Rooftops At Sunrise

9

By the time they arrive home, the sun has disappeared, and the glow of fireflies leave temporary traces of gold, past crossroads populated by passersby, whose faces are worn with fatigue.

A child is crying in a nearby stroller. When Aoi turns to observe her mother's face, she notices that her eyes are sunken, and the bags under them purple.

Aoi holds back from telling her parents she got the best scores in her class again—even if she is good at mind games, she doubts any company would want to hire an employee who can barely use their hands, carry things, or stare at screens for too long.

They exit the car, then enter their home. Her family's nighttime routine is the same as always. And by the time Aoi's fingers are lingering on her cell phone, and have typed in the message: Sorry, in the end, I can't make it this summer, her parents have started fighting again.

She holds back on pressing send.

"If I'd known it'd be like this, I would have never given birth to her." Her mother is crying. "It's terrible that she exists. She has no future."

"Are you serious?" Aoi's father does not even bother keeping his voice down any more. "How can you say that? That's disgusting, I'm sick of this— I'm sick of you. Aoi isn't the problem here. It's you!"

The sound of something screeching, furniture being shoved to the side, rings across the house devoid of light. "You're not even her real father, Colton. You have no idea what it's like to see your child suffer over and over again and wonder if she's going to die this time, I can't take this anymore, I can't—"

"I want a divorce."

Aoi holds back her tears. She gets out of bed. Deletes the message she'd been typing in to Damian, then grabs the duffel bag she uses whenever she goes for overnight stays at the hospital. She throws everything she can think of in the moment—that could be of use to her during her trip with Damian—onto her bed. Her parents are still too busy screaming their lungs out and talking about separating to notice the rustling noises in their daughter's room.

The young woman slips various pieces of clothing, all the medicine she needs— including her new pills, bottles that serve as her food—inside her luggage. Then, she grabs its handle; thankfully for her, the bag is on wheels.

Aoi storms out of the house.

On her desk, the young woman abandons a note that she quickly scribbled down, minutes earlier. I'm staying at a friend's place for two weeks.

Aoi does not bother telling her parents more—after all, she is of age now, if she wishes to leave, it would be hard for them to say much against it.

She pushes her duffel bag all the way to the bus stop. The bus then brings Aoi to her local train station, and drops her off a little more nauseated than she was before stepping onto the moving vehicle.

It is quite late. Aoi is already done with feeling motion sick. She wishes she could swallow more medicine, but she already had quite the dose when taking the car with her parents earlier on. Therefore, it is going to have to be a waiting game from now on, for the young woman.

On her phone, she types in a new message, designated to Damian: I'm coming over earlier than expected. It occurs to Aoi that she has rarely written so much on the device in such little time, and her poor eyes are definitely not being forgiving, with how much they now sting.

The young woman shoves her phone back into her pocket. She looks around. The station is populated by businessmen who have left work late. They are mostly wearing monochrome, formal attire, or suits. Aoi thinks she looks out of place with her opal luggage covered in pink hearts, and the bright blue shirt that adds quite the pop of color beneath her navy overalls. She is somewhat glad though, that she will not be riding the last train. There would have been a very different crowd here, had she arrived a moment later—a crowd, that Aoi isn't sure she is ready to confront just yet.

As the young woman steps onto the train's platform that buzzes to life beneath her worn sneakers, she takes a deep breath. She figures this will harm her. But living harms her. Staying in bed harmed her, even though she would do her best to rest up like everyone told her to. So, in the end, whether I am resting, or out and about, what is the difference? Aoi wonders; she figures it is much cooler to be taken down by a coyote in the middle of nowhere, while alien-hunting, rather than by an allergic reaction to an orange.

The young woman pays for her ticket. She pushes her luggage onto a spare seat. Escaping her old reality is an urge she believed she'd never be capable of acting upon—as a matter of fact, Aoi cannot remember ever doing something this daring.

The train passes the seaside. The lights from buildings all around reflect across the ocean like little suns being torn apart, then put back together, within the large body of water. And Aoi thinks it is beautiful, until fear chokes her, and she wants to cry.

She fears, that she is making a terrible mistake—but would a mistake make her as happy as this has made her so far? the young woman wonders, for she has never felt as free, and as alive, than in this moment, right now.

The farther she gets in her journey, the more people leave. Soon enough, her passenger car is devoid of any human voices. What remains is the low clatter of the wheels spinning and crossing the ground beneath her.

The yellow glow of the towns surrounding her also start to fade. The clock is close to striking midnight. She supposes that this is all normal. Yet, her arms still tense at the brief idea of what may become of her, should something go wrong.

Perhaps, the young woman realizes, that she should have thought this through a tad more. Leaving now means breaking the promise she made to her teachers about doing her best to attend school whenever possible.

Aoi feels guilty, yet, she also hopes her parents will cover for her, and then, she feels guilty again, for that, too.

Her phone rings. Aoi jumps in her seat. She expects to see her mother, or her father's name appear. But it's Damian.

Something tells her that neither her mother, nor her father, have noticed she is gone yet.

Aoi silences the ring tone that was still frantically beeping as if it's life depended on it. She picks up, and presses the receiver to her ear. "Yes?"

"You could have at least told me this morning!" Damian doesn't sound angry. Though, it is as if he is panting, and rushing to get a very important place.

"Ah." Aoi purses her lips together. It is true that they had agreed on doing this during the weekend; she wonders if it was silly of her to assume this would be okay, due to what the young man had told her last time—that his apartment was hers, whenever she wanted it, at any hour of the day, or the night.

Cold sweats trickle down her neck. On the other end of the line, Damian is still puffing out short, choppy breaths. "Should I go back?" Aoi asks him.

"No, no don't go back!" he gasps. "I just— the train," Damian blurts. "I wanted to come get you. I just got off work. You haven't arrived yet, right?"

The anxious monster that had been squeezing at Aoi's heart releases her chest. Her pulse beats, again; a little slower this time. "I haven't." She nods, even though he cannot see it. "Should I wait for you?"

From the other end of the line, she hears Damian's steps come to a halt. "I don't think there'll be any need for that."

Damian smiles, as he watches Aoi's train enter the station. "I'm here," he tells her.