His grip got tighter, holding her wrist up with ease.
He wasn't particularly strong, but he belonged to those who had to be. Even if he had spent his whole life avoiding that truth, he was still a part of it.
Her skin pushed back. Narrow fingers wrapped around her wrist, pressing her tendons with force.
"…ah—"
She didn't think the person in front of her was capable of such a thing. It was painful. Her entire hand started to go numb from the pressure.
"…it-it hurts…s-stop it. Stop it! …please…stop it…" she whispered, her voice shaky.
Her hand moved to her wrist, grabbing the person's arm.
She couldn't free herself. No matter how she tried, his hand remained on her wrist, pressing her nerves harder with each second. There was no other way. Her nails carved into his flesh, scraping off his skin. Blood flowed, painting his pale skin red. It stung.
Neither of them stopped. Watching him bleed wasn't enough to make her reflect on what she did, nor for him to realize why she did that and let her go. Both of them were in different places.
He stood there, expressionless. Hand holding hers above her head.
Tears flowed down the woman's cheeks. This time around, she wasn't crying for him, for his pain. She did it for herself.
His eyes lifted, stopping halfway.
"Don't play with me if you don't want to get hurt." His voice was still flat, but there was something in there he hadn't shown before.
Her body trembled. The person before her was nothing like the person she met. The boy, the one she knew as the awkward, hesitant, shy kid—he was gone, and was replaced by a frightening, cold-hearted, emotionless adult.
She couldn't say a word.
Her body froze. The hand that dug its nails into his skin came down. She stopped fighting, no longer resisting. The woman was broken and utterly devastated.
His mouth twitched. Eyelids lowered, opening his mouth—no sound came.
Three seconds later, he said, "I'm glad you understand."
He let her hand go.
The woman grabbed her wrist. She rotated her hand, constantly changing her grip. There was no right spot. Her wrist was purple from the pressure, but it started to fade as she wrapped her fingers around it, trying to ease the pain. He watched her standing there, her back hunched as her long hair fell on her face.
Blinking slowly, he walked towards the edge of the table.
Looking down, he glanced at the hand that grabbed the woman: three distinct red marks carved into his skin, fresh blood still dripping from them. He gazed at it. Nothing else was there, only his hand.
At the same pace, he blinked and put that hand inside his right pocket.
He raised his head.
The window was before him. His face in its surface reflected back at him.
He turned away.
On the edge of the table, his phone rested.
His left hand raised. For moments, it didn't move any further. He held his arm still, barely shifting his fingers. Screen facing up, his brown hair was visible on the black display.
He blinked again.
Inhaling, then exhaling, his breath came out warm.
Moments later, his hand moved.
His arm stretched out, and his back hunched over until his fingers met his phone. Grabbing it, he pushed the power button on the side. The screen lit up, showing a white wallpaper with the time on it.
Though he saw the time, it wasn't the one he was looking for. His mind had erased what he had just seen, already moving to the thought of the other one. The screen got pressed. Steadily, his thumb swiped on the phone until his home screen was shown. His skin lightly tapped the surface of that hard glass, and he was about to let his thumb go, leaving the lock screen behind, but something stopped him.
It didn't move.
All he had to do was lift his finger, but he couldn't do that. By the time he could've made the decision to let go of his hand from the phone, the screen had already blacked out.
He didn't try again. That something didn't let him.
Something that…
Well, whatever it was, it made him stop. His objective to get his phone back was now complete, but… now that he has it, now that he no longer needs to reach for that… what's left? He didn't need to think about that before, but now, now that there is nothing else for him to do… what can he do?
Time was ticking. It didn't stop for anyone.
If they felt they were not ready to go yet, if they had things they hadn't done yet, it didn't matter. They would have to accept leaving the world behind with those inconclusive thoughts and feelings. It was the same for everyone. Eventually, their world will end. No matter who they were, what they did or didn't do, or why they couldn't move, one day, they all leave this world behind. Even he.
The screen reflected his dark brown hair; the white ceiling blurred into the background. The rest of his face wasn't visible. He sighed and put his phone back on the table. The sound of his phone dropping filled the space.
He turned away.
Before him, the woman, motionless. Her spirit shattered; only slight trembling separated her from him.
He watched her: her tears that were struggling to fall, the hand that was still wrapped around her wrist, those fearful eyes that could hardly blink, and that breath that was struggling to escape. He watched them all.
Just where he looked, the background behind her started to take form.
