Haruki POV.
It's been a while now, about five days, I think. No one was searching for me anyways, I doubt my family even filed a report.
It doesn't matter; I've been adapting to living on my own more and more. Even if the voices are getting worse every day.
...
I improved my camp, even if it's not by much. Small things here and there, keeping busy is the most important thing.
Keeping myself away from acting on the voice, the one that told me to...end it all.
But it's getting colder day by day. I needed more warmth; I'd truly die fast if I didn't do anything. I wake up and my fingers are blue, I can't feel my feet, and my nose was chilled. Yet I don't care much to change it.
...
Maybe it's a solemn way to die, alone like this in the cold. I have no one, my death would mean nothing, but I'm a coward.
I'm a coward, so I can't just outright end it all.
...maybe slowly like this...is my best bet.
...
I start fires to keep warm when I can, but they run out of fuel quickly. It's hard getting dry wood in November.
Luckily, I was able to remember fire starting techniques from my dad, before he died of course.+, so I've been able to make this this far.
I don't think I care to make it much longer though; it's starting to get hard to justify myself living.
Everything always hurt, my mind was constantly racing with mental illness, and I was sleeping underneath a pier. It was hard doing all these things just to keep myself breathing. It would be easier to starve myself.
....
I'm glad no one has found me.
I don't know what I'd do if they did.
...
My mental illness, whatever it is, makes me impulsive. I think I would do something quick, and irrational to myself with my knife. Even though I'm a coward, the cold, and my fragile mind has made me mentally...reckless.
No one has been looking anyways; they'd just laugh at how I look now.
(You're alone.)
You're right, and I'll stay that way.
...
I get closer to acting on the impulse my voice gives me by the day. Even some days I end up holding my father's knife in my hands and point it inwards towards myself. Just waiting for that urge to thrust it into my chest, or throat.
....
It's only been nine days, and I'm looking worse. I haven't felt happiness in years though, I haven't felt like anyone cared about me since my biological father.
My mental health is wavering...
...
...
...
...
It's...December now.
...
My hair was longer, and I established an extremely strict routine. If I didn't follow it, or if any change to my new normalcy had happed.
I promised that I'd end myself finally.
I wasn't trusted to stay inside of my own head; I had to stay constantly busy.
Somehow, I've kept myself alive this long, scouring for trash and plastic, trading it to the scrap yard for change just to be able to buy one or two meals a day.
...
I hate my family still, I hate Fukashima, and I wanted to hurt Satomi. My mind waivered all the time, towards thoughts of violence and hatred towards myself and others.
But something is more pressing now.
...
I can't feel anything anymore, I have no heart left.
My sanity has slowly been leaving, eating at whatever is left of me.
I've definitely lost some weight too, I'm thinner than I used to be, even though I was skinny to begin with.
...
There is a girl, who I look at sometimes at the convivence store, and we make eye contact, but I promptly look away most of the time.
From what I can see, she's a beautiful woman, short chestnut hair that goes down to her shoulders, but I love her eyes.
Then I'm reminded of cold reality.
That someone as pretty as her shouldn't be anywhere near my presence. She hates me, being near me disgusts her.
...
Her eyes are better off not being met with dirt like me.
I don't want to get involved with her, but she helps my mental state, keeping the routine I'm in. I'm sorry to bug you with my incandescent pretense of trash.
....
I've also figured out where I'm at, I'm in a city called Kawasaki, or at least on the outskirts of it, which is pretty far away from home in Saitama.
I'm tempted to try and get a job at a construction company, maybe start working towards an apartment or something.
But honestly, I can't envision a future for myself, I wont be alive much longer anyways.
I'll likely die on the streets alone.
...
I avoid police at all costs for the most part.
I really would hate being dragged into the station, and having to me met with the eyes of my parents.
Or Ayumi.
Or Fukashima.
Or anyone at school.
Or teacher.
....
I'd hurt myself if I saw them. Infinite darkness would be better.
...
I think this way a lot more often.
A lot more extreme.
