The wet hit first. Cold, too real. Then came the weightless step, the air falling out of our lungs as we went over the edge. The air whipped past us, and for a while, we were flying.
Then we weren't.
I landed hard on my back and side, the impact rattling up my spine. There was a loud crack something inside me giving way. All the breath fled my lungs at once.
Despite my effort, my head hit the ground. My limbs wouldn't cooperate, and everything pulsed white.
Somewhere nearby, I heard her land too. A sick, meaty sound, followed by a dull, wet gasp. My mouth tasted copper after coughing.
I blinked. Rain hit my face, almost insulting me. I just lay there, ears ringing, blood in my throat.
Everything smelled like wet leaves, dirt, and iron.
From my peripheral vision, I could see she was crumpled a few feet away, one leg twisted under her, arms clutched around her stomach. Blood seeped between her fingers, dark and thick.
She was breathing fast, sharp.
"... Dolores?" she whispered, "Did we— are we out?"
I coughed, then nodded. "... I think so."
We were lying in the backyard. The grass slick beneath us. No more red lights, no humming, no distorted walls.
Just night. Real night.
"Dolores," she rasped, not much louder than the wind. "You good?"
I opened my mouth, then coughed again. My voice came out raw, "Probably not."
"Me neither," She gave a short, wet laugh, like it hurt to make. "That was not a two-storey fall. Felt like five."
"Maybe six."
We lay there for a while. Time slipped weird.
My chest burned with each breath. My left side felt wrong— something broken, maybe multiple things. I could feel blood sticking to my shirt, warm and spreading.
"You're bleeding," I said.
"So are you," she muttered, "I don't... I don't think I can feel my leg."
The rain is falling gently now.
...
"Do you think we're gonna die?" she asked after a moment.
"Probably," I said, "I don't think I can feel much of anything now."
"... You sound weirdly okay with that," Prudence made a sound, maybe a laugh. It came out thin.
She had a gash down her temple, bleeding slow, but her hands were still pressed tight to her stomach, and the blood kept soaking through her fingers. It wasn't stopping.
"I think I landed on something sharp," she whispered, "Something... tore through."
She didn't cry. Neither did I.
"Funny," she said. "I used to always imagine it'd be some dramatic thing. You know? Like a car crash or a fire or something."
"... This is dramatic."
"Not really," she said, "It feels... quiet. Kinda stupid. I don't know why, but I just feel defeated."
Silence stretched again.
Somewhere in the distance, a car passed.
She coughed hard, her whole body trembling.
"I'm scared," she added, "But not like earlier. It's more like... I don't want to go alone."
"You're not."
We lay there. I could see our fingers brushing as the sky lay still overhead.
Me— dying. An idea I've never quite felt strongly about. I used to think I'd be okay with whatever death. By the end of the day, it's simply a departure marking my life finishing.
Still, my eyes burned. Something hot ran down my cheeks, or maybe it was just the rain.
This is unfair.
The present, and the years before.
"Hey, Dolores?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"I wasn't actually dumb."
"I know."
Another pause.
"I should've been a more honest person," she said quietly. "I think... if I lived through tonight, I would've tried harder to just be myself."
I didn't respond right away. I didn't know how.
"I spent so much time pretending," she said, "Like, acting as if I only ever cared about boys. Acting clueless in class. Wanting to come across as happy-go-lucky all the time."
"... You're not fake. Maybe you were faking your charisma, but you still cared about others. I could tell."
She shook her head. "The one thing I know for sure about myself are my morales. I don't even think I know what I'm like when I'm not pretending," She let out a breath. "If we'd gotten out of this, I think I would've truly tried to find out."
"I even tried to like you," she said after a while, voice barely audible, "Not because I thought you were the one for me, but because... I thought it would fix something. Like, if I could just prove it, then I'd stop feeling weird. Stop feeling wrong." Her voice got even smaller. "But it never worked."
A few seconds of silence pass.