There was a small, silver-like color there, sitting on the floor, around the middle of the cafe. That metal. The white light reflected from it directly into his eyes.
It was invasive.
He moved behind the woman. The distance between them was still far too great, but that blazing light was now covered by her body.
He rubbed his eyes.
There was a brief moment when the light didn't shine in his eyes. And in that moment, he saw it: the bucket, the one she used to help him with. Even if her attempt failed, she still tried. He knew, and because he did, he couldn't let things end like that.
His legs moved, taking him an arm's length away from her.
He stopped. The woman didn't see him.
He stared down at her, his eyes unmoving. Eyelids wrapped around most of his irises. His face was static, only a little curved downward.
Closing his eyes, he kept them shut for some time before lifting his eyes a bit.
His hand still in his pocket, he moved his left.
He tapped her on her right shoulder.
"You ok?" he asked, unconcerned.
She didn't respond.
He continued. "Listen, sorry about your hand. I should've been more gentle. I just didn't like how you invaded my space. It was irrational of me to act like that."
His palm rested on her shoulder. He could feel the bumps of her bones through her purple uniform.
She didn't move.
He inhaled, pondering what to say to make her move again. But even after ten seconds of silence, he couldn't say anything.
Eventually, he let his breath out.
He pulled his hand away, walking back to the table where his phone was. However, before he made a step, something grabbed his right hand from behind.
He glanced back, turning only his neck.
Her arms straight, stretching out all the way to his forearm, just above his wrist. It wasn't strong or anything of that sort. She barely even held him. After all the things that happened between the two of them, she didn't dare to go any further than that. Her legs trembled from the action she just committed. She held her breath, trying to appear as someone she was clearly not. Composed.
Even so, if she didn't do this now, there's no next time. She had to fight against her body's instincts and take action.
She knew the person before her wasn't like that. Even if he portrayed himself as someone capable of violence, she knew the boy she saw was there somewhere. There was no way she could just let the boy go and watch him die inside himself.
Fear was just an emotion welling up in her chest. The boy, though, was someone who wouldn't ever come back once he's gone. If she lets his hands slip from hers now, he will forever be lost.
She reached out. Despite all the doubts and tension in her heart, her hand didn't let his go.
The first to speak was the person whose hand was held.
"Thought you were afraid," he said, no hint of emotion in his voice.
He had his eyelids block out most of his vision, leaving behind the floor and the woman from her chest below.
The white floor inhabited the lower part of his vision, spreading out like an ocean, consuming everything in its way, leaving nothing behind. In the midst of that ocean, a lone island stood, stretching far into the sky, until the gray mist above cut the upper part, severing the rest from him.
From the island, her voice resonated.
"I was. I-I'm still scared…" she said, her voice shaky. "B-But I know you're not like that."
She averted her eyes.
"That? What you mean 'that'?" he asked in a monotone voice, the second 'that' barely differing from the first.
He didn't see the woman's expression. Her action of turning her head towards the floor went unnoticed. The upper part of his vision was still blocked by the thick mist that was his eyelids. Though, there was no sign of that mist clearing up anytime soon. He held them there, refusing to lift them up even just a little. His head was still fixated on the ground as though an anchor had bound him to that ocean.
She raised her head, her breath caught in her throat.
"You… You didn't hurt me." She swallowed; her gulping resonated from her throat.
He replied instantly, without hurry in his voice.
"I did."
She clenched her fist as her brows knitted.
"Th-that wasn't you. I know you wouldn't hurt me." Her voice trembled as her heart began to beat faster.
He was staring at the floor, her voice above the mist, seeping out.
"It was me," he replied flatly, refusing to acknowledge her words.
She forced her grip on his right hand, squeezing his slender arms under the thick black hoodie.
"No, it wasn't!" She raised her voice, still lower than someone shouting. "That was someone else, not you—"
"Not me?"
He cut in, his tone raised half a notch, before coming back to his usual. "Who else's here other than us?"
She wanted to answer. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That she could see something in him, he couldn't.
But as much as she tried, her voice betrayed her.
"…I…I… I…" she stuttered.
He partially turned his head, gazing at the window before him.
"No matter what you say, you know there's nothing else here but me."
He walked away, but her grip didn't let him.
"No, you…you're wrong! I know you—"
"Let's put an end to this already," he said, turning his back on her.
She tried to squeeze the words out of her throat. She knew what she felt, but that was it. The words never surfaced. Maybe she never even had anything there she saw in him.
Only a wish never fulfilled.