Memories

11:45 a.m.

Lyra: "Things ain't easy right now. But somehow I've got a bit of hope it might get better soon. >~<"
—sent.

One hand already on the door handle, she typed another quick message with the other.
The Twitter DMs went to Kathy, a girl she'd met online years ago. They'd been talking every day since.
Kathy mattered to her. With her, Lyra could unload the heaviness, the darker thoughts, without ever mentioning the club outright.
Perfectly harmless.
A little like pen pals. Just online. And always there.

Lyra: "Gotta run. Catch you later. Thanks for listening."
Lyra: "Take care <3"

She hit send, pressed the doorhandle down gently, and slipped into the stairwell.
*clack*

Even though she'd closed the door herself, Lyra flinched briefly at the sound. Maybe from shock, maybe from the fear of drawing attention in the stairwell. One last exhale to collect herself. Then she started moving.

The stairwell greeted her with its gray tiles and sterile cleanliness. Similar to her bathroom.
Modern and lifeless.

Lyra's quick steps echoed barely audible behind her. Her apartment was on the fifth floor. Five floors she had to get through without running into anyone. Not that the neighbors were gross or anything. Quite the opposite, most of them were decent people.
But that was the problem.

The metal of the stair railing brushed coolly through her hands as her steps glided swiftly down the stairs.

Ground floor.

Made it. Just like every day. Nothing special. Yet somehow it was a challenge every time.

She'd already opened the entrance door and was about to think about her groceries when suddenly an old lady was standing next to her.

Mrs. Ishimori. The neighbor from the ground floor.

The small, hunched woman looked up at Lyra with her weary, sunken eyes. Lyra's fingers froze on the handle, a brief lag in real life. But with her warm and cordial expression, the elderly woman immediately spread a cozy calm over her.

"G-good morning, Mrs. Ishimori..." Lyra managed, forcing a weak smile.

"Ohh, young Miss Aihara. Good day!"
The old lady's voice rasped and was strainingly high, but still oddly soothing.

"You're so quiet, one never sees or hears you. How are you, dear?" she wanted to know.

Lyra awkwardly scratched the back of her head.
"Everything's fine. My job unfortunately means I often have night shifts. So I always get home late, you know?"
Her smile became almost crooked, but was broad enough to cover up what lay underneath.

"Oh my goodness, you poor thing!", the old woman replied with her shaky but calm voice. "Youth today has it so rough. Working nights, when you should be dreaming instead!"
The well-meant words tugged at Lyra's chest, too real for her to grasp it herself.
Then the woman began talking, with an underlying but unmistakable pride, about her grandson.

How he'd just finished his studies. How he'd found a well-paid job that he enjoyed. How he'd moved in with his girlfriend and they'd soon be buying a place together.

And with every sentence the elderly lady uttered, Lyra felt increasingly pathetic and worthless. Finally, she held the building door open for the elderly woman and said goodbye to her when her gaze caught on something.

The small table with lost and found items. And right in the middle lay the last thing she had hoped to find there. A headband. With bunny ears.

Shit.

The curse nearly slipped out loud.

Lyra made sure once more that Mrs. Ishimori hadn't noticed anything and then went to the small table.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Her hands were still a little damp, fumbling with the headband, ready to shove it into the black handbag when Lyra suddenly caught onto something in the corner of her eye.

In the shell of one ear stuck a small piece of paper with a phone number.
Lyra froze. The note was definitely not hers.
But then whose was it?

Her gaze darted through the entrance area, searching for traces of a silent stalker.
But nobody was there.
Then she quickly pressed the thing into her handbag and rushed out of the building. Down the street, just to get away as fast as possible. Her steps racing just like her thoughts. Fingers combing nervously through her hair, steps pounding like her pulse.

Shit. The bag wasn't properly closed yesterday.
Who was it? Does the person know?
Shit.

