Mourning Doves | Tokyo Ghoul

16 | C o n t r o l

After the hours of her running around seeking consolation, bitter knowledge, and release, Etsuko eventually made her way back to Ichijou's apartment complex, where the setting sun casted brilliant orange and power-periwinkle lights over the walls like warm down blankets. She ambled over to the navy door she had remembered as his, but was then slapped across the face with the realization that she didn't have a key. She stood in front of the door; a wretched expression imprinted upon her face, she gave out a little scoff.

Locked out.

She turned back around, her arms crossed over her chest, and whipped out her phone to click the lock screen on.

8:03 pm

There was still another two hours until Ichijou would come home, and she ground her teeth as she marched a few steps towards the curb, plopping her little bottom down on the concrete ledge. She sizzled, cursing herself for forgetting about something so important, and puffed out her cheeks in frustration. She flickered her amber eyes up towards the sky, and relaxed her shoulders as she forced out a little sigh.

The clouds in the sky looked soft and puffy, like herds of sheep floating across a meadow of soft but magnificent oranges and purples and muted pinks, their underbellies shaded a dark indigo and their backs illuminated in that brilliant clementine light. The wind danced upon the streets, already beginning to brighten from the streetlamps flickering on, and breathed over her figure as she rested her head against her palm; she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, exhaling just as the breeze swept over her once more.

She found herself on a bed of cool sheets and crisp linen when she woke up, dazed, and smelled something like meat on a skillet sizzling away in the kitchen; after all of the eating she had done earlier, the odor triggered her gagging reflexes and forced up a mouthful of bile. She barely made it to the bathroom to hack up some of the food she had ingested that day, the acid burning the lining of her throat and her nostrils. She covered her mouth as a futile attempt to keep the food in, but convulsed again as another round of bile and mushed up food chunks came spewing back up, spurting out of her mouth, past between her fingers, and out of her flaring nose. She coughed and doubled over the sink, her long white hair tumbling past her shoulders and mixing with the discolored lumpy mixture in the porcelain bowl.

Through all of the frantic gasps and wheezing, she heard someone appear in front of the door in a panicked fashion, and she immediately shooed him away.

"Etsuko-chan!" Ichijou called out to her.

"I'm fine - " she garbled as another round of vomit spewed out from her mouth and into the sink bowl below. She gasped. "I'll be out in a sec, just give me a few - "

Ichijou was by her side in a flash, wrapping her vomit-stained hair around his hand to steer it away from her mouth. With her familiar-scented locks cleared from her nose, she could smell the meaty smoke materializing from his bare skin, peppered with a few indistinguishable spices that burned through her nose harder than the actual stomach bile. She was attacked by yet another wave of nausea, and spat out a mouthful of acid and half-digested food.

After a while, she ended up spitting out all of the food she had ingested that day, much to her unconscious relief, and was greeted back in the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee. She sighed, taking the cup from Ichijou's sturdy hand as she hobbled into the living area and collapsed on the couch, tilting her head back, still wet from her shower, on the overstuffed canvas cushions and taking a massive inhale of the rancid air; still, her belly had nothing else to hack up, so she was safe from the dangers of vomit - for now.

In the aftermaths of her daze and confusion, she discovered that Riku had, in fact, decided to join the couple for dinner. However, after her little episode, Ichijou concluded that only two people would be eating at the dinner table that night, much to her unfathomable relief. She sat on the couch with her fourth mug of coffee, flicking through the channels of the TV from various dramas to variety shows to movies, unsure on what she actually wanted to watch. She finally stuck to a horror movie, dark and bloody in all its themes, and continued sipping her drink as she watched a man's limbs become torn from his body in massive, noisy rips.