You deserve to look pretty, mama.
“Oh I don’t know know, dear. It’s… Oh wow, it is way… way too expensive.”
She looked at the window, then back at her mother. Everything her mother wore always flowed on her like they belonged. Like it loved her.
“But it’s so starry!” she says, her dough-brown eyes reflecting the sparkle of the black, galactic dress. “Like the milky way galaxy, mama!”
Her mother smiles, the plastic corners of her lips nearly cracking, before her eyes fall to her daughters.
Her smile rubberbands back to nothing.
“… Mama?”
The girls mother ushers a soft tuft, words fizzling out into a soft whisper of a hiss as her eyes stare a thousand miles beyond her daughter. They linger, searching for something in the sudden vacancy of thoughts, before she closes her eyes, and opens them down at her daughter with a smile that made the cold winter night bearable.
“Wouldn’t that mean… you would have more than one Kira?”
The girl giggles.
“More mama!”
She kneels to her daughters height, her white-puffed edge coat splitting in the middle. She wore dark, translucent stockings with wide unevenly placed rips that had been patched over. She reached her hands above her daughters shoulders, her fingertips curdling ever so gently. She pulls her daughter in, the hesitation trembling her slow and methodical embrace into an imbalanced stagger. Her daughter, on the other hand, had closed her eyes already, and lulled herself into her mama’s caressing warmth.
The girl felt the uneven rise and fall of her mothers chest. She could hear her mothers shuddered, and uneven breath. She knew mama wasn’t cold, thanks to that beautiful coat she wore. Mama’s fists balled on the girls back, arms shaking, the embrace tightening. Then she felt it—the warmth of her mothers breathing past her hair to her scalp. With a soft click, she felt her mothers lips part, before resting back on her daughters hair. The girl peers up, and saw the snowflakes that pittered her mothers brown robe with white, glittering specks.
“My galaxy, mama.” she said, her unevenly grown teeth giving her a jagged grin.
Her mother’s head rises, her red-cracked eyes teeming.
She smiles.
“You are the only reason I am still alive.”
***
“There you are sweetie.”
The darkness didn’t let me see who spoke. The headache—as if my brainstem’s being pulled down by my clenching jaw muscles—sends electric arcs across the darkness.
There’s a warm touch on my cheek.
“Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?”
“W—water.”
I heard the shuffling of feet growing more distant, before becoming silent. Tried to open my eyes, but they seemed glued shut with gunk. Couldn’t rub it off either. Sleep paralysis making it hard. At least the cackling witch riding my ass wasn’t here to drink my spinal fluid this time.
I pry open my eyes, barely pulling them ajar, light bleeding through my crusty lashes, sunlight cracking into sharp, gleaming glints. The dryness turning my sights opaque like grease on paper. It stings, but I couldn’t reach up to scrub it off. So I squint, squeezing the grime out, before opening my eyes to gunk strands. I squint again, squeezing them harder, before opening them up to the blinds of the panoramic window splitting the sun into thin beams that illuminated the tingling little dust motes. They stretched across the longside of the room like translucent fluorescent light boards that slowly trailed upwards with the setting sun. They cross the closets golden door handle, sending the beams straight to my corneas—like a sundial at ‘fuck-you’o’clock. The light slowly trails, before shutting lower-eyelid-up, as the sun sets.
My tongue nearly cracked from the thirst, and I could taste the salt from the fissures of my dry-cracked tongue. How long is that fucking lady going to be now? Where is my fucking water?
“Here you go, sweetheart.”
It was dark yet again, obscuring whoever the voice belonged to.
“One moment,”
Click—a searing blindness forces me to squint shut, the pain nearly rupturing my eyes.
“Forgot to turn on the light.”
It takes a moment before I can see a lady clad in green pajamas holding a closed bottle before me. Brand hidden by her hand. Not that it mattered, really since I couldn’t exactly take it from her to inspect it.
“Sorry. Couldn’t find the chip for the vending machine.”
Bottle remained exactly where the lady held it. Made no efforts prop it up to me. Plus, even if she did—the fucking cap was still on.
“P… please…” my shout pisses into hissy whispers. “I’m… thirsty.”
“Gambare 頑張れ, Kumori-chan. You can do it.”
She guides my arms before molding my fingers around the bottle.
“Gambare 頑張れ, Kumori-chan. You can do it.” she says before she lets go.
My arms might as well be held aloft by a scaffolding with parkinsons. The water, swirling, shaking and stirring all at once in the bottle, the cap being the only thing keeping it from spilling.
Seemed to be good enough for the lady, as she reaches in and unscrews the cap.
“Slowly now,” she says, motioning her hands like a fucking aircraft marshal. My arms push and pull at once as I try to keep it steady. Bottles mouth nearly meets mine—but the scaffolding fucking breaks, the water see-sawing allover my lap—but the nurse catches me.
