Hellebore

The fan buzzed. Tick. Tick. A clock with broken glass counted down the hours. The sound of a squeaky shower head pierced through the walls, and the stench of mold permeated the air.

A young girl lay on the couch, barely covered by a ripped-up blanket. Her body was covered in orchid bruises.

Men shouted in another room, but she didn’t bother to investigate. If she asked too many questions, she would earn another beating.

When her father came back, their guest stormed out of the house. He flicked through a wad of cash and shoved it into his pocket. He nodded at her, wet hair spraying droplets in her direction. It was his way of saying “get out of my sight". She was too exhausted to care.

The days blended in their cramped house. It was hardly a home, just a gloomy set of walls they’d been squatting in since she was born.

She was little more than a decoration to him. An annoying object he couldn't throw away. They didn't have much of a relationship, just an exchange of services. You get money, I'll keep out of your way.

She couldn’t read or write, but she enjoyed picture books. There was a small collection in her room–books she’d scrounged up around the city. Dogs, cats, families, and pretty gardens were illustrated in their pages. A mother with her children, and a father teaching his son to change tires.

She hadn’t even known the word “mom” until she tried to teach herself to read, which didn’t produce any substantial results. It was normal for a family to be lacking in some ways. She was aware.

She feared asking for too much. If she prayed for a mother, she might have to give up more than she was willing to. Because to her, the world seemed to work in give and take. Her father's business taught her that much. He took, and took, and took. It repulsed her.

She had nothing of value to offer, unlike him, so she would never receive a gift as great as a mom of her own.

Her father’s footsteps faded into the distance. She breathed a sigh of relief at knowing he would be gone for the rest of the day. The girl was warm under her blanket, blissfully unaware of her reality.

Leaving had never crossed her mind. No, it wasn’t an option. The world was a dangerous place, and her father was only doing what was necessary to survive. She knew this, but there was doubt in her mind-

Was this a life suited for her? How much longer could she survive this way?

Uncertainty bit at her heart, causing her to waver in moments of vulnerability. When she was alone, she was calm in her assertion that she was happiest with her father, but when he returned, the angel on her shoulder whispered warnings that slid into her ears like thick slugs.

He had been gone for a few hours when the sound of unfamiliar voices came from the door. They bickered like children, but it wasn’t anything like the arguments her father often got into with customers.

Without moving from her spot, she waited for them to find her.

To her surprise, two teenage boys entered the room. One with a confident stride, the other calm but wary. The more tranquil of the two, with long magenta hair and a gaudy neon orange t-shirt with a jacket over it, looked like a snobby brat to her.

His friend was the complete opposite. Short, messy blond hair and a tan hoodie with oil stains smeared across the front. She almost laughed because, breaking into her home, they didn’t realize she was on the couch until she sat up and greeted them.

Once she did, the blond boy came to her, as if she were the sole reason they’d come there. “What are you doing in a place like this?” he asked.

“This is my home,” she replied, confused as to what he was asking. His frown told her he was worried.

“You aren't safe here...your dad is a bad man. Come on, we’ll help you escape,” he held out his hand for her. She felt that she had no choice but to take it. He pulled her to her feet, and the blanket fell off her. She was only wearing a short dress that hugged her curves.

They took her outside without so much as an explanation. She was used to taking orders, so she didn’t think much of it, but as they got further from her house, she began to worry.

“I should go back…” she said, but he wouldn’t let go of her hand. His friend looked ahead as the sun set over the city.

“We don’t have enough time,” he cursed, and just as he said that, a gunshot sounded in the distance. A shot hit an electrical box mere feet away from them. The girl shrieked. The blond one grabbed her and shielded her from whoever was shooting. His strength surprised her, since she'd guessed he was a few years younger than her.

Her father stood a few feet away from them, sweat beading on his forehead. “Let go of my daughter,” he yelled, pointing his gun at the boy holding her.

She didn't know whether to cry for help or cling to the boy who dared to question her safety. As if he'd read her mind, he reiterated his stance.

"You can't go back to him; he's using you," he asserted. Another gunshot rang, and her father dropped to the ground, clawing at his chest. Blood bubbled up his throat, and he coughed a spray of red ink onto the pavement.

He groaned in pain, his body going limp. Then the boy let go of her. It was the magenta-haired one who shot the fatal bullet. His raised arm dropped, and he stowed his gun in his coat pocket.

“Dad…” she called for him hopelessly, but his body didn’t stir. She fell to her knees.

“You shouldn’t be sad. He was planning on selling you, don't you know?” said the blond one. Anger coursed through her blood, but she couldn’t bring herself to fight the boys who killed her father.

