The room was cappuccino.
A fairly warm color, actually. Something that usually gave her stability. Normally.
Normally?
Wasn't everything normal? Or at least on its way back to becoming normal?
Lyra was still sitting at the table, right where she had talked to Celian earlier. Creepian. That guy was the worst. But unfortunately, he was also the last person who could help Lyra.
When he had left, she hadn't even gotten up. She had just stayed on that hard chair in the kitchen.
Why, though?
Lyra needed him. Even if his dumb comments kept pushing her to the edge. Even if that smug expression never left his face. No matter how many times she slapped him.
And he knew what he was doing. He had turned Lyra's idea into a plan. And he had his own goal: exposing that commissioner and Rudi. He wasn't someone secretly using her. That was good.
Tomorrow they would keep working on it. The day after tomorrow too. And then, on Wednesday, the neon-lit nightmare would finally end. Everything was on its way back to normal. And still, she was sitting on that damn chair, feeling like an empty room.
Gray plastic shell, boring modern design. It was crooked too, and it squeaked. Lyra had pulled her legs up onto the seat. Not like L from Death Note. Not cool. More pathetic.
Her arms were wrapped around her shins, her cheeks resting on her kneecaps, rocking in a broken rhythm. She'd been sitting in that position for so long that red imprints had formed on her cheeks.
A different red than the one Hana always gave her.
Stop.
Lyra's body twitched. The first sign of life in half an hour.
I can't sit around here any longer.
I have to do something.
She loosened the cramped position. Her joints cracked as if they had been woken from hibernation. One bare foot touched the floor, then the other. With a shove, the rest of her body followed and forced itself onto its feet. They trembled slightly.
Fuck, stop it.
Her gaze slid through the room, searching for anything it could hold onto. The piano.
Of course.
Once the club was history, she could finally play again. Wrap her thoughts in notes, tones, and melodies again. Maybe she would even have the courage to record a video of it again and upload it.
Lyra stepped closer.
The piano was beautiful. Kathy had sponsored it for her. Not insanely expensive, but still something special. It was made of dark walnut wood and had a simple design, only a fine ornament running along the music stand. On the upper surface, the tripod with the video camera still lay there.
And dust. So much dust. Two years old.
Lyra wiped one hand over the leather of the bench and sat down. She exhaled heavily. Her legs were still trembling, but on the pedals, they found something to hold onto. She lifted the cover, and the keys appeared. Dust swirled up. Lyra had to sneeze.
"Haa… choo!"
She sniffled sluggishly and wiped the small tears away. Her fingers hesitantly settled on the keys. Then she closed her eyes.
What should I play?
Inside her head was a library of rehearsed songs she had played back then. Lyra didn't need sheet music. She only had to play a few notes so her hands would remember.
Lyra let her fingers decide.
They moved into position.
Then came the first note.
Lyra flinched slightly, but she played.
The notes floated through the room, scattered at first, slow and uncertain. Then faster, until the melody gradually picked up speed. A melancholic rhythm formed, heavy like rain against a windowpane, interrupted again and again by the flicker of higher notes.
She played the melody a few times until she slowly sank into it and the melody alone carried her. Then, driven by that flow, she breathed in and opened her lips.
She whispered more than she sang.
"...all the time passed too fast…"
"... i crash, u crash …"
The whisper began to crack.
"... you were the one…"
"... that's what I told myself."
Then a pause, because the song demanded it. Lyra sniffled briefly. Definitely from the dust. Then on.
"... I don't even know myself, got my back up against the wall."
Another pause. Another sniffle. Even though she had only just— But her fingers kept playing mercilessly, driving her deeper into the melody, forcing her to keep up.
"All—the… time passed, too fast…"
"I crash…"
"U crash…"
Her singing got lost, the fingers kept moving and left her behind, small, quiet, and more fragile with every note.
"Y– you were the–the one…"
"..... i told myself..."
Pause.
Not only in her voice now, but in her fingers too. Her singing suffocated without accompaniment.
".... i don't… i don't even know my—"
KRRRRAAAAANNGGGGGGGGGG
A distorted sound rang through the room.
Lyra's hands had clenched into fists and were buried deep between the keys, her entire body hunched over. Her breath brushed against the wood. A fast rhythm, far too panicked for the soft melody. Black streams burned down her cheeks and dripped onto the keys.
"... shit."
Why can't I stop thinking about it?
Lyra lifted her head, her gaze staying low.
Why won't she disappear?
Her fists trembled on the keys.
Why can I still feel her pulling on my sweater?
WHY CAN'T I STAND IT?!
KRRRRAAAAANNGGGGGGGGGG
Lyra's forehead crashed into the keys.
WHY CAN I STILL FEEL THAT LOOK??