My eyes haven't had life in them for a long time; I can't look at myself in the mirror.
When I do, I see myself the day I lost my father.
I'm broken.
Blank.
...
I just wanted a normal life, one filled with friends, and family, and the girl I once liked, Fukashima.
But that will never happen now, it's all been destroyed.
I can't even talk properly anymore; my life has been ruined.
....
My life has been ruined, at the expense of everyone else.
Yet...
Sometimes I get the urge to charge my phone, I don't know why.
Maybe it's the curiosity, curiosity on if anyone cared to affirm my suspicions.
But I draw myself back realizing something.
I don't want any contact with people I knew a month ago.
The morbid curiosity doesn't outweigh my reality, my hatred.
...
I tried to toss my phone away.
...
But I never was able to bring myself to it.
I never truly could let go.
And I hated myself for it.
...
Maybe I should charge it...?
(End it all, leave a note.)
....
Is that the reason I need my phone?
...
(Let them know, how they caused this.)
....
I can't listen to the voices.
I don't care for them, I don't even want them in a suicide note.
(Show them, make them remember you.)
Ugh....
The voice hurts my chest sometimes.
It's been hurting more and more recently; I've found myself kneeling into the wall underneath the bridge.
Still in my makeshift tent.
I'm sure it's because of the lack of food I've been eating.
Or nutrients, or calories.
I've lost a lot of weight, I'm skinner now.
I've caught a few fish and taught myself to gut them. But winter has the fish scarce.
...
I'm probably unrecognizable from myself a month ago, nails and hair long, covered in dirt. And I smell awful, I'm sure.
That may be a good thing though.
I never want to return to how I was.
I want to die like this.
I never want to return.
...
This is what I deserve for trusting others.
...
...
...
??? POV: (Current time.)
My name is Hitomi Itsuki.
I'm a college student living out of Kawasaki, and I work out of a local convenience store part time.
Lately, things have been...weird at work.
A peculiar boy comes in frequently, and I don't know whether to make heads or tails of it, the way he looks, he's dirty, and extremely thin. Looking down at the floor most of the time with dead eyes.
He wears the same clothes and always comes in during the morning and evening and buys the same thing.
I thought he was a drop out at first, but then I really looked at him.
...
He's filthy sure, but behind all of that was someone in immense pain. His hair was mangled, and I've never heard him speak.
...
A highschooler maybe...?
I try to study him every single time I see him at the cash register.
....
Why does he look like this...?
Then I saw something that gave me an answer, one early morning where it all clicked.
Something...horrible.
...
I live in the area, or nearby of course so I walk to work.
I live in a small apartment building near the riverside, but I decided to take a detour one day.
Out to an abandoned pier.
It was a pretty cloudy day out, it had been raining this entire last week, so I hadn't thought anything of it when I went outside, and it was cloudy again.
...
Then I saw it, something I shouldn't have.
I saw someone younger, sleeping inside of a tent out under the pier.
From what I could see it was a male, with longer hair who had been wearing the same clothes fro days.
The same rotten shoes, and shirt.
The same face that I'd see behind his long hair anytime he came to the register.
...
This teenager...he was homeless...?
...
I was only nineteen years old, I graduated highschool only a year ago, and I still couldn't fathom it.
We are near the same age.
His eyes were so empty, they were so...hollow.
How could someone has lived this life so far? What had caused this?
...In was...confused, and my chest hurt. I didn't want to see anyone like this, let alone...a teenager.
...
Seeing him is the highlight of my day most days, making sure he's still alive, and still around here.
I want him to get help; he looks mentally ill...but who wouldn't be living like this.
...
I wanted to ask him if he needed it, but I was scared he'd run away, I wanted him to keep coming back here, selfishly I wanted to know he was alright.
I think...I was part of his normalcy. His routine...seemed unfettered.
...
I don't want to break that for him, maybe he had his reasons for keeping it so strict.
...
It's been about a month now since he's been a regular in the store, but his face had never changed. I've never seen him with anyone but himself. Always alone.