But who could it be from? A neighbor? No. If so, Mrs. Ishimori would've gossiped by now. She never missed anything.

And who would leave their number like that?
Should she just call it? That would be the simplest way. But if some neighbor picked up?
Game over. Everyone would know about the club.

"FUUUUUCK!" burst out of her.

Lyra's outcry drew some strange looks from passersby. Normally she'd sink away from something like that, but right now she didn't even notice. The vibration in her pocket cut through her panic.

Fuck, what was that? The person behind the strange number?

Lyra stopped abruptly and pulled it out.

"heyyaa, later around 3:00 p.m. in tennoji park?"
A message from Hana.

Lyra sighed, for once out of relief, her shoulders dropped. Her breathing was still quick. Of course the phone acted up again when unlocking, but then it worked.
Hana's message blinked at her. She blinked back.
For a moment her gaze rested on her contact photo. That cheeky, sweet smile. The pose that assured everything was fine.
The obvious lie.

But somehow... somehow this lie had something familiar about it.

Lyra began typing.

"Awake already, chubby?"
She smirked, imagining Hana's annoyed face. Didn't hit send yet.
"Yeah, that works. By the benches at Kawazokoike?"

Lyra skimmed over her message once more, then pressed "Send" and put the phone back in her pocket.
"Three o'clock… Kawazokoike", she repeated in her thoughts, as if she had to reassure herself.

She let out a steady breath and caught a quick glimpse of her reflection in the shop window where she'd come to a stop. She fixed her hair with a few quick swipes. One last short nod to herself, then she continued walking. While walking she fished the note out of her bag.

The strange number still occupied her, but it was a dead end, where a call would immediately give away her identity. Just like the connection to the bunny club. Lyra put the paper in her wallet. Maybe the number would be helpful later.

Paper gone, reality back.
Those groceries weren't gonna get themselves done.
And the meeting after…
...hopefully wouldn't either.

⋯───⋱───⋯──⋱───⋯──⋱───⋯

At the same time, in another block of the same city, Asaki sat in front of her laptop and stared at the black screen. Her reflection stared back. Flawless makeup, perfectly styled hair, the bunny ears folded neatly on the nightstand. She looked like a doll. Perfect, but lifeless.

Her fingers slid across the keyboard and woke the screen. Her desktop wallpaper popped up. A photo of the club Rudi had taken for advertising a few weeks ago. All the girls were lined up, smiling at the camera.

But Asaki only saw one person.

Hana. Second from the left. Her black-red hair fell casually into her face, with a genuine smile, not the fake one she wore for customers.

"Perfect," Asaki whispered, tracing the screen with her finger. "As always."

She clicked on a hidden folder, buried deep in her computer's subfolders. "Memories" it was labeled. Her heartbeat quickened, like every time she opened these files.

The first photo was old and shaky, taken with a cheap phone. A sterile common room, white walls, plastic chairs in a circle. Sakura-machi Rehabilitation Clinic. And there, with tired eyes and messy hair but still beautiful, was Hana. Back then she wore her hair long, black with red-dyed tips that reached the middle of her back.

Asaki remembered that day exactly. She herself had crouched in the corner, pulling the sleeves of her oversized sweater over her hands. She'd been there three weeks already, but nobody paid attention to the gray girl who threw back a handful of antidepressants every morning and still wandered the halls like a zombie.

Hana was different. Even with shaking hands and that empty look everyone here had, she radiated something. Strength. Even when she stood on the edge herself.

"I don't get it," a girl had sobbed back then. Her name was Mika, sixteen and here for the second time. "I just can't do it. I'm too weak."

The therapist started the usual drivel about "everyone at their own pace," but Hana cut her off. Just like that. She leaned forward even though her own hands trembled. Just three days earlier she'd relapsed on alcohol herself.

"You're not weak," Hana had said, her voice surprisingly bright and warm despite all the cigarettes. "You're here. That alone means you're fighting. Weak people don't fight."

