Ink Stained

104: the Mizushima family*

Please don't be like me, she thought, looking out the window at the dark forest sprawling before them. I'm not healthy. I don't know how to process things without hurting myself.

Kuniumi slithered in on the heels of that thought. Warning bells rang in Pai's head before she even spoke.

Don't, Kuniumi whispered, catching the threads of her thoughts. You do not want to go there, Bibari.

Her hands slowed in putting a plate in the rack to air out overnight. A frown of confusion unknowingly cut its crooked fingers on her face.

Why not? I want to help her.

You will regret it.

Her heartbeat faltered for a moment, consumed with a sudden remorse that had a cry building up at the back of her throat. She swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly to be rid of the tears she could feel trying to inch their way out of her eyes.

Tell me why.

We can't.

Why not?

We promised you wouldn't hurt, she murmured, like she was a child being scolded for doing something wrong.

The reminder of the promise she didn't remember Kuniumi making was like a punch to her gut. So now you won't tell me why I can't do something because it'll hurt me?

Yes, she sighed.

Are you saying I'll hurt myself if I help her?

Yes.

Pai pressed her lips in a tight line, irritation swirling in her like a whirlpool. She straightened her shoulders as she continued her task of drying the dishes with renewed vigour, as if shining the porcelain teapot to a blinding polished surface could make up for the strange sense of sorrow and regret that blighted her. Pai ignored Kuniumi when she sank deeper into her mind, settling in and watching Pai's thoughts like they were a film to enjoy for entertainment's sake alone.

This had to be the one thing she hated most about Kuniumi. That the woman knew things, many things, about Pai's past and present, hinted at things she knew of Pai's future, yet refused to divulge anything. All she gave were cryptic warnings and manic riddles twined with laughs that were both insane and grievous.

It was maddening. Nothing ever made sense with Kuniumi. When it did, there was always some little aspect that ended up tripping her and having her falling flat on her face as she scrambled to understand where she went wrong when she thought she'd gone right.

But how? How would she hurt herself if she helped Yukiji? Her gut tightened. It didn't make any sense at all. Yet, that was part of the problem – Kuniumi rarely did anything logical, but she never did anything without reason. And usually, Kuniumi ended up being right.

She pursed her lips and finished wiping down the last plate she'd taken from the small stack Yukiji had left for her while she went round the kitchen, checking that everything was set in its place. Yukiji was waiting for her by the door of the kitchen, and she hurried over, nervously rehearsing what she was going to say with every step that brought her closer to Yukiji.

Pai wanted to go find Shin, to at least say good night to him if he proved too busy with Kouta, but she wasn't sure where Yukiji planned on going. For now, at least, until their paths deviated, she had a few minutes to find out what was wrong with Yukiji. She was relatively certain that by the time she reached the door, she'd thought of the perfect way to just come out and ask the question. When she looked up at Yukiji's eyes, the dying stars in them as she flicked the electric lights overhead off and stepped aside to give Pai room to pass, that 'perfect question' morphed into a lame attempt she immediately kicked herself for.