Chapter Text
The hospital bathroom is not at all homey. Sterile lights, the smell of antiseptics, and a stiff, sky gray shower curtain fill it almost entirely. She did what she could to get comfortable, which amounted to turning off the lights. Now, Violet sits directly on the tile, her knees propped up and her head hanging between them. Her hair dodders across her face, smelling of sea and of sweat. Beads of water patter against her back, and she thinks without restraint of empty shells falling, hot, from the chamber of her gun, recoiling against the muscles in her arm, taught; her joints stiff and sore. Even in the dark, she can see water dyed a dull pink swirling down the drain. Her vantage point here lets all be seen, nothing wasted, as memories spiral through her brain.
'Stay in the cabin, avoid the windows,' that's what I said, and that's what he did. A stray bullet caught him, that's what happens. It could have been either one of us, or neither of us, or both of us. It should have been both of us. What was with you?! You couldn't hit shit, Violet. You got overwhelmed, you left Maso to die -
"I did not," she says so low that everything else drowns her out, "he's alive, he's okay." Her words of consolement and clear reasoning swirl, with everything else, down the drain, and Violet returns to the constant tape playing in her head.
You felt the blood pulsing around your fingers. You were afraid. You - No, we're starting from the beginning.
I loaded the rifle. 'Charging port side.' I fired the rifle - belly, chest, neck - his blood splattered, he fell into the sea. 'One down.' One left. I forgot about him, I - I was overwhelmed. 'This bitch is with Konkichi.' The fox. He must have been the first to board. I fired - click - empty magazine. Two and three eliminated -crash- the ski into the ship. What happened next?
'What do I doooo?!' Maso. Imagine him alone in there, seeing his body broken for the first time. He learned then how fast you lose blood - and you felt it rushing through your fingers, you should of - We're not there yet, Violet. Focus. Focus.
Violet cannot, however, will herself to focus. Her concerns betray her memories. Her every attempt to distance herself, put together A to B and so on only splinter with images of Maso, feet propped up, sun glaring on his face, the beer in his hand hours before; or Maso pale in the face, gored and afraid, and Violet's hands, shining like ruby sea glass when she pulls them from his waistband.
'He needs a doctor! Somebody CALL A FUCKING DOCTOR!'
Violet breathes a raking breath, and she clasps her fingers around the curve of her neck, letting the water splay her hair on the backs of her hands, like heavy dewed grass.
Focus, V. It's okay. He's okay. Focus. What happened next?
Three dead, four left. I was Port, they were Stern and Prow. 'Starboard: it's 45 degrees to your right, got that, Maso?' You were upset at him for not knowing. You were overwhelmed -
I was upset. I was overwhelmed. Sure. 'Sure… Violet? I think I'm bleeding.' I heard it in his voice. I heard it all the time in the Ribbon. At some point, seeing yourself like that, you relent. You know. You will die. Maso was there, and I heard it in his voice. And I stopped. Everything in me stopped.
I could see the horizon of the beach, could feel the boat rocking back and forth, could smell the smoke from the crashed jet ski and the guns, but I couldn't move. I could feel the knot in my throat, but I couldn't speak. Not until I heard him say my name. 'Violet? I was so afraid. I didn't remember what real fear felt like, not until I walked up to the cabin window.
His white sneakers were covered in blood, and his legs were shaking. There was somebody with pointed ears watching me, watching him from the open door frame. Konkichi. I would have obliterated him, but I didn't even know where my rifle went. Besides, it wasn't a battleground anymore, not when I heard in his voice that he had resigned to die like that, alone.
But he said my name.
'Shhhh.' Konkichi put both hands up, one holding a double-barrell. The other motioned me in. Everything's a blur from there. How can I be sure it even happened?
"Look where you are, dumbass," but she doesn't actually look. She knows full well. "It happened," she whispers, placing her right hand low over her pelvis, where she had tried to hold Maso together, as if he were falling apart. She imagines what he must have been thinking, what it was that he felt. At the ends of her fingertips, she feels her pubic hair sprawling out from her lap. She closes her eyes, replicating how she held Maso, thickly coated in heavy swells of blood. She traces her fingers in a spiral through her pubic hair, just as she did with Maso on the skiff.