Mika cried, but differently, with a little hope in it. Asaki soaked it up like a sponge. Later, in the cafeteria, Hana had come to her. Asaki had sat alone at the window table, staring at her untouched tray and counting out the pills in her head she'd taken that morning. Four Sertralin, two Lorazepam for emergencies, and one Mirtazapine for sleep. The numbers calmed her.

"You were really quiet today," Hana said, sitting down. "Even in group."

Asaki shrugged. What could she say? That she'd watched for weeks as Hana helped others while she herself drowned in pills?

"My name's Hana," the girl said, though everyone knew each other's names in the clinic. "You're Asaki, right?"

But that Hana even knew her name almost knocked Asaki over.

"Y-yeah."

"Pretty name. Doesn't it mean 'red blossom'?"

Asaki nodded, speechless that someone had thought about her name.

"Suits you," Hana smiled. "Even if you can't see it now. Under all that gray… there's definitely red."

It was a small moment, but for Asaki it was everything. Hana moved on to other tables and talked to anyone who was sitting alone. She gathered the lost like injured birds.

She watched again and again how Hana stood up for everyone else, even though she cried in her room every night. How she steadied Mika through panic attacks while her own hands trembled from withdrawal. How she listened to Taro, the new boy, even though she barely spoke about her own problems.

Hana was a saint in hell. And Asaki was her silent shadow, following her every step and wishing she was good enough to help her.

Then, one morning in the third month, Hana was just gone. No warning, no goodbye. Her bed was made, her things gone. As if she'd never existed. Asaki panicked for answers until a nurse casually mentioned: "Oh, Hana? She fell for some boy. Syon or something. Dropped out of therapy to be with him."

Asaki hid in her room and wept for three days. Not just because Hana was gone, but because she finally understood: she hadn't been enough. Not pretty enough, not interesting enough, not lovable enough. No one who could give Hana a reason to stay.

That night, while rolling some Lorazepam between her fingers and wondering if she should take them all at once, she had made a decision. She would change. Radically. She would become someone Hana couldn't ignore.

After the clinic, everything was different. Asaki had spent money she didn't have. On personal trainers, on cosmetic surgery, on clothes and makeup lessons. She had completely recreated herself. Every change was a promise: The next time Hana saw her, she wouldn't just walk away. Next time, she wouldn't leave.

The club was just a means to an end. When she heard Hana worked there, the decision fell into place. Rudi loved her "natural talent," but the truth was different: she gave everything because she had a goal. A goal with black-red hair and tired but beautiful eyes.

Asaki scrolled through more photos. Secret shots from the club. Hana dancing, laughing with other girls, thoughtfully smoking during breaks. Every photo was a small piece of her heart. Her hair was now only shoulder-length, but still with the red tips. Both versions were beautiful, Asaki thought.

She opened her diary app on her phone and typed fast:

"She drank again yesterday. More than usual. It's killing me to see her like this. Lyra was mean to her again. Why doesn't H. defend herself? She lets everyone walk over her. She's getting weaker and I can't do anything. I hate being here and not being able to help. When I finally become Prestige Diamond, I can show her that she deserves to be loved. That someone is there who understands her. Who knows how it feels. I've been clean from the pills for months now, but she... she's sinking again. Like back then. I won't let her disappear again."

Asaki stared at the words, then deleted the last four lines. Too risky if someone found her phone. She leaned back and looked at the club group photo again. Lyra stood on the far left, arrogant and cold as ever.

"Your time is running out," she murmured at the screen. "I'll take that spot by Hana's side soon."

She closed the laptop and grabbed her handbag. Inside was the manga Hana had once mentioned in the clinic. The same one she couldn't afford back then. Today she would see if Hana remembered. The shy girl in the corner who had absorbed her every word.