While they began arguing over what to do with her, she searched within herself.

He was right. She’d always known that the business her father dealt with was wrong, but she had no desire to rebel against him. The harvesting of human organs. The black market. He was working in dirty circles, tight on money and desperate to take from others, even if that included human lives. Had he really resorted to selling his own daughter, too? When was he going to tell her?

“How do you know me…? You barged into my life and ruined everything…why?”

“We don’t know you at all. We heard he was a bad man, so we took care of it. That’s all,” he explained.

She wanted to hate them, but she couldn’t find fault in their actions. They did what they thought was right, and to most people it was the correct thing to do. But to her, they’d brought her entire world crashing down and left her nothing to replace it with.

He took off his hoodie, under which he was wearing a white t-shirt, and thrust it towards her. “You’ll get cold in that,” he laughed, looking at her skimpy outfit. “Don’t go back to that place and undo the work we’ve done here. There's a CSS building somewhere around here. If you ask them for help, they’ll find you a safe place to stay.”

That was enough for the two boys to turn around and leave. She stood in the middle of the street watching them walk into the distance, a burning sunset casting nostalgic rays around them.

Her hands squeezed the hoodie in her arms. The warmth of his body heat lingered on it.

If she turned around to find the building he spoke about, she would have to see her father’s body again. Ahead of her was a pair she wasn’t sure she could trust, but the light that fell on them made them appear holy.

Did they come to save her, or just to deal with a criminal? She wanted to believe it was for her sake.

They were scary, and she couldn’t tell if they were good people, but her gut told her that they were people worth following.

Perhaps this was the answer to her prayers. The mother who never arrived had been sent in the form of a new family. A group of people who would do anything to protect her. People who gave more than they received. Just like her.

“Wait!” she yelled. “You do know me!”

When they stopped to listen, she felt a surge of excitement. “I’m Kaho, 17 years old. Can I come with you?” Her dress blew in the wind. The blond one smiled, which she could barely make out from afar, and he nodded ‘yes’.

She ran to him without a second thought.

Since then, Kaho had followed the pair of misfits, cleaning up the city day by day.

- - -

Clatters and shouts came from the living room, but in the privacy of his old room, Masao had no interest in checking it out. Yoli lay next to him, her head pressed against his chest, and her hair draped over her shoulder elegantly.

It would be a waste to wake her, he thought, since they could rest in peace all day and no one would bother them.

If they were home, that’s exactly what he would do. Usually, Yoli was against lazing all day like him. She enjoyed working and engaging in her hobbies like writing in a journal or reading. Now that he knew how much she loved him, he was sure that if he asked her to rest for longer, she would gladly do so from dawn till dusk.

By 10:00, her internal clock forced her to wake, and he was a bit disappointed. She hugged him, rubbing his back in soothing motions, so he sighed and returned the favor.

It satisfied him that since they made their relationship official, she’d become more affectionate towards him. She had always been touchy, but there were boundaries they knew they couldn’t cross. It made him giddy like a schoolboy, and he sometimes had to suppress the joyful laughter that welled in his stomach when they were together.

A couple of days had passed since the party, and a few developments had been made. Natsu worked closely with powerful members of COT, so Masao requested that she look into Yoli's past. Much of it was still unclear to them. What happened to her father, who he was, and how she ended up being sent to the future were among some of the questions he had.

Kaho agreed to look into it and report back with any information she might be able to dig up.

The door cracked, and with a tremor in his voice, Kei said, “Masao, we need you out here.”

“Kay, one sec,” Yoli pealed herself away from him, and he got up to see what was going on. They were being awfully noisy, and if Kei had bothered to wake him, it must be something important.

When he reached the living room, Kaho was sitting on the couch with her head in her hands. She raised her head at the sound of his voice, "What's going on?"

Hideo paced in the corner of the room, taking breaths deep enough to suggest he was having a panic attack. Kaho stared at a white strip in her lap. "I'm pregnant."

He blinked. Nothing could have prepared him for that. Now, the atmosphere in the room and Hideo's nervous jitters made sense. "Do I dare ask...how?" he replied, jokingly so.

"I want to blame him, but it's just as much my fault," she scowled, looking in Hideo's direction. Masao wanted to yell at them for being stupid, but he knew it wasn't the time. His best friends had done something irreversible, and it was now time to decide what their next action would be.

"And what do you want me to do about this? It's none of my business," he scratched his head.

She moaned in frustration, pulling her hair close to her scalp.

He moved to talk with Hideo, whose eyes were wide as golf balls. Hideo took him to his room, and Masao wondered what he wanted to say that needed to stay private.