She is trying to comfort herself now. She was trying to comfort him then. Close to death or stuck in shock, she didn't know, but she didn't want him to die alone. It feels foolish, but now, knowing that Maso is alive, maybe even okay, she can almost imagine it without the gore, the terror, the urgency to save a life. The slow spiral of her slender fingers, closing in and canvassing out through his dark hair, lower than anyone has ever gone…
She is trying to comfort herself now. She exhales; her fingers stretch languidly from her pelvis through her pubes and even lower, just between her legs. And she repeats the tiny spirals, their orbit growing tighter, her fingers swirling faster, the desperation to stop thinking turning into resolve. But she is thinking. She is thinking of Maso's smile, and of the way that he raises his brow when he's too afraid to pass judgment, and of the time he remembered her coffee order, of his bewildered face watching Violet explain something from underneath a car, and in the eddy of her thoughts she hears his voice, choosing so carefully when to speak but still always so unsure, and she hears him humming a deep catalog of classical music, and hears his laugh in her garage, and she thinks about what it would be like, petting him as she did, but this time in the dark of night, the two of them happy and alive and excited about it all, and not alone, and she's thinking -
*DUN*DUN*DUN* echoes through the room.
Violet gasps, the noise thunderous and threatening, so far away as she was in thought. She ducks her head behind her knees and tries to make sense of where she is again.
"Violet?" a faintly familiar voice calls out.
For a terrifying moment, her sensations and memories congeal into a sort of madness, the thudding on the other side of the wall like the blast from Konkichi's shotgun, the voice calling her name being Maso's last words…
Fucking hell, get a hold of yourself!
Her heart feels as if it's about to explode, beating fast from terror and something akin to shame. Her one hand is still caught, trapped, between her legs, and the other she brings to her face. She swallows, only to find her mouth entirely parched.
*DUN*DUN*DUN* reigns the report again.
"The nurses are worried, they say you've been in there a really long time."
Violet flicks her hair back with her hand, and she cups the falling water to drink. Her fingertips have pruned. In a few words, she feels lousy as hell, and, having regained some level of composure, even she is surprised at what she was doing.
Yeah, well… Rough day.
After several moments with no response, the door is cracked open. It all makes her anxious, being in an unfamiliar room, not remembering which side the door is on, from where the girl will come in. But come in she does, with slow, tip-toed steps.
"Ooooh, it's steamy in here. And daaark," says Gumi, who stops to listen for a response. All she hears is the shapeless impact of water. "Violet," she says, "you okay?"
Violet watches Gumi's steps from underneath the shower curtain, failing to reserve her judgment. She has yet to be impressed by her, and she finds something grating in her voice. Maybe it's because she'll never stop talking once she starts, or maybe it's the way she says Maso's name. And she sure as hell isn't Gumi's number one fan after being interrupted moments ago.
Gumi, to her credit, is patient where Violet is stubborn. And she can almost hide the heavy sigh when Violet doesn't answer. To Violet's surprise however, Gumi does not retreat. Instead, Violet watches her take a step forward, and looks up as the shower curtain is peeled away from the wall. Gumi has left the door ajar, spilling a sliver of white light into the bathroom, backlighting the girl standing at the curtain; Violet sees the weariness on the girl's face, and Gumi can make out the dislike in the woman's eyes.
"Sorry," says Gumi, and she closes the curtain slowly, "but I just needed to know you were okay." Violet watches Gumi's feet again, lingering, and then turning on her heel. She takes a few steps to the opposite wall, and bends over - Violet makes out the sound of a button or belt-buckle clinking - and Gumi turns around again. When she next speaks, she sounds like a different person, older and more saddened: "You should shampoo. It smells like apples. I'll go check on how he's doing, okay? Let his parent's know that you'll be joining us soon. And my parents seemed interested in meeting you too, but… ummm," her voice trails off, and Violet closes her eyes. "Anyways," she picks it up again, not knowing how to leave it altogether, "take your time. Sorry, again."
