It was only a few minutes later that I heard footsteps coming from the stairs. I pulled myself together as quickly as I could, not only appearing to be okay, but also becoming less comfortable on the sofa.
"Sorry about… that."
When he peeked through the doorway of the living room, Otsuki was holding one of his long strands of hair, right at his collarbone. His demeanor was slightly calmer, showing a bit more emotion than a couple of hours ago—or rather, I'd say kindness. The same kind he would show Tsukiyomi or Hina. His eyes were moist, with a faint reddish hue. He didn't intend to mention it.
"Don't worry about it. And, I'm so sorry that-"
"Don't apologize. I don't want you to. Nothing bad has even happened, but it's not your fault. Not in this, not in anything."
She approached the sofa, but not to sit down. Her bag, with all her belongings, was resting to one side, and after picking it up, she put it on her shoulder.
"Well, I'm leaving now. If you don't end up coming next week, I'll come back here and bring you everything we've given you."
She was about to go alone to the door that led to the street, but I got up before she could. Neither of us said anything; she stood for a moment until I reached her side, and then we both walked toward the door. I didn't want her to leave without me saying anything; it would seem as if I didn't care about everything she'd done up to that point.
"I'm still not sure if I'll go to class next week, but I'll let you know when I decide."
"Okay. I'd tell you I'd wait for you there, but if Natsuki sees me talking to you, I think she'll kill me."
Even after crying, she could still say things like that. It would be a way of forgetting, of letting go. It wasn't worth being depressed all day just because she remembered something to motivate someone. I just want to believe it was also to motivate herself.
After saying that joke, he turned around, stepped down the small step, put on his shoes, and when he was sure they were on properly, he reached for the doorknob and opened it completely.
He turned his head slightly, glancing at me more or less out of the corner of his eye.
"Goodbye," she said in a gentle tone.
"Y-yes, goodbye." The anticipation of her leaving made me hesitate for a moment before saying goodbye. She closed the door.
"…"
I stared at the door for a moment.
"…"
It was just a couple of seconds; I just wanted to be sure he was really gone. I heard Otsuki closing the outer gate from outside. I turned around.
I didn't start running, but I was walking at a brisk pace. I went up the stairs, not worrying at all about falling, and when I got to the top, I went straight to my room.
The arrangement I'd made seemed more like a joke than anything else. The room was still exactly the same. I closed the door behind me. I clumsily climbed onto the bed, crawling on it. Once I was on top, I flopped down sideways onto the mattress, not caring that my head wasn't on the pillow.
…Being alone means having no one, being unable to speak to anyone but yourself, having only your own presence and trace. It's impossible to be alone for very long. Eventually, you'll have to see someone, even if it's a stranger. That alone strips you of your status as 'being alone.' Even just going outside is enough. If we were to equate being alone with space, in a space as open as the world itself, no one should be able to be alone when going outside. And by extension, there is no space in which we can be completely covered. There will always be a crack, a gap, something that connects us. Something that allows us to exist, that brings air to us. But that can't be; an infinite open space cannot exist, so solitude must be enclosed somewhere.
It cannot not exist. If it doesn't reside in the world, then it must reside within us. It makes sense, knowing that we are beings who possess evil. And loneliness is just another evil, a poison we must avoid, another glass of water we must drink. What is living in solitude? You will always have people around. Always. Always. Always. No matter how much you avoid it, there is always someone. Watching. Even if you don't want them to. That is why loneliness shouldn't exist, and living in solitude should be a fiction. We could be dead. If there is nothing to see me with, then I would be dead. Right now, people see me. People have seen me. But I am still dead. Why? Being alone terrifies me. But it is something natural. You are always alone. Being alone doesn't exist. We are all alone… It is absurd to think that loneliness doesn't exist. It always exists. Someone seeing you doesn't mean they are keeping you company. 'Sharing something' is a misnomer; we don't share anything because we are not connected. We are the ones who force ourselves to connect things. It's not that some people live in solitude and others live in company; it's that one chooses to lie to themselves for the worse, and the other for the better. I know it's a lie. Either way. But if I were to think about it, what do I have? I only have what I want to have, but no matter how much I want his attention, I can't have it. No matter how much I want to go back, I can't. All I have left are pieces of a broken puzzle. What good is a broken puzzle? It's proof that something once was, that it existed, but now it doesn't, it has no function. It has no meaning. What has no meaning has no value, that's true. He was right. He only denied it because he couldn't bear it. I couldn't either, which is why I still don't know the right answer. I don't even know what the right thing would be. Whether it's for my benefit, for others, for everyone, for no one. For him. That's why I prefer not to answer, so I can live with meaning. But giving meaning to everything I've done is even worse. The fact that there were reasons why I acted scares me.