She blinked slowly. "You're really quiet sometimes, you know that?"
I coughed, "... I'm sorry. I thought you were at least okay with me by now."
Am I really that unlikable?
"What? Oh my gosh, I meant you as a man, dummy— Not as a person. Did you even understand the rest of what I said?"
... Ohh.
"Isn't it ironic? I went out of my way to spread awareness regarding anti-queerness in school events with my friends. Defending them against homophobic bullies every time I could. Yet, I never had the courage to come out myself."
Strong morales, divided by a weak sense of self.
"... We're more alike than I thought."
Her voice was softer now, "... Also— you're not cold," she murmured, "Even when you try to be."
The rain has almost stopped now.
"Who or what do you think she is?" she asked, "That thing. The spiral woman."
"... I don't know," I replied, "My dad was already starting to rot when I was a kid. I just didn't realize it yet. Maybe she appeared sometime during my childhood."
She didn't say anything. I wanted to explain, but there's not enough time.
"I used to think my mom would stop him. But she didn't stop anything. She helped."
"You think she's still in there?"
"No. I don't think either of them have been for years now."
Silence again.
"She never wanted me to see the real part of the lab," I added, "Yet they both smiled the whole time. Like hurting people was something to be proud of."
I see it now.
I was deep in their brainwashing. I should've protested from the start.
Though I still can't help but want to know— why did her actions sometimes contradict her attitude?
She always wanted me to grow and be the best version I can be. After some point, she took great joy in dad's experiments— even more than in martial arts and education. Yet, she drew the line at me getting to actually understand the research.
"I hate that," she said softly.
"Me too."
Her breath was slowing.
"I'm sorry," I said suddenly.
"For what?"
"For dragging you into this."
"... If it wasn't me, it would've been somebody else. Somebody with a real family to mourn them."
"... Don't say that. Your friends will miss you."
A flinch. Rain dripped down from her chin. Her fingers were still pressed to her stomach, but she didn't seem to notice the blood anymore.
"I'll miss them too," she whispered, "And I'm glad I met you."
My throat tightened, memories of my childhood friend flashing— Another regret.
I would've liked a proper goodbye, though I didn't really deserve it.
"I mean it," she said, "You never laughed at or made fun of me. You just listened... Even if you looked at me like I had ten heads sometimes."
"... To be fair, you kept trying to be friends despite me consistently acting cold."
She smiled. "Ha! Yeah." It sounded guttural.
"You didn't make me feel stupid," she added, "Even when I was acting like an idiot."
A breeze passed over us. Cold. Sharp.
"You just... looked at me. Like I was real."
I couldn't keep my eyes open for long.
"Dolores?"
"Yeah?"
"Stay awake."
"I'm trying."
I could see her hand shake mine.
We stayed like that.
Minutes passed.
At some point, she was still. Her body unmoving.
I watched her for a long time, thinking about the friendship that could've been.
I got a chance to make a real friend. Except it didn't last, either.
...
I had a best friend once. But then he noticed the things off with my parents.
Realizing this, they started saying Adonis was a distraction. Apparently, boys like him didn't belong in our house.
After that, everything really started going downhill.
I blinked. Blood slipped from my lashes, and the sky smeared red.
The moon burned crimson above me.
And standing on the balcony— soaked in rain— was her.
You'd think 'scary' was a guy with a knife.
She's not a guy with a knife. She's the concept of the knife— the reason it was made, its history, the hand that decides who gets cut, and the blood that fuels its very cycle.
Pale body shimmering in the rain— spiralling eyes turned skyward.
Arms rising slowly— worshipful, reaching, like she meant to cradle the bleeding moon.
Her black hair clung to her face. Her eyes glittered. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out at first.
Then the humming started again, this time clearer.
Quiet and sweet.
Like a lullaby you remember from a nightmare.
She didn't look at me, but I noticed—
A mother rocking her children to sleep?
[End of Arc 1]