He didn't speak for a moment, just held himself with a wobbly posture as he could collapse at any moment.

"She's going to kill our kid, isn't she?" he muttered. "Kaho is like my mom. Don't you think?" he grabbed Masao by the shoulders and brought their faces close together. There was madness in Hideo's eyes, an insanity he'd never seen his friend display before. "That means she thinks I'm worthless, too. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Whoa, whoa...did Kaho say all that or are you assuming? She told you she wants an abortion?"

"No, but I could tell when she told me she was pregnant. She sounded like she was gonna kill me!" he yelped.

"She's scared, that's why. If you wouldn't spiral over a simple miscommunication, maybe you would be capable of having a productive conversation!"

Hideo backed away, crossing his arms. Masao's accurate jab seemed to cut his ego, and he mellowed.

Masao understood that his outburst came from a deep-rooted hatred for his father that had been challenged lately. He knew what Hideo had discovered inside his father's wallet- the fact that he was never hated or despised, but loved by someone who couldn't handle the pain of his rejection.

If Hideo were to allow Kaho to terminate their child, would it fulfill the unrealized wishes of his deadbeat mother? Even though it didn't fit with her character, he had pasted his mother's face onto Kaho, and taken the role of the father he now held conflicted feelings for.

The dad who loved a lot, but gave very little. In a way, was it Hideo's attempt at rewriting his own childhood? To save his mistake from living the life he did, or to save himself from becoming like his father?

Masao was wrapped up in these thoughts, trying to understand his friend of many years, when Hideo coughed.

"What would you do?"

"Uh- well, I don't know. If something like that happened to Yoli, I'd probably let her decide," he replied.

He wasn't inclined to give much thought or care to the lives of people he didn't know, which included children. To him, it would be hypocritical to stress over something like that when he'd taken many lives himself.

"Right," Hideo seemed to shrivel at Masao's answer, taking his perfunctory answer as unwanted advice rather than a personal opinion.

"You should talk to Kaho. I think it would make you feel better," Masao said.

He nodded slowly, "I'm starting to hate this place."

- - -

Natsu clutched a thin folder as she left the office, surveying her surroundings. In the folder, one profile was tucked hauntingly between long, legal documents.

Weeks felt like days living with Hajime. She was used to the route from her office to his house by then, but she couldn't shake the disturbing feeling she got when she went home. Every street looked the same to her, a wet, colorful blur of lights and sound. Summer felt far away, or maybe it would never come.

The street she walked down on the night her lover was killed by the man she now lived with, whom she had fallen deeply in love with- it made her tremble.

It was on cold nights like this that she expected to see Takuya waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase leading to Hajime's apartment. He'd grab her like on the night he died, and drag her into the depths of hell.

But this vision of hers was far from the reality she lived. She no longer worried about safety or finances. When she returned home, yes, that home, she would be welcomed. It wasn't a warm welcome, but one to be appreciated nonetheless.

Tonight, her stomach churned with guilt and unease. She'd promised herself she wouldn't take jobs from COT anymore.

Her admiration for the man she lived with had filled her with the restraint of a nun. If there was a way to win him over, it wouldn't help to be unfaithful, even if they weren't in a relationship. She wanted nothing more than to earn his trust and devotion. It was a challenge.

The file in her hands was just another failed attempt at setting herself straight.

All the effort she'd put into changing was for nothing. She ended up accepting another job from her boss, a man who pushed more work on her than any of the other women in her department. Perhaps he enjoyed seeing the degradation of her body, or wanted to toy with her mind as he'd found out she was living with the man she was supposed to be investigating.

The case in question was one she had been asked to look into before. He troubled her more than any of the other men she'd investigated before.

He only appeared at night. The shadowy figure was seen atop buildings, leaping from roof to roof with an arm shaped like a scythe. Contradictions piled up around him, and pieces of his indecipherable identity seemed to be scattered across the city so wide they could not be pieced together.

She had met him once before, even slept with him, but nothing came from it. She didn't gain a single piece of information, and it was considered a failure.

Why COT was so interested in him was no mystery. She knew more than she let on, and now that Hajime was there to fill in the gaps, she had an almost complete idea of what COT was trying to do.

Their plan was unfolding before her, and as far removed from reality as it was, she found it beautiful in nature.

Instead of turning onto Hajime's street, she continued towards the factories. Large factories were constructed in the city, mostly ignored by the citizens. They spouted tons of smoke and chemicals into the air during the day, which contributed to the dark clouds always looming above the city.

Around these factories, it was dead silent. You could hear a falling rock, and whispers would echo.