She begins a hasty retreat to the door, and just before she makes it, Violet finally speaks up. "Thanks, Gumi." Violet is surprised to find that speaking hurts her throat. Gumi lingers for a moment, and then closes the door, granting Violet the darkness that she no longer wants.
Violet is not eager to leave the hospital bathroom, even after she concedes to Gumi and washes her hair. She wants, more than anything, to sleep. But she is so far in that she feels she must see this through; and truly, knowing that Maso's okay is one thing, but seeing is an entirely different one. A shame, however, that she must see it through when wearing Gumi's clothes, which she inspects after drying off from the shower. Violet scoffs at the underwear she'll be wearing for the night, a silken white pair with a tiny pink bow sewed onto the front of the waistband. Violet nearly snorts, seeing herself in the mirror after sliding them on, and she flicks the bow as one would an ant crawling on their knee.
This has gotta be some sort of punishment. Kami knows I've earned it, but still!
She laughs. But in her snickering at the clothes this stranger has loaned her - the second stranger to have helped her today - Violet remembers Gumi's despondence in leaving the bathroom, and her clothes quickly take on a different light. Sure, they may make Violet feel like a twelve year old girl, but also they're a piece of somebody spared to her. It's a type of trust and loving kindness that Violet would never give up, especially not for free, yet, here it is, around her waist and folded up before her on the bench, a token of Gumi's trust and appreciation. Violet catches her eye in the mirror, taking in the realization on her face, and nods. She is proud, at least, for not saying anything too harsh. To Gumi, then. To herself, now.
Unraveling each article of clothing at a time, she pins it up in her hands, and slides it over her head or up her legs. A black, all-purpose sports bra does the trick, but just in case it didn't Gumi was considerate enough to loan an oversized red knit sweater, the number "09" threaded in white on the back, and atop that the name "KAWAMOTO." In picking up a pair of black sweatpants, something tumbles to the ground; rolled in the sweatpants was a still-wrapped pack of cigarettes. She smiles. Maybe, thinks Violet, Gumi isn't too bad after all.
The gift comes as more of a surprise when Violet unrolls the sweatpants to see in gold text "Go Turnips!" on one pant leg, and on the other "Peku School for the Arts Marching Band: Class of '53." The year 753. The current calendar year.
She hasn't even finished school yet?!
Violet's anger stems in again, sure that, if Maso and Gumi are a thing,
Why else would she be here? Of course they are,
That this is why Maso has never said anything.
How embarrassing, he's twenty-one and going for a girl that's seventeen! But he's so mature, so level-headed, why would -
She halts herself, knowing that whatever conclusion she may draw would be unfair, especially considering where her mind had wandered off to in the shower … She reminds herself that when she was Gumi's age, she would have been enlisting in the Red Ribbon, and that at Maso's she would have then seen and been with a wide spectrum of different people, all without much care. She reminds herself that she is turning thirty-three this summer, and yet here she is.
Violet presses her fingertips hard into her temples, massaging out the strain of these emotions and their implications, which have been rampant all day.
Not just today. It's not new. Don't kid yourself.
The thought of Maso's face, wide in a smile, catches her attention. A too-recent memory of his pale face, his distant consciousness floating further and further away, follows, forcing Violet to retreat from her introspection altogether.
Without thought now, she slides the pants on, pockets the cigarettes, and sits on the bench to put on pristine white socks. She slides on a pair of lounge slippers, suspecting that they belong to Gumi's mother, and stands up. Before opening the door, she lifts the yellow jacket given to her by the beach bro off of the hook, pairs the cigarettes with the lighter, and tosses the jacket over her shoulder as she opens the door.
Stepping into the lobby, Violet watches a clock's minute hand pivot and align with the hour hand as the two become one.
Midnight. And so the longest day of my life comes to an end. Only, it's not really over. And honestly, it's only just begun.
Violet looks down the hall where Gumi has insisted she would be waiting. And there she is, bleary eyed, pouting in her exhaustion, but waiting. The thinnest of smiles lines her face, and she waves to Violet.
Be nice, she commands herself. And so she joins her.
End of Chapter 5