~*~

You looked up at the clear blue sky, its colorful brightness blinding your eyes as you stepped out of the clinic. Ha, the world is so much more vibrant outside of those sterile white walls. From your pocket, you search for a packet of mint bubblegum. A guard smiles at you and waves you goodbye as you step out.

Thirteen springs trail behind you, soon to be fourteen. You sit outside by a fence as you chew your gum, making a little bubble. You brought out your phone, one bought by Hana. It’s still very early, and the bus won’t come by for another 30 minutes. You’ve got three unread messages from your mother.

“I won’t come home tonight.”
“There’s some money under the fruit bowl.”
“Order some takeout and clean the bathroom.”

How the hell did you get here? The past years have felt like a nightmare. The bubblegum balloon pops. As you suck it back in, you sigh.

Here continued your bad habit with therapy, although this time it was for completely different reasons. Each year, around the same time, a depression took root in your heart, you managed it well enough. At the very least you tried. Meanwhile, you isolated yourself in your room trying to close an open wound.

It was one of mom’s boyfriends who opted to get you back in therapy, actually. Teenagers tend to be moody, but not like this one, he said. That man was too good for this family, you wonder where he is now.

Meanwhile, your mother, all she did was tell you we’re being a real pain in the ass, and that you had to get your act together. She wouldn’t be here forever, and some other worthless babble. You had adapted too well to her. She could no longer hurt you, no longer scare you. Hell, you were tempted to talk back to her, knowing very well that if she tried to lay a finger on you, you could knock her lights out. Puberty has its perks, if you ignore the mess of hormones you are.

…

God, the craving never goes away. The thoughts never go away. You don’t know if to feel disgusted or…

Stop it. If there’s one thing that you’ve gotten out of therapy is learning that you need to stop indulging in those thoughts when they arise.

“Oh hey!” A cheery voice calls out to you. As you turn around, your eyes are flashed by a dozen or so pins on her blonde hair. She’s dressed in a black long sleeve shirt despite the murderous temperature. You know her, you were partners during an exercise about opening up to people.

“Omaru-san, hey.”

“Come on, just call me Polka! Didn’t think we’d find each other here, haha! Watcha doing?” She asks.

“Nothing really. Just waiting for the bus.”

“Oh, a friend is coming to pick me up. You need a ride?”

Well, it’s not like you have anything better to do. Loitering around for half an hour isn’t exactly appetizing. You agree. As you walk towards the street she told you, you try to stir up some small talk. “Isn’t it a little hot to be dressed like that…?”

“It is!” She nods energetically. “But mama says I need to wear it.”

“Why?”

Without hesitation, without a word, Polka lifts her sleeves. Her arms were carved in cuts. Some cicatrized, some fresh. Your eyes widen like plates as you look at the smiling fennec. “She says these look ugly.” Polka says.

Soon, an old Nissan V16 parks and honks at you two. Polka exaggeratedly waves at the car as she hops towards it. Inside, a gray haired woman looks at you two.

“Hey.” She smiles at you.

“Hey…” You look away.

“Botan-chan! Can we drop Anon off at his place?” Polka asks.

“Sure. Where do you live?” She replies.

“I…”

…

No wonder Polka needed a lift. She lived far from the clinic. As a courtesy from the gray haired lioness -Only then you noticed she was a kemono as well- you got to ride shotgun while Polka pouted in the backseat. She wanted to be co-pilot.

“So I saw him last week.” Polka talks and talks. “And we spoke for a whole hour! Ah, he was so happy to see me, he says my visits give him life.”

As she babbled about a man you didn’t know, whom you assumed was in prison, Botan drove silently. She was significantly older than you two... It was as if she was waiting for something to happen, for something to take hold of her cheery friend. Sure enough, Polka’s mood seemed to take a sudden turn.

“Botan-chan… I want ice cream…” She spoke.

“I’ve got some back at my place. What do you say?” Botan stopped at a red light.

“Ha… You have chocolate?”

“A full tub.”

“And chocolate sauce…?”

“Lots of it, too.” Botan took out a carton of cigarettes, and even offered you one. You’ve never smoked before… Ah, what difference does it make? Botan hands you the lighter as she drives again. “Poru, tell your mom you’ll be out.”

“I want to eat something deep fried… and covered in chocolate…” Polka babbles. “Ugh… I’m a pig, I’m a disgusting pig…”

“Poru-chan.” Botan blurs out, a solemn but firm tone in her voice. “Don’t say those-”

“Bleh!” You cough. “Ugh, this thing tastes like ass!”

“Hahaha!” Polka laughs at you, prompting Botan to join her.