Near the factories was the most detestable street of all, a place that not even criminals would dare enter. Nobody bad lived there, but maybe that was the reason for its notorious reputation. See, it was the kind of place that was not considered a destination. A forsaken road that was paved by blood and gruel.

Its real name had been long forgotten, but to most it was known as "the wire". A narrow, bare street that held abandoned buildings that hadn't seen visitors since before the construction of the city. Yes, these were the last remains of what existed before Central City.

The fear surrounding the wire was not without reason. It was impossible to destroy the row of buildings that lay on it. As much as COT tried, they could not tumble the stone structures. The stories of their failed attempts to topple it added to the superstition surrounding the street.

Her heart pounded while looking into the shattered remains of buildings as she went. A few shops, an auto repair, and finally, a hotel. The hotel no longer had a name, since its sign and all identifying marks had been destroyed over the years. It was an empty husk that hadn't served guests in many years.

This was his home. The only person to live on the wire, or dare to try.

Whatever compelled him to do such a thing was beyond her. She entered the hotel, greeted by the familiar entry desk covered in cobwebs. The building reeked of dust and mold. It appeared that nobody had been there in ages, but she knew that was not the case.

The man went to great lengths to cover his tracks.

As she walked up the dark staircase and found her way to his room, she promised herself she would not get into bed with him. She flooded her mind with images of Hajime.

His room was bare, with decorations that were typical of a hotel. It was lived in and well-kept compared to the rest of the hotel. The room was dust-free, and she was surprised to find a record playing when she entered. Out of the shadows he stepped, long white ponytail swaying behind him.

The ageless man was tall and had a shapely build. He wore a humbling outfit, just a knitted sweater and jeans. His eyes were covered by a black cloth.

He was complete with multiple odd features, including a small fang that drew over his lip while his mouth was closed. And, as she'd seen when they were intimate, his skin was painted with magnificent pink scars spiraling around his arms, and a peculiar cross-shaped scar stretching down his stomach.

From appearance alone, he was far from ordinary. She hadn't seen it, but she could imagine how one might react to seeing someone like him jumping over buildings.

"Natsu," his smile played at a flirty smirk. "I waited so long to see you again. I missed you dearly..."

He wrapped his arms around her, painfully slow, and she felt like tentacles of death were suffocating her. His touch was just as she remembered it. Cold and lifeless, lacking the humanity present even in the worst of people.

No, there was nothing human about him. Even down to the way he carried himself, he seemed more like a demon than a living being.

It was even more horrific to be touched by him, ravaged by a creature who lacked mentally the fundamental pieces that enabled humans to understand one another.

But as he hugged her, something changed. There was a small collection of warmth, or "feelings", tucked away. Maybe it was all that remained of his humanity being revealed to her at his will.

"...are you Takuya?" she asked. "Are you still alive?" It was what she had wondered since she met him. Was this cryogenic feeling a product of his passing? It reminded her of Yoli and how empty she must have felt having been frozen for years.

"The dead can't come back to life," he said.

She languished at his words. Her heart lacked the loyalty needed to shelve her previous lover, so she was affected by his denial- he was not Takuya. He wouldn't lie about such a thing. Though he lacked humanity, his tongue wasn't born of a snake.

"Could you let go of me now, Ko? I have some things to ask you," she said, tense.

This sparked rebellion in him, and he threw her to the ground with force. He tilted his head down, but was unable to see through the cloth. He had a superb sense of space, able to tell where objects were by sound, similar to how an animal would.

Natsu backed away, crawling across the dirty carpet.

She knew everything except his origins. Who he was, and why he had planted himself in their forsaken capital. To her, it seemed that he was taunting them. Giving COT only a glimpse of his full potential. From the outside, it would seem that COT had completed its goals- but there was unfinished business.

The left eye.

Something small, yet holding tremendous power. The eyes are windows to the soul, they say.

It was true that, from the beginning, love was available to all. When the earth was spoken into existence, all eyes were open, aware of the nature of the human heart. It's good, and it's bad. Somewhere along that timeline, a curse was spoken into existence.

The curse of the left eye. Designed to destroy humanity, whether it be by a lowly life form or the creator's most powerful enemy, this curse festered on the lowest plain of existence.

In the darkness of the city, it took form, and with its immortality, it had dwelled in the area since before the city's construction. It was in that very hotel where the curse took shape. The nature of it was unknown- its form, intentions, or thoughts a mystery. But Ko, the only man who dared to enter the wire, surely knew of the curse.

Why else would he live in its breast? The very birthplace of the curse nobody could name, but instinctively those affected by it could identify. Hajime had told her his own experience with the curse. An unforgiving phenomenon that removed one's ability to feel love.