Well...he was also sleeping alone under that bridge, and it made me think...where are the police? Isn't he a minor?
I mean he was close to my age, but still...he's too young to be living like this.
He was around my age; shouldn't he be preparing for college?
Studying with his friends and family or something? Talking about his future?
...but instead, he's here.
...
Maybe I should talk with him, he's so skinny now, he's not eating right, he looks malnourished.
...
Maybe I'll do it tomorrow...
I'll buy him a meal or something...
...
..
Haruki POV: (Current time.)
The sky's been grey so long, I forget what real sunlight feels like, my only shelter is the rotted out pier above my makeshift tent.
I wake up to the sound of water dripping near my head, the dirt still muddied with morning dew.
My blanket's damp, and my fingers are stiff. Everything smells like mildew and rot, it's not very pleasant to be fair.
...
I should get moving, before I allow myself to succumb to the darkness.
So...I started to make my way over to the usual convivence store with what money I have.
...
Same route I take every day, same routine. I can't break it.
My fragile mentality won't allow me to. The darkness may take me if I do. I may let it.
...
I need to make sure nothing changes...and if it does, I don't know what I'd do. I had put everything in on this, my entire being.
My mental strength relied on my current routine, if this breaks...I...I don't even know.
I shouldn't think about it, only worry about not breaking routine.
...
That girl behind the counter is a face I see every day.
She kind of grounds me, someone so beautiful and warm met with me every single day.
I don't even know her name. She has warm eyes, though, compared to me.
I'm sure mine look like a rotten fish at this point.
...
Yet something confuses me...
...she's never mocking, unlike some who look at me in disgust, similarly to my own family.
No, she's one to pity my situation, the false hope that everything would get better...falls onto deaf ears.
I'm glad she's never peered into my life.
...
I keep my hands in my pocket as I walk in, short strides while keeping my head down as usual.
My hand shook slightly as I grab a cheap melon bread. I was much thinner than I used to be, I'm probably starving myself, slowly to death I come....
I know it costs 108 yen. I have 122.
I don't look at her.
I never do.
I keep my eyes down.
I keep my eyes down.
I keep my eyes down.
Routine.
Routine.
Stop listening to the voices.
Stop listening to the voices.
They blind me.
The deafen me.
They cut my senses in half....
...
Calm down....
I don't want to see what I look like reflected in someone else's eyes.
But today...
Today something changed, for the first time in a month...
...
"Hey..."
I froze.
My throat tightened; unable to speak as I haven't done so in a month.
...
...what? She's talking to someone else right...?
She says it again, softer this time.
...
"Hey... wait...can I talk to you for a second?"
I grip the bread tighter.
...
Something cold curled up my spine.
...
No.
No no no no no...
...
She can't do this to me, please please please don't.
...
This isn't part of the routine.
I don't want this.
...
I glance up, just barely. My blackened eyes only barely looking at her face.
She looked scared of me, I didn't want to hurt her, I'm sorry for looking like this.
...
But I have nothing.
...
She's holding something wrapped in a plastic bag, food, maybe? It smells of warmth.
Why?
Why is she doing this?
Please don't break this cycle we have.
"I, uh, I thought maybe you'd like something hot. It's on me."
My chest stings. I don't know if it's my heart or my lungs or just the damn hunger.
But it hurts.
...
"I don't need it," I mutter.
...
It came out sharper than I meant. I'm sorry.
Defensive, and ugly, but she didn't flinch.
She should, why doesn't she? I look like a monster, abandoned by society.
She took a small step forward.
"You don't have to pay me back. I just... I see you come in here a lot. I live nearby and-"
...
"I said I don't need it, I-I'm sor..."
My voice cracks this time, and a shiver ran through me.
She's looking at me too hard now. I can feel it.
She broke my routine.
She sees everything. The dirt under my nails. The bag under my eyes. The clothes I haven't changed in weeks.
The shame.
I don't have a rountine.
The worst has came.
...
God, I hate this.
I hate being seen.
I turn and run out before I break.
I had to...
Before she sees me break.
I can't let her see me break.
