as her, and based on the few nods and waves she received that she had to return, she could presume they knew about her.
How horrible that she didn’t know them.
She didn’t want to explain that, and putting on a smile felt awful right now, she’d been doing it for years, but that didn’t mean it became easy, it just became second nature, an instinct. It was exhausting, and she only had so much energy to spare.
She dodged the crosswalk and took a path that wouldn’t really take that much longer, but she’d need to walk along the dam to get there. That’s okay, it didn’t scare her at all. Falling through all that air; whisking though her air; arm striking the wall, breaking and scraping against the concrete; the ground approaching faster faster faster closer closer closer; organs smashing against the water, breaking and splitting open and dying; her body drifting down the river, not noticed, ignored until she floated too close to someone, dragged out, bloated and rotting; her friends, her family, horrified at her rotted, dead, disgusting body.
It didn’t scare her at all that her feet ached, begging to feel the corner of concrete; it didn’t scare her at all that she couldn’t stop thinking about falling; it didn’t scare her that she couldn’t stop thinking about flying.
No, it didn’t scare her at all.
“Monika?” It turned around, finding not her, but her.
“Sayori?” It backed away from the edge, guilt and the feeling of being caught squirmed in its heart. It didn’t know why, it’s not like it was doing anything wrong, well other than not being home, and not having its bag or its phone and probably looking like it slept outside…Becuase it did.
“What’re you doing here?” Sayori’s voice sounded different, like a song without the base, a subtle and distinct wrong.
“Going to school.” It offered, “What are you doing here?”
“Going to school.” She took a tentative step forward.
“Well that’s perfect!” It grinned as big as it could, though its cheeks burned, Sayori didn’t seem satisfied.
“Did you forget your bag at home, silly?”
“Oh, haha, yeah!” It reached up to brush at its shoulder, as if it were just realizing it didn’t have its bag on it, but it was halfhearted at best, it didn’t even touch its shoulder.
“Do you want me to come with you to grab it?” She stuck her hand in front of it, if a bit forcefully and a bit too close to it, it flinched back and her hand seemed to tense just a little.
“I’m alright.” it laughed foolishly, how could it explain that it didn’t want to go home, that it didn’t want to grab its bag? How could it even explain why it didn’t have its bag, why there was gravel on its arm, why its hair was so dusty?
Sayori didn’t even seem to notice, too focused on staring at its face with a desperate expression and hand extended. It didn’t want to take her hand, her bloodied hand, not because she was gross, but because it was gross. Her hands would be bloodless if it wasn’t for it staining them. It would take her hand and it’d be cold, it’d be bloody, her nails would be broken and torn up, and she wouldn’t hold it.
It turned around, leading the path, “Come on, we’re going to be late!” It didn’t want to see her cold face, dead face, forgiving face. It didn’t, couldn’t see that, see Sayori want it, see Sayori wish for it, see Sayori chase it. No.
“How about you lead the way?” It didn’t turn around, it couldn’t.
“...Okay.” She didn’t have that cheer nor skip in her step as she walked past it, she just…walked past.
And she walked ahead of it.
And she walked.
And she walked.
Slowly, steadily, but slowly, but steady. She did not look back, she did not turn around, she did not wait for her.
She knew it wasn’t coming.
It didn’t let its heart break, it didn’t let that hot flush of fear rip through its body, it didn’t let its eyes burn, it didn’t let itself bite its cheeks to keep from crying, it didn’t let itself scream that it's sorry, that this is for her own good. It let itself run though. It always let itself run. It was always running.
And it let itself run down the first street it saw, biting its lip with shaking breath.
Sayori dangling, choking, bleeding out, able to move her arms to the fox snare, able to claw her fingers around it, able to kick and gasp. She didn’t. She hung there, exhausted and already accepted her fate with hatred in her eyes. She could’ve reached out, begged it to save her. She didn’t, because she’d never stoop that low.
That was the Sayori that she was meant to be. The Sayori that hates it, the Sayori that knows, the Sayori that detests it, the Sayori that would rather die than take its hand. That’s what it should be, what she should be, what the world should be. Why? Why after everything it’s done, there’s nothing? No Hell, no punishment, no anything awaiting it?
After everything it’s done. After everything. Why? Why? Why?
At least then it’d know it was real, at least then it’d know that it mattered.
It looked up from the pavement, finding where its running had taken it.
It’d made it to the clubroom, but the room was all wrong, the wrong students, the wrong time, the lighting, it was all wrong.
It’d missed zero period.
Of course.
Of course it made it home.
She stepped inside her first class of the day, late, like always. Her teacher didn’t even ask for a tardy slip, she just checked her as present. Nonetheless, she still giggled, embarrassed, and sat down in her seat and let her bag fall off her shoulder and lay heavy against the ground and opened it up and pretended she knew what was going on and pulled out whatever papers were at the top and checked which empty paper looked closest to the one everyone else had out. Her name wasn’t even on it.