KRRRRAAAAANNGGGGGGGGGG
HER EYES.
HER TEARS.
MY WORDS.
KRRRRAAAAANNGGGGGGGGGG
Why can't I stand it?! That she wants to keep going like nothing happened.
But everything happened.
Was I wrong this whole time?
Was I the only one who felt this?
This feeling that I can't live without her—
STOP.
Lyra shoved herself away from the piano.
I can't do this.
She ran into the bathroom. Cool water flowed into the sink. Only there could she find clarity, wash away the tears and with them the thoughts.
Even if she had to drown herself for it.
Lyra dipped down, the cold of the water burning on her skin immediately. She went so deep that the muffled silence covered her ears.
Quiet.
Lyra held her breath, stayed underwater until every thought had suffocated and only her pulse still hammered inside her head. Then she tore herself out of the water.
Air.
She hung over the sink, panting heavily, staring into the water. Her reflection was wavy and hard to recognize. Then up to the mirror. The pale face stared back, eyes red, cheeks covered in black stains.
The reflection was clearly her, and still she didn't recognize herself.
She snapped her head to the side.
There was the toilet. In front of the bowl, she saw Hana. Kneeling there, vomiting, after Lyra's stupid joke about "Get on your knees, like you're used to with men."
"NO!!"
The scream echoed between the gray tiles. More images forced themselves in, ideas of Hana being touched by customers.
"NO!!!"
She stormed out of the bathroom, slammed into the edge of the doorframe. It burned, but the pain sank between everything else. Over into the bedroom. The first thing her eyes saw was the dirty gray hoodie.
"NO GO AWAY"
She ripped her gaze away and fled into bed. Pressed her face into the pillow like she wanted to suffocate herself there.
"STOP"
That was the sentence she had screamed at Hana in the park. It sank into the pillow, called up more memories than it could bury.
"DISAPPEAR!!!!"
"WHY WON'T YOU DISAPPEAR?!?!"
Her fingers clawed deep into the soft fabric until the cherry blossoms slowly began to tear and seams came loose.
"WHY CAN'T I FORGET IT??"
Lyra rolled around in bed. From far away, it looked like a girl from a shojo manga, dancing with her pillow in love. In reality, it was a girl tearing herself apart, and still finding scraps she couldn't bear.
"WAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
When the pillow was eventually nothing but fabric and feathers, her gaze hung on the ceiling. Her breathing was heavy, her lungs only able to drag in air in stumbling bursts. Nothing was left of the screams except a broken whimper. Her gaze had to stay up there. No matter what.
Her hand blindly felt around on the nightstand. First, a glass of water fell to the floor and shattered. Whatever. Then the expensive Yamagiwa bedside lamp. Whatever.
Then, finally. The phone.
No new messages.
Good.
In reality, there was no place left where she could go. Nothing that still made sense. Even without the club. There was only one place where there might be something to hold onto. Someone who would listen.
Lyra opened Twitter.
⋯───⋱───⋯──⋱───⋯──⋱───⋯
In the café, it was loud, like always.
Meaningless chatter and pseudo-business meetings in one large room. Far too loud for productivity.
The freshly ground coffee came out of the grinder and landed in the portafilter. The grinding noise disappeared into the noise.
18 grams. Good.
Then came the tamper. The thing used to smooth and evenly distribute the ground beans. Syon stamped more than he distributed. Hana hadn't sent any more voice messages. Still, her voice kept circling through his head.
"I don't want to be without you!"
Why?
"Shit, I love you!!!"
Why her?
Why now?
Why at all?
With a firm jerk, he placed the portafilter into the espresso machine and pulled the handle until it locked into place.
Click.
Is she fucking with me?
He leaned against the counter. His good-looking, relaxed appearance covered up the uncertainty. The black hair, well-kept and a little rebellious. The white lightning-bolt earring with it.
Black coffee ran into the white cup when something vibrated in his pocket.
Oh, finally—
Wait.
That wasn't the normal vibration Syon had set. He immediately pulled out the phone.
That was—
Lyra: "kathy?"
Lyra: "hey…"
Syon swallowed hard.
Lyra had messaged him on her own. She usually never did that. And that writing style…
What is going on?
Syon moved away from the counter and back toward the employee restroom. The half-finished coffee stayed where it was.
"Eh..? My coffee!" the customer called out, her voice trembling slightly. Syon hadn't even looked at her.
"In a sec, I have to go for a moment! Go ahead and sit down. I'll bring it right over " he called back, more strained than charming.
Click.
The restroom door fell shut, he unlocked the phone and opened the chat.
What the hell?!
Lyra: "do you have time?"
Lyra: "i could really use you right now"
A warm feeling joined the chaos in his head. One he had never felt like this before.