The drink washes away the chalk from my tongue and throat. It was glorious, until I ended up choking and coughing.
Eugh… Mizuhana.
I barely had time to meet the ladies eyes, when suddenly she reaches for my legs.
Muscles suddenly cramp into solid steel, the aggrevating tension increasing density until I can feel my muscles snapping like braided overburdened steel wires.
“Ah, s-stop!”
She glasps, grasps, and clamps—her grip shearing the bristles of my bone. I feel the marrow squirming out—when suddenly she spikes the underside of my foot with her knuckle. My arms surge reflexively to slam her fucking hands away, sending my water straight to the fucking ground.
“D-don’t fucking… touch… me!!”
Nearly decked her—she barely dodged the swing. She’s sporting the look of an otaku that’s denied the attention of his favorite fucking idol. Damn arms lethal despite being dead weight. Try me when they’re not, bitch.
“… I am sorry, but it was necessary, Kumori-chan.”
She slowly picks up the bottle.
“Try moving your feet.”
“W…what!?”
“Try to see if you can move your feet.”
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
No way I’m breaking sights with her. Arms were limp before—but now they’ve got that sting and tingle, meaning she’s one wrong move from finding out what happens when these hands clock in.
“Go ahead,” she says, glancing at my legs, then at me.
You daring me, lady?
She’s still smiling. As if she thinks I’m this fucking dumb to take the bait—
… My toes are moving again.
“Is that a little smile I see, Kumo-chan?”
Shit—I was caught up with my feet fucking working again that I didn’t realize how close rain girl had suddenly gotten. I inch away—only way to get the distance for to land a good one. But she just got closer, holding a piece of paper—
“N-no, no, please—wait, why are you—“
—which she wipes my cheek with.
Then my eyes. Then my chin. She cups my cheek, her finger tips a tufty tickle that didn’t itch, her thumb kneading soft circles.
“I know it’s painful, sweetie.” she says, dabbing the handkerchief underneath my eye. “But it was the only way to get the circulation going.”
My legs felt warm. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. But shit, it’s as if she fucking pulled them back to life. And I was about to fucking deck her for it. I try to look at her, but all I’m given is a church-glass blur. So I close my eyes, lean into her hand. And I feel my body weighing against the bed again.
“I’m sorry, kangofu-chan.”
The light blares red onto my closed lids. I don’t know if she pulled me in or if I dug my face into her embrace—but it blocked out the light at least.
I don’t understand.
I don’t know who this lady is. I don’t know why she’s caressing my shoulder. I don’t know why I don’t want her to stop, even if I couldn’t breathe. The slung weight of my body turned to weightless foam, the same sensation I get between jumps.
I wish this moment lasted forever.
***
The door slides up, weight weight draping wet coats over my body again.
“Hikari, Kumori.” It’s the doctor. “Fractured ribs. Punctured lungs. Extensive blood loss…”
He walks in, door hushes shut behind him. Buckling his knees, a chair floats from underneath my bed to prop into a seat as he floats to me. The nurse gives a curt bow, and he returns it with a dimpled smirk, before she leaves.
Moment the nurse left he radiod in on me all shifty-eyed, Sherlock Holmes in a white coat. Then Mr. Holmes fucking peek-a-boos me.
“Peek-a-fuck-you too, doc.”
“There you are!” he said, as he pointed at my face. “A cute blush with that cute smile, Kumo-chan!”
Hands teflexively shot to cover my face—ribs stop me mid-way. Thought the pain had gone.
“Woah! Bone-meds haven’t fully developed in your system yet,” he says, carefully guiding me and my hands against the bedrest. Good cardio on him. Heart’s beating slow. Selling that hotshot, main star of the ER role.
“Heartrate’s a bit high” he said as he noticed it on the ‘digital panel footboard’ to my bed. “Can’t say I blame you, though.”
He throws his sparkling white grin at me.
“… he said to a 14 year old girl?”
Boom, lips fold like a noosed bag. Bye-bye, sparkleshine.
“Guilty as charged,” he said, shutterblinds wrinkles forming on his forehead from his raised brows.
“Rather stick to boy bands and idols, doc.”
Got him cracking up again. Even his fucking crows feet glimmer when he laughs.
“ICE-contact says here,” he says as he slowly breathes in through his teeth. “Hikari, Kira.”
He looks up at me with this pensive yet apprehensive look. Makes sense the fucker felt awkward. Don’t remember giving them moms name. Never told them I was homeless, either.
“Cool.” I say, which will hopefully be enough.
He nods, each bob of his head a note of thought. He sways to the foot-end and pulls out nothing to hold in front of himself. At least nothing I could see. Judging by the glimmering azure from his eyes, he was reading an AR chart.
“Yo,” he whistles lowly. “Got quite a rap sheet here with us, Hikari Kumori.”