“Come on, take a drag, Aron.” Botan smirks.

“Anon…” You correct her as you put the cigarette back in your mouth. It burns like hell in your throat, it even hurts. How the hell did your mother go through two packs a day…? “Ehe…” You cough again.

“It’s alright, I’m not gonna force you to smoke it.” Botan giggles.

“It’s… It’s alright…”

“You know, they have a better taste when you pop the tip. They have, like, a little flavor thingy.”

“Oh…” You click the tip and try again. The flavor is a lot smoother, but it’s still disgusting.

“Well?” Botan smiles.

“It tastes like mentholated ass.”

Both of the girls laugh.

“Botan!” Polka butts in. “Anon’s 12! He can’t smoke!”

“I’m 13!” You blush. There was an abysmal difference between 12 and 13, of course. One’s an adult, one’s a child.

“Oh, you can’t have that then, hand it over.” Botan stretches her hand out. Willingly, you give the cigarette. “You look a bit older…”

“I get that a lot…”

~*~

After that, some weeks passed.

“Happy birthday!” You and Botan cheer Polka on. Doesn’t hurt to celebrate a little.

After swapping numbers with the girls, you found yourself coming to this shoddy apartment somewhat frequently. It was a mess whenever you came around. Botan said that she was going to clean it at some point, she was just lazy.

The evening you spent with the girls was wonderful. To crown the celebration, Botan offered to buy some beer, but both you and Polka declined. Only then you asked how old she was. 19, she said. Strange, Polka herself was only 15.

“You’re not old enough to-…” You mumbled, but nothing escaped the lioness’ ears.

“Hey, it’s old enough somewhere in the world.” She shrugs.

“I didn’t say anything…” You shiver.

“And my brother!” Polka babbles again. “He says they’ve shortened his sentence! Good behavior or whatever they call it.”

Botan looks at her plate, sipping a glass of juice. You’ve seen that look in her eyes before. The way they touch Polka, it’s a look of pity. An expression of compassion.

Polka excuses herself to the toilet.

“What’s… what’s the deal with…” You mutter, wondering if it’s too intrusive to ask. Lethargically, Botan turns to you and sighs. Was that a warning, or an invitation? As Polka comes back out, all three of you played some CoD on Botan’s xbox. Her gaming rig and her consoles were the cleanest thing about her apartment…

“Poi.” Botan mewls.

“Uwaaah!” Polka screams as Botan surprises her yet again, knifing her character. You laugh as the afternoon stretches on and on, and something doesn’t stop bothering you.

…

As the sun went over the horizon, Botan said she’d drop you off at your place. The car ride was silent and tense, although the sky looked very beautiful. Over your shoulder you could feel Botan’s eyes touching you with curiosity.

“What’s with that look?”

“Just thinking.” You grunt.

“About what?”

“... I was thinking about Polka.”

“What, don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on her!”

“She’s cute, but no.”

“Then what?”

“... How did you two meet each other?”

“We were neighbors, and we just sort of found each other everywhere. My mother owned a little business on a street corner, Polka came daily to buy stuff, we went to the same school, that sort of thing.”

“Huh.”

Should you poke around? Perhaps you should ask Polka herself, but… “What’s the deal between Polka and her brother…?”

With a silent glare, Botan replies. “That’s none of your business. None of us went around asking why you’re getting your head checked.”

“Polka did.”

“She…” Botan grunts. “Ha…”

After some awkward silence, Botan told you you couldn’t tell Polka she told you. With a nod, you sealed the deal.

“Her brother’s in jail.” Botan turns on her blinker.

“I figured that. But what for?”

“I’m sure you can figure that out yourself. Polka doesn’t go to that clinic because she enjoys the company.”

“But… She always talks so well of him. Why?”

“I don’t know the name for it but she thinks she’s in love with him. She ratted him out and then regretted it.”

“She’s in… love with him?”

“Yeah… If you listen to her ramble on for long enough, she’ll begin saying that ‘Oh, he loved me so much, he never hurt me, he tried to protect me, he regrets everything, it was my fault!’ It’s madness. It wouldn’t be so bad if the guy didn’t keep telling Polka how much he’s sorry.”

…

“Anon? You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah… It’s nothing.”

To her, to everyone, those things sound like the ramblings of a madman. To you, they sounded like someone who understood something other people couldn’t.

Looking out the window, losing yourself in that orange sunset, something begins contraining your heart. Polka was battling the same demon you were. The answer you refused to tell any of the professionals you saw, or that you would see for the next decade.

To be in love with a person who hurt you