Lyra… needs me?
His fingers trembled over the keyboard, as if they already wanted to answer.
Why Lyra?
Why right now?
Why at all?
He stared at the chat. The cursor blinked at him expectantly.
Then, three dots. Lyra was typing. Again.
What the—
Lyra: "i know you're reading this."
Lyra: "please kathy"
Lyra: "please answer"
Syon felt his heart all the way up in his throat. His hands turned sweaty.
What the hell happened?!
Whatever it was, he had to help her. She was his angel, after all. His treasure. His everything. Back in school, she had never given him the attention he wanted from her.
But now she needed him. And that was all that mattered.
Kathy: "Heyyy >~< I'm here, what's wrong?"
Not even three seconds passed before Lyra wrote again.
Lyra: "omg you're here"
Lyra: "i'm so glad"
The warmth in Syon's cheeks rose until his head felt like it would burst. He wanted to write, but the next message already came.
Lyra: "i know we always only text. but could you maybe call?"
Syon's hand cramped around the phone.
Lyra: "we've known each other for so long…"
Lyra: "and we've never actually talked"
Lyra: "i'm really not doing well right now"
Lyra: "i thought maybe hearing your voice could help"
It was no more than three lines. Three lines that wrapped around Syon like a layer of ice. His hands trembled like his pupils, the phone almost falling into the toilet.
Lyra needed him. More than ever. More than he had ever dreamed of.
And still, her messages lay against his chest like a knife.
Lyra was typing. Again.
Lyra: "kathy?"
Lyra: "hey is everything okay?"
Lyra: "please answer"
Why the fuck does she want to talk so badly?
He started typing again, but then he was interrupted.
Incoming call from Lyra.
The call hit him like a punch to the face. The little receiver in the animation shook like it was laughing at him.
I… can't. I can't just drop my identity now.
What if she hates me then?
If she finds out that—?
He swallowed.
But what if this is my only chance?
He ran his sweaty hand through his hair.
What if it's a trap?
Did Hana tell her about the slip-up?
First the disturbing voice message, now Lyra's desperate messages. But how would she know that he was behind Kathy?
None of it made any sense.
The shaking receiver disappeared. The incoming call too. Syon was still leaning against the wall, frozen solid, even though everything inside his head was burning.
After all these years, he was finally getting the attention from Lyra that he had always wanted.
And still, he couldn't do anything.
⋯───⋱───⋯──⋱───⋯──⋱───⋯
Lyra stared at the chat.
At the disappointment. Kathy had always been there for her. Answered so fast that Lyra sometimes worried about her. But right now, when she needed Kathy the most, she wasn't there. She was like a ghost.
A ghost. Just like me. With Hana.
I pushed her away for so long, ghosted her, ignored her. Just like Syon.
Now Lyra felt what that was like.
As unbearable as it was. As much as it hurt to be left alone by Kathy.
One realization remained.
Without Hana, none of this makes sense.
The escape from the club.
Playing the piano.
Chatting in the online world.
Without Hana, all of it was just distraction from what had happened. From the accident with Satsu. And from what she felt for Hana.
It's nothing but a cage I built for myself.
Hana was Lyra's greatest weakness. She couldn't stand it if Hana kept going to the club and selling her body. And still, Hana brought color back into Lyra's gray life, more than anyone before her. So much color that she could paint herself a life again with it. One that felt worth living again.
Lyra put the phone into her pocket. She looked at the bed. Immediately, the memories came back, how she had lain in Hana's bed and held her hand.
A pressure stuck in her throat, but Lyra didn't swallow it down. She wasn't running away anymore.
No. She wanted more of it. She wanted to see Hana. Hold Hana.
"You don't understand me anyway."
Those were the words she had left Hana alone with. She had simply run away, without even trying to explain herself. To explain her feelings.
I have to tell her. Now or never.
She jumped off the bed. Everything hurt. Hana treated her body like a trash can, but Lyra wasn't any better. She treated her body like a punching bag. The imprint of the doorframe sat in her shoulder. Her hands still burned from the blows against the piano. On her forehead, she felt dried blood.
Her gaze wandered to the mirror. A gash, of course. Plus the wound on her lip. She looked terrible.
"Unfuckable," as Rudi would say.
Whether that was good or bad right now, she didn't know.
She ran to the wall where she had hurled Hana's gray hoodie. She stripped off the sweater she was wearing and pulled the hoodie over herself. Then she ran to the front door. One last glance into the bathroom, where the blister pack lay.
Should I take one? I've regretted it enough times afterward.
She thought about it briefly, then turned away.
No. Not like this. This time, I'll control my mouth. No toxic waste. No hesitation.
The door fell shut. Lyra ran.