It makes me hate myself even more. 'Not thinking' is an excuse. When you do something impulsively, you always say it was unintentional, that you didn't think before acting. But the truth is, you didn't need to think, because that 's what you wanted to do in that moment, without a doubt, no ifs, ands, or buts. All those moments when we act without thinking are the moments when we act, when we are . The mind is just a way of adapting that being to reality, a 'rational' reality that doesn't want to find an explanation for that 'irrationality' within, because it's afraid of it. Impulses. Desires. Sin. That's not all we have inside. We have good things too, but we let those out because we believe that 'goodness,' that 'kindness,' is right, but it's just as irrational as our insults, our comments. We don't mold ourselves to anyone's will, except for the will of our own nature . That's why no one can ever be empty, because we always are , there's always something inside us. And if we are empty, it's because reason wants to avoid thinking that there's nothing more in our body than our being . We tend toward ourselves , and we tend toward me. Reason pushes them away, reason draws me closer. When I am , I cease to be. When I am , that's when I am alone. Being is solitude in itself, and acting is the greatest act of presence you will ever be able to perform. That's why the dead die, and become memories, perspectives, constructions of other people's reason. There's nothing that can make you go back to how you were. Because you can't act, there is no reason, therefore, there is no being. That's why God doesn't exist. He wouldn't allow us to cease to be , but for that we would have to reason. Because if He stripped being of reason , it would be the same as if we were dead. Reason acts upon the world and being , a bridge that connects them both. There it is. My box. My enclosed space. What disconnects me. My mind. My self. My solitude.
The irrational has value, just like the rational. That's why it weighs so heavily. That's why my mind is so heavy. My mind rejected them. My mind hit her. It was me, not him . The forgiveness she offered me was meant for him , when it should have been for me. Why did I do it? He won't tell me. I can't talk to him no matter how much I want to. I'm not the one who decides when he acts, I can only control how much he acts. It doesn't matter how much he begs for forgiveness.I can only act, not inaction .
I shrank slightly, and crossing my arms, I grabbed the sleeves of my pajamas.
"I'm alone. No matter what she says, I'm alone. And even if I'm not now, I will be eventually. I don't know what I'll do. I don't want to. But whether I like it or not, I'm going to act."
"…I don't want to be alone forever"
"…Hehe, I don't want to be alone forever."
A small laugh escaped my lips before I spoke. I closed my eyes.
"Hahah…. Haha… hehehehe… kjkjk-jkjkj."
Sometimes they were sharp, other times they seemed more like sighs than laughter.
"Kjkjkjk… hah… hihihi… just, jkk, hhh-hhh."
I could feel my closed eyes filling with tears. It wasn't a rush; it came out calmly, continuously, drop by drop. Unlike my breathing, which was hardly breathing at all.
"Haha, *sniff*… kjkjk, *ah*, yes, yes, yes, yes… jiha, hahahaha, kjkjkjk…."
My throat started to scratch from straining it so much. It irritated it, it hurt, and it irritated it even more. I could barely breathe through my nose because it was blocked. Every time I blew my mucus, trying to unblock it, it closed up again. Sometimes I felt like I was suffocating because I didn't even have time to breathe through my mouth.
"Haaaa… Hahaha, kjkjk… *jhhh*, ughk, *cough, cough!*-Ajahakjkjk… ah.. haaa. I'm going to… jkjkjk… always."
My whole body was trembling. Not even someone in sub-zero temperatures would shake this badly. I could feel drool dripping from my mouth, soaking the sheet. And laughing only made it worse. Sometimes my laughter would cut short as snot clogged my throat, only to be cleared by a cough.
All that crying was tiring my eyes, too. And laughing was leaving my jaw aching. I could feel the ligaments that connected my jaw to my skull groaning in pain from time to time, just like they would during a long visit to the dentist.
"Kjkjk, gah, ha, ah… ha, ha. Ha… fffh-fhhhh… *sniff*, *sniff*, kjg…"
It was then that I began to feel a sharp, intense pain in my chest that I stopped talking completely. That sensation of having a needle stuck in my heart invaded my entire nervous system, causing me to clutch my shirt tightly above my chest, almost as if I wanted to crush my own heart. I couldn't stop crying, and my nose was still blocked, but I wiped the drool from it with my pajama sleeve with my other hand.
Gradually, the sharp pain in my chest subsided, and with it, the force with which I gripped my shirt. In contrast, I began to notice discomfort in my jaw; every time I took a breath, it felt as if it were tearing my throat with each exhalation. Even when I opened my eyes, everything was so blurry that I had to rub them several times, drying them with the same sleeve I'd used to wipe the drool, though only one side remained dry.
"Fhhh... fhhhh. Fh-hhh... ufffff..."
I let go of my pajama top after the sharp pain subsided. I was still trembling, but much less than before. My breathing became more or less steady, and unable to bear it any longer, I ended up blowing my nose with a piece of sheet I grabbed nearby. I tried to move away from the place I'd soaked with whatever it was and lay down on my back, pushing my body higher on the mattress with my legs so I could rest my head on the pillow. I clasped my hands together, interlacing my fingers, and placed them just above my navel.
What would Grandma think if she found out what I've done?
"…"
" I don't find this funny."
"…"
"…"
"…"
I closed my eyes.
"…"
"…"
"…"
^[Ç+?…
I stopped lying in bed and sat on the edge, still careful not to sit on top of all my mess.
"…"
"…"
"…"
Friends…
I opened my desk drawer.