Shinju didn't remember when she started running.
Her legs were moving on their own, and the only thing she knew was that they were moving too fast. Her feet would slam against the pavement, her breath coming out uneven and sharp.
"Haaaah… haaaaah… haaaah~!"
The world was tilting around her violently with every step she took.
Buildings on the streets leaned. The stoplights were blurry, and she could see two of them, three, even four. Her eyes weren't bad, but this must be what it was like for someone with terrible sight to look at the world without their glasses.
The sky above her felt too low, and she could feel it slowly falling, ready to crush her into paste at any moment.
Her vision was blurred at the edges, as if she were about to pass out.
Everything was wrong. Everything about this goddamn world was wrong.
Her stomach twisted so hard as if it were a cloth being wrung dry that she nearly gagged.
Pressing a hand over her mouth as she barely stopped herself in front of a red light, a few steps away from entering the incoming traffic, she swallowed repeatedly as the image of the classroom replayed in her mind over and over again.
No matter how hard she tried to force it away, begging it to leave her alone, it refused.
There he was. Her boyfriend, whom she loved so dearly lying on the floor.
There she was. Her close friend to whom she entrusted so many secrets. She was on top of him like… like—
A WHORE!
Her chest was burning in angry, sadness, and jealousy.
"No… No… No," she whispered with a cracking voice.
Stumbling to another stop, she bent forward, her hands on her knees.
Damp with sweat, her purple hair clung to her face.
"Are you okay?" a lady asked behind her.
Shinju heard the question but ignored it.
'Don't talk to me. No one talk to me!'
She felt sick. But more than just sick, she felt stupid.
She felt like her insides were rotting and there were maggots there, swirling around.
People passed her. A bike zipped by. Someone laughed nearby.
The normalcy of it all made her feel even worse, like the world was mocking her pain.
Why was she the only one who had to deal with this great pain while everyone else got to live their life normally?
Somehow, someway, she found her way to the train station.
When she finally reached her house, she didn't bother unlocking the door properly. She shoved it open, kicked her shoes off without caring where they landed, and staggered inside.
Straight to the bathroom.
She turned the shower on as hot as it would go and just stood there, staring at the wall while the water poured down. At first, she didn't even undress. Her clothes clung to her body, heavy and uncomfortable, but she didn't care.
As the glass fogged up, she looked at the reflection on the glass. With her index finger, she drew a smily face where her head was.
"You're mocking me," she scoffed.
Slowly, mechanically, she peeled everything off and let it fall to the floor like trash.
Her arms wrapped around herself as the water beat against her skin, her shoulders shaking.
A weak laugh escaped her.
"…I get it now," she murmured. "This is karma."
She had cheated first. Wait, did she? What if he did it first? No, that didn't matter. At the end of the day, she had cheated.
She had crossed a line she could never erase.
So of course this would happen.
Of course the universe would make sure she paid for it.
She tilted her head back, letting the water run over her face, mixing with silent tears.
"It's only fair," she whispered. "Right?"
When she finally turned the shower off, she didn't grab a towel.
She stepped out, dripping wet, her skin cold, goosebumps rising along her arms. Water pooled at her feet as she walked toward the mirror.
The cracks from when she punched it before were still there.
She stared at her reflection, at the girl looking back at her. Pale. Red-eyed from crying. Hollow inside her chest.
Her fist clenched.
Crack.
She punched it again. The sound that was made was sharp and satisfying.
Again.
Crack.
Again.
She didn't stop until the mirror completely gave way, glass exploding into the sink and onto the floor. Tiny shards bit into her skin, embedding themselves in her knuckles and palms. Thin lines of blood appeared almost instantly.
She didn't react to the pain. It wasn't like she was trying to play tough. She just couldn't feel it. Her body felt numb. It felt dead. She was nothing more than a zombie.
A zombie can't feel pain.
She looked down at her hands, tilting them slightly as if inspecting someone else's injuries.
Then she turned, opened the cabinet, and pulled out the first aid kit.
She worked in silence.
Cleaning the shards, pulling them out. Disinfecting the wounds. Wrapping her hands in bandages to stop the bleeding.
Her hands were steady as she worked; far too steady for someone who had snapped.
No tears came down her face anymore. No shakiness, not even her heart.
Just the quiet rustle of gauze and tape.
When she finished, she stood up.
"..."
And screamed.
"AHHHHHHH!"
It tore out of her throat, raw and broken. She grabbed fistfuls of her hair and yanked, nails digging into her scalp. Her body shook violently as she slammed her fist into the wall.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A neighbor below was yelling about the ruckus she was making, but she ignored it and slammed her fist again — and again — and again into the wall.
Grabbing her pillow, she hurled it across the room. Then another.
She picked up the lamp from her study desk and smashed it onto the floor, the bulb shattering loudly.
"Hey! Quiet over there!" another neighbor said.
"Shut the fuck up!" she screamed in response. Her voice echoed off the walls. "How could you?! Hitoshi, how could you do this to me?!"
Her chest heaved, breath coming in sharp, painful gasps.
"At least I had a reason!" she cried. "At least I did it for you! I did it because I love you! How could you do this to me?!"
Her head hit the wall.
Once.
Twice.
A dull pain bloomed across her forehead, warm liquid trickling down her face. She slid down the wall slowly, curling into herself on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
The crying came then.
It was an ugly cry. It was loud. And it was desperate.
Please be wrong. Please be a dream. Please tell her that she had been imagining it.
She sobbed and sobbed until her throat hurt, until her eyes burned, until her chest felt empty.
And then—
It stopped.
Just like that. It was abrupt and instant.
Her breathing slowed. Her face went blank.
The sadness drained away, leaving something cold and sharp in its place. Her eye twitched once. Then again.
"…If you're going to cheat on me," she said softly, her voice calm and wrong, "then it's free game."
Her gaze drifted across the room and landed on the chair. The white oversized shirt.
The one she wore that day she went to the penthouse, and when Yasuo visited her apartment.
She hadn't touched it since. Hadn't even looked at it. She had even contemplated burning it so that she didn't have to be reminded of her crime whenever she saw it.
A slow smile spread across her lips, twitching at the edges.
"Don't worry, Hitoshi," she said sweetly, her head tilting to the side. "I still love you."
She stood up, walked over, and picked up the shirt.
And this time, she put it on.
She pulled the collar up to her nose and smelled it. She could still smell both of them mixed into the fabric.
"Don't blame me for this, Hitoshi. It seems both of us are finding pleasure in other people."
Shinju closed her eyes and imagined that day she had been treated like a rag doll.
She could still see the shape and size of his member.
Back flat on the bed, she dug her fingers inside her pink flower as she continued to sniff the shirt, reminiscing on the day she had once dreaded the most. But now that day, in the span of a few hours, had transformed into a place of solace.
"Ughhn~" she moaned.