When Natsu looked up at Ko, what she saw was not a human, but a creature being hunted. She was his hunter. His fate bringer.

COT wanted him alive. Writhing under their palm as they squeezed information out of his blind eyes. Eyes that forsook love for a greater cause. He knew the curse, maybe even personally, so he was vital in carrying out their mission.

She noticed it ever since she started working in the investigations department. The emptiness in the headquarters. It was focused there, but the more time she spent in those sterile halls, the greater the loneliness felt. As if the quiet in the building spread throughout the country, and the world.

Separate love from the human experience.

Rip it from their hands, tear the arteries from their hearts, and split the organ until it no longer beats.

Create a world of silence. A world where the drop of a pin is disturbing.

Close their eyes. Close them.

Ko bent down before her, and with her back against the door, she had nowhere to run. He was on top of her. She wanted to pull down the cloth covering his eyes. What kind of man was hiding beneath it?

"I said no! I need to ask you some qu-"

He kissed her, his fangs drawing blood from her lower lip. Bitter iron flooded between them. He held her down, strong arms threatening to snap her in half. Hands scrambling to escape, she pulled his ponytail, which separated them by a few inches. Clearly, he was in no mood to talk. He had other things on his mind.

Natsu took her chance, pushing him away and scrambling out the door. She pelted down the hall without looking back. She didn't fear for her life so much as she worried her sanity would be lost if she was forced to touch him again. A kiss was already too much.

What will Hajime think when he sees my lips covered in blood? She thought.

He wouldn't care, and he probably wouldn't notice unless she pointed it out to him. But she wanted him to view her in a good light, like the way she'd seen Masao admire Yoli. A dream that would never come true, but one she held onto regardless.

When she got home, she announced herself as always and stowed her purse and file folder in their usual spot.

Hajime sat on the couch, sipping on his coffee like always as he edited his friend's book. She felt frantic after her encounter with Ko, but he was completely calm. He must have noticed that she was out of breath and bumbling her way around the kitchen foolishly, but did not comment.

Usually, she paid no mind to his indifference, but now it grated on her. She wanted just once for him to acknowledge her- to show a fraction of concern for her well-being. And she felt cruel for expecting it from him, since he couldn't control it. This was the emotional distance between them and the reason they would never understand each other completely.

"How was your day?" she asked, pausing in front of the sink, knife in hand. She'd taken out the ingredients for dinner, but lacked the motivation to do anything more.

"Mh...fine," he replied. She waited, but he didn't follow up to ask how her's had been. The knife shook in her fist.

"Nothing else?"

He didn't respond, just flipped to the next page of whatever draft he was editing. The knife fell into the sink, clattering against dirty dishes. He looked up, but her back was facing him, so he couldn't see her face contort in bitter rage.

"Hajime...are you just tolerating me?"

"Hmph, tolerating you? I don't see what you're getting at," he said, balmy tone as unconcerned as can be.

"You don't put in any effort to get to know me. I've been living here for weeks, and all I ever get from you is 'fine', 'okay', 'good'!" she cried. The room was colored orange by a lightbulb screwed into the ceiling. "I'm in love with you."

She couldn't see his face to gauge his reaction, but by his silence, she could tell he had the same blank expression as always. She was reminded of Takuya, and Ko, and all the mistakes she'd made in her life. Everything weighed down on her, making her feel heavy. It was too much to carry alone.

"You know I can't return your feelings," he said. He sounded genuinely sorry, but she took it as pity.

"I know! I know you can't!" she yelled. "You're defective!"

She gasped when she realized what she had said. The couch creaked when he stood up, and the bedroom door clicked shut, not with a slam, but solemnly.

Natsu lost all of her strength.

She sank, curling her knees as she sat on cold tile. Now she'd done it, poked a spot she shouldn't have and ruined her chances of getting him to understand her. What made her sob even harder, filling the house with unrestrained wails, was his calmness.

Hajime didn't feel anything for her, and that included the bad. He was content with his life, whether she was there or not. But in his coolness, she sensed a greater sorrow. The sorrow that radiated from him in his everyday life as he mourned the person he could never become due to his own inadequacy.

It wasn't his fault, not at all, she thought. So why had she said that? Poked at his insecurities and gone so far as to call him defective–an incomplete human. Certainly, he wasn't as incomplete as Ko, who lacked every trait a human should possess.

Desperate for love–Something more than a temporary arrangement, she forced and forced until everything snapped.

Natsu's mind fell into darkness, and she wondered what it meant to love, if love existed at all.