⋯───⋱───⋯──⋱───⋯──⋱───⋯

Hana was already there. On the bench under the old cherry tree. A cigarette between her lips, the lighter twirling absently in her hand.
Lyra came down the gravel path.
Black-gray tank top, loose leggings, black sneakers on her slim frame.

"'Bout time. Thought you'd bail again," Hana said, without looking up.
"Sorry." Lyra paused.
"Figured you might need this."

She dug into her jacket pocket, pulled out a little One Cup sake, and tossed it over.
Hana caught the bottle and smirked crookedly.
"Oh fuck off. You think I'm that fucked already?"
"Yup," Lyra shot back as she dropped onto the bench beside her. Gravel crunched softly under her shoes.

"Fair enough."
Hana took a drag of her cigarette, flicked the ash away and opened the sake with a quiet pop.
"At least you're honest."

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Just the distant quack of ducks on the lake and branches rustling in the wind.

"You look like shit," Hana finally said, without looking at her.
Lyra stretched her legs out, shoulders sinking.
"So do you."
"Thanks."

Silence again. Neither of them could bring themselves to actually talk.
Hana stared at the bottle. "Last night was fucked."
"It's always—"
"No, different fucked, you know?" Hana hesitated. "I was completely gone. The guy just did his thing and I just sat there like..."
"Like a doll?"
"Yeah. Like a fucking doll."

Lyra nodded slowly. "Know the feeling."
Hana pulled her legs closer and rested her forehead on her arms.
"Have you ever cried? After?"
She didn't look at Lyra when she asked.

"Not right after. More like… days later. When no one gets it anymore."
Lyra hugged her knees, resting her chin there. Her voice was muffled, like it came from another room.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm not even human anymore," Lyra muttered. "Just… something that functions."

Hana perked up a little, because she felt the exact same thing.
"Rudi's toy…?"
"Exactly," Lyra murmured.

"And still we're going back tonight."
"Of course…"

Hana pulled her knees even tighter, her tone looser now, though still bitter.
"Rudi needs his sweet little bunnies."
Lyra raised a brow. "Pretty and broken. Even the fa—"
"Thicc girls," Hana cut in.
"Fat ones," Lyra corrected dryly.

Hana snorted quietly, turning her head away. Her mouth corners wanted to go up, but she stopped them just in time.
"So I've got a pretty face, huh?" she asked, head tilting slightly.
"Did I say that?"
"But you meant it."
"Maybe," Lyra said, with a tiny, crooked smile.
For a moment they both grinned. Almost like back then.

The smile slowly faded from Hana's face.
"Lyly?" Her voice was soft, uncertain.

"Mmh?"

She hesitated. The words stuck in her throat.
"I… I think about Satsu a lot."

Lyra's whole body stiffened. Her fingers, which had just been resting loosely on her knees, cramped together. The air seemed to slowly grow thinner.

"I know you don't want to talk about it—" Hana's voice was barely a whisper. "But I…"

Lyra's breath came pressed and heavy. Her shoulders curled up as if she could hide behind them. In her head a cassette loaded. A cassette on endless loop that overwrote everything else.

Can't do this.
Stop.

"Sometimes I dream about her," Hana went on, her voice breaking. "Her laugh. How she always got upset when we fought. How she'd jump between us."

Every word, every memory was like a needle prick. Lyra's hands balled into fists. Tighter and tighter, until she could feel her own heartbeat in her fingernails.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

"Then I wake up and…" Hana swallowed hard. "And then I realize again how everything has changed. How we've changed."

Lyra's jaw cramped up. The world around her seemed to blur. She heard her own heart pounding, loud and fast, until it almost drowned out everything else, together with the endless loop.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Hana lifted her gaze from the ground and looked over at Lyra. A weak, bitter smile settled on her trembling lips.
"And you know what hurts the most?"

STOP. STOP. STOP.

"Satsu would've—"

The endless loop exploded.
So hard that Lyra jumped up.
So hard that the bench shook from it.
So hard that it blasted the words into reality.