I can't let her see me further.
...
Don't break my routine.
It's all I have left...
....
The melon bread's still in my hand, paid for.
I didn't even take the change. I don't care.
The plastic rustled in my grip as I walk faster. My legs are weak, and I almost stumble on the curb.
My face feels hot.
Why did she talk to me?
Why did she have to care?
Why now?
Before I knew it, tears started flowing down my face, I walked back to my hole in the ground, the tears and the dirt mixed on my face.
And I sobbed and screamed into my blanket.
...
Not out loud. Just that silent kind of scream that squeezes your chest until you can't breathe.
I couldn't stop crying.
Why does kindness hurt more than cruelty?
Why did she have to notice me?
Does she know who I am?
...
Then, paranoia set in.
Did Ayumi send her...?
...
No, no no no that can't be the case, I'm too far away.
What if she calls the police now? What if she thinks she's helping?
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes.
I felt like a wounded dog, baring my teeth at the only hand that offered warmth.
Why am I like this?
Why can't I just say thank you?
Why can't I just take the food and admit I'm starving?
Why do I still care if I look pathetic?
I don't know.
I don't know anymore.
But I think... I think I'll try again.
....
I'll go there tomorrow, to apologize.
Just one more time.
Even if I'll probably push her away again.
Even if it's killing me.
...
...
...
Hitomi POV: (Current time.)
He ran.
"Eh...?"
...
The second I spoke, the second I reached out, he bolted.
Like I betrayed him...? I just wanted to give him some food...
...
And I just stood there, holding a bag of karaage and rice, watching his back grow smaller through the automatic doors.
My heart is still racing, it shouldn't hurt this much right?
He's just a stranger, a runaway I'm sure, but he looked to be in so much pain.
...
A lost boy with too many shadows in his eyes and dirt on his hands.
But it does hurt, God, it hurts.
Because I saw it, for just a moment, when our eyes met. He looked at me like I had a knife in my hand.
...
Like he expected me to hurt him.
What the hell have you seen...?
...
Then he left, that same empty look in his eyes.
...
And now I'm just standing here behind the counter, holding food that's still warm, and feeling like I did something wrong.
But I didn't.
Did I..?
I just wanted to help, even if it's not much.
Just enough to remind him that he wasn't invisible. That not everyone was going to look through him or past him or away.
Maybe it was for me as well, a sort of self-preservation.
But he couldn't take it.
I saw it all over his face, the fear, the shame, the walls he's built just to survive.
And maybe... I pushed too hard.
Or maybe I reminded him of someone.
...
Someone who once pretended to care, then turned on him. That's what it felt like.
He looked like someone who'd been betrayed, deeply betrayed.
I hate that I made it worse.
I hate that the food is still here, untouched.
I hate that I hesitated all these weeks to say something.
And now, he's gone.
Back to his cold hiding place. Back to that bridge. That damp blanket. That suffocating silence.
I could still feel it on him, the weight of it all along with the grief he felt.
Like he's already half dead and just waiting for the rest to catch up.
...
I clutched the bag tighter and walked out of the store.
I didn't care if the manager saw. I didn't care if someone stared as I left in uniform, I took the alley route and headed toward the river.
I know where he lives now, I know that hole in the ground where he resides.
And he's in there, all alone.
...
Probably thinking he messed up, hating himself for running.
God, he shouldn't have to carry that. I obviously don't hate him.
Why is no one looking for him? Why is no one helping...?
...
Why am I the only one who even noticed?
I stopped just short of the bridge.
Didn't want to scare him again, but then I caught a glimpse of him
...
He was crying, it pulled on my heartstrings to see it to be honest.
He was balling into that nasty blanket, dirt all around him.
...
I don't think he sees me.
So, I left the food next to his self-made tent and left.
And then I walked away.
Not because I wanted to, but because I think... maybe the next move has to be his.
Maybe, he needs someone to push him along.
...
Still, before I left, I whispered something.
So quiet he probably didn't even hear me, but I said it anyways.
"Please... don't disappear."