She didn’t care, usually she’d at least feel ashamed and embarrassed, and she was, but for a different reason.
Monika.
She’d completely fucked up, she’d gotten too scared, assumed Monika was like her, and she’d just wanted something that meant Monika would stay, would stay with her. Even if it was something as simple and silly as holding hands. Even that.
It was too much, she was too much. She’d annoyed Monika, irritated her. She always did that, she was so often too much, she annoyed people, drove them away. It was all she had, being sweet and social and nice, and she wasn’t even good at that. Monika didn’t want to be around her.
Who would? She was gross and sad and annoying and too much and weird and it was so clear there was something wrong with her and all she did was disappoint until there was nothing left to disappoint. Until disappointment became the expectation. And still, she managed to disappoint. Just lower and lower and lower and lower.
Monika knew how fucked up she was, she knew she was depressed and sad and suicidal, she knew. She knew and she was disgusted. She’d seen her poem all the way back when, she connected the dots, she's sure of it. She connected the dots and she was disgusted and she was ashamed and she didn’t want to be around her.
She’d completely fucked up. Monika probably doesn’t want to be around her, she must’ve been too overbearing yesterday, too annoying, too irritating…Or…
Or she found out.
A hot flash raced down her body starting at her face, like being dunked into an oven.
Monika found out, and Monika hated her. She deserved to hate her, she’d lied to Monika, while not directly lying, she hid the truth, and hiding the truth is lying anyways. Monika knew. And Monika found her disgusting, revolting, horrific beyond measure.
And she’d be right, she’d be right to find her that. A coward, that’s what she was, fearful and terrified and a coward. Too scared to say what she’d done, praying she never knew because she knew what would come next. She knew it and she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it.
No, collect yourself Sayori, you don’t know that, remember the last time you thought that, and Monika was just studying?
But last time she had an excuse, a reason, last time Monika said she had to do something. This time she just slipped off, just snuck away. She was trying to avoid her, intentionally trying to avoid her.
She’d done something wrong, and she knew exactly what, it never left her head, a constant nag at the back of her skull, buried deep in every action she took, every step she made. What exactly she’d done wrong, every little action she’d not taken, everything she could’ve done and didn’t.
Everything she didn’t do.
Everything she could’ve done.
And because of her, Monika was laying on the sidewalk, vomit dribbling out of her mouth and staining her chin, her eyes halfway open and dead. Dead. Dead.
She’d done nothing when Monika fell, she’d done nothing when Monika didn’t get up, she’d done nothing when Monika laid there, she just stood there. She couldn’t believe it when Monika swayed and staggered and vomited and fell and didn’t get up. She just stood there. She stood there for how long, she didn’t know. But she stood there. She stood there as Monika stopped moving, as her breathing came faint, ragged, and short. She stood there and asked in she was joking. She stood there and asked her to please get up. She never said anything.
And then finally she did something, but it didn’t matter, she did nothing. She ran to Monika, Monika laying on the ground. The Sun was setting, and it made everything so orange, she couldn’t tell if Monika was bleeding or not, it was too orange. It’s not like she checked anyways. She just assumed Monika died. She just screamed and sobbed and begged Monika to get up. She didn’t check her pulse or her breathing or anything. She just held her and cried and apologized.
She held her so tightly, she carded her hands through her silky smooth and well maintained hair, and felt blood beneath her fingers, or was it her own tears, or was it Monika’s vomit? She didn’t even drag her out of her own vomit, she just let her knees be covered in the warm, gross lunch. She held Monika and she cried and she sobbed and she begged for her to come back. And she did nothing. She was a coward.
She didn’t call the ambulance, she didn’t call the police, she didn’t call anyone. She was too scared.
She didn’t let go of Monika when the paramedics came, she screamed and kicked and cried, she begged them to not take her. She didn’t want to lose her, she sobbed and dug her fingers into Monika’s blazer like a child onto a mother’s skirt, too scared to let go, afraid of getting lost. She couldn’t imagine herself without Monika, she’d be lost, she’d have no idea where to go, what to do. She couldn’t be without her, please. They tried to pry her fingers off, but every time they got her to let go, she just clambered back and held harder. Eventually they gave up and let her keep the blazer, but she lost Monika. They held her back, someone twice her size or was that just how it felt held onto her as she watched Monika be dragged away.
She should’ve let go, she should’ve called the paramedics, she should’ve insisted that Monika wasn’t okay instead of just agreeing with the nurse, she should’ve told Monika’s aunt, she used to be a paramedic wasn’t she? She should’ve done anything other than what she did. If she’d just let go, if she’d called the paramedics, if she insisted Monika wasn’t okay, maybe Monika wouldn’t’ve been in a coma for a week, maybe she wouldn’t’ve taken three weeks to recover, maybe she would be better, maybe she’d be okay.
But she’s not, and she didn’t. She was a coward, she wanted her, she wanted her even if it killed her, even if it destroyed her.
She was a coward.
She’s a coward.
She’s such a coward.