"STOP."

Lyra's legs were shaking.
So were Hana's pupils.

"But Lyra, why—"

"NO. STOP. JUST STOP."
Her voice trembled with refusal.

Hana flinched like she'd been slapped.
"Lyra, please, I just wanted to—"

"NO, DAMN IT! You don't get it."
Lyra backed away instinctively, like distance could've saved her. "You don't know what it's like—"

"I do."

Hana jumped up too.
"Of course I know what it's like."

Tears had gathered in the corners of her eyes. Her legs shook in the same rhythm as Lyra's.
But Lyra didn't see it.
Because she'd turned away.
Because her own eyes were filling with tears.
And because she refused to let Hana see her like this..

"Lyra, please..."
The lump in her throat cut her off briefly.
"Please talk to me. Do you really think Satsu—?"

"WILL YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Lyra screamed at the ground, more hunched over than she could hide.

The silence that followed was deafening. Just the distant rush of traffic and Lyra's heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She straightened again, back still trembling and turned away from Hana. "I can't. I can't do any of this anymore."

"Goddamn it, STAY!" Hana took a step toward her, panic in her voice. "You can't just keep running away!"

But Lyra was already running. Quick, frantic steps on the gravel. Her shoulders still pulled up.

"Lyra!" Hana's voice echoed across the park. "LYRA! Please!"

But Lyra didn't turn around. Hana stayed behind.
Tears ran down her cheeks.

"Shit," she whispered into the silence. "Fucking shit."

The cigarette had almost burned down, though she'd forgotten to smoke it. The sake sat open beside her, untouched. For now.

Lyra was gone. Hana slowly sank back onto the bench, her head knocking lightly against the tree trunk. Her fingers twisted the cap of the little bottle.

Why do you act like you're the only one it hurts?
She was my home too.

It wasn't just the pain that tore her apart. But that it apparently was only allowed to exist in Lyra. Like she herself had never had the right to break. And that when she dared to speak about it, it only triggered rejection again.

She pinched the cigarette out and tossed it carelessly onto the gravel.

Then she grabbed the bottle and drained it in one gulp. The alcohol burned sharp in her throat, made her eyes squeeze shut briefly, but she kept her gaze stubbornly forward.
No hesitation. No second thought. Just down it.

She shoved the empty mini bottle into her jacket pocket, pushed herself up, and stood. Her gaze briefly swept over the lake, the tree, the bench where she'd been sitting with Lyra just minutes ago.

Without thinking further she started walking. The gravel crunched under her shoes until it was replaced by asphalt.

The gas station wasn't far. The kind of gas station that was never quite bright, but never quite dark either.
The automatic glass door slid open with a dull whir. Inside it smelled like hot rubber, cheap donuts, and cleaning solution that covered more than it cleaned.

Hana stepped in. The floor stuck slightly under her shoes. Somewhere the light flickered over the cooling display.

She walked past candy, instant noodles and overpriced energy drinks. All the junk for people with normal lives.

Her goal was in the back. Where the world had a different taste.
She took a bottle of gin from the shelf. Something with a stupid label that promised you could "celebrate the moment" with it.

"Celebrate, huh..."

She turned it briefly in her hand. Dropped it into the basket.
Added a small vodka bottle, one of those cheap party shooters with the blue cap.
Then a whiskey-cola mix, 12%.

She paused, staring at her little collection.
Finally grabbed one more. Something fruity. Some syrupy mix with a Sailor Moon label slapped on.

The basket clinked softly as she lifted it. On the way to the checkout she grabbed three chocolate rolls. A Coke and two strips of gum.

Not because she was hungry.
Just so it looked halfway normal.
Like she could disguise the haul.

The young cashier said nothing, scanned silently and gave her a brief look.
Half pity, half numb.
"Would you like a receipt?"

"No."

The card beeped. The bag rustled.
Then she stepped back outside.