He looks at me past the nothing rectangle, his face already showing him the answer.
“You sure you can’t break moms heart just a little bit at least?”
“What, and have Mama know her Tama Usagi isn’t as lucky as she thinks?”
“Think mama’d rather have her ‘Tama Usagi’ back home alive.”
I wave my hand dismissively—realizing I can move my arms again.
“Trust me on this one, doc,” I say, holding a beat, then taking a breath. “Last thing mom needs is another existential crisis to choke on.”
The moment lingered. The doc, having nothing more to add, just looks at me, but he was absent. Probably rummaging through the wrinkles of his brain, trying to figure out how to get through to this ‘lost cause’ he’s looking at.
And I? Well, I stared back. Rummaging through fuck-all. The moon-light rows from the blinds fade into orange beams. The soft night dissipates, and the room is bathed in the warm light from the rising sun.
“Kumori.”
I look at the Doctor.
“I wish I could say, ‘I hope to never see you here again’.”
He stops for a beat, takes a deep breath—eyes reddening. Sure knows how to make a gal lucky.
“Oh stop. You’ll make me blush—”
“I’m serious, Kumori.”
We remain quiet another beat. As in ‘bad vibes’ quiet.
“I don’t know why you do it, whatever it is that you do. But know that everytime you come back here… you always end up looking worse off than before.”
I scoff loudly and he slowly shakes his head.
“We’re skilled, no doubt, and the free healthcare for children undoubtedly is to your favor.”
He rises, hoverchair archs down and under the bed, and walks to the window.
“But this time, Kumori? Considering the states you’ve been in previously.”
Teeth barely clenching, a mere gap where he drew short, pausing breaths.
“Kira Hikari does not know,” he says, voice running through the words with a tremble. “What strong will exists within you.”
His steps are slow as he walks to my bedside again. He leans in. His eyes reddening by the moment, but spilling no tears.
“Do not let her be the reason for that will to extinguish.”
Does he really have to get this fucking dramatic about it all?
“So, no more battering myself up is what you’re trying to say?”
He cracks a smile.
“… If it’s not too much to ask.”
His smile was feeble. Looked like he was trying to joke, but just couldn’t. He pulls a napkin from its box and offers it to me. I look at it. Then at him. He carefully dabs my eyes with it.
“You know I can do it myself, right?” I say, raising my hands to showcase.
He stops dabbing, before throwing it in the trash with a smile. Pulling out a new one, he offers it to me—I wave a no—so he pockets it.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, his eyes pacing to the ceiling after a slow blink. “But out of all patients,” he scoffs and grins. “You’re the only one I am afraid of letting go.”
“Keeping a tally with the nurse, huh?”
He grins, his gaze longing for something more than just a stifled laughter. He finally gives in—a snort-chuckle—that hushed into nothing. He shakes his head, before walking over to my footboard with bated steps. My hoodie was lying on the footboard bench. He grabs it, before slowly unfolding it—sights landing on the rabbit ears Kira had sutured on the hoodie’s hem.
He slowly shakes his head before exhaling a hushed breath.
“I shouldn’t get this sentimental about you.” he says, scoffing, and grinning widely. “You’re not even my kid.”
He takes the rest of my clothes off of the footboard bench, and walks back to my bedside and places them there. I glance at them, then up at him. He’s looking at the heart rate monitor, his faded eyes wrung dry of life.
“The pills seem to have done their usual wonder,” he murmurs, before his eyes glow again. “All systems nominal. Bones back in place. Lungs sealed. Hemodynamic stability holding. Hemoglobin and hematocrit within range.”
With a deep breath, he looks at me, his brows pressing onto his blood-cracked eyes. His twitching lips can’t decide whether to smile or mope—dribbling between whatever emotional firewalls he thinks I’ve shot up.
“Freshly cleaned, freshly pressed, neatly folded—nurse Kanoko delivering the special treatment for you, kid.” he says, glancing at the folded clothes on my bedside.
“Sure,” I say, tugging them closer to myself. “Just like when she folded my fucking legs.”
He snorts, shaking his head with yet another grin before avoiding my gaze. Instead, his eyes linger on the rain-blurred, featureless skyscrapers beyond the panoramic window. The drumming of the downpour, the shape of the droplets, the daft lighting of the room—it was probably as much of a respite for him as it was for me.
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing taut before lowering his gaze.
“You’re clear for checking out, kid.”
He remains quiet for a while longer, before he almost faces me with a smirk. “You can stay for as long as you need—well, at least until other patients need the room.”
He presses off the bed and heads for the door, which hushes up, then down, sealing him out. He hadn’t even bothered to remove the heartrate monitor tags on me, the tone of the machine still as stable.
I didn’t mind it, I guess. There was a cadence to it that fit the raindrops.