☆☆☆ Chapter 44 ☆☆☆
Thinking and Overthinking
*Jade's Point of View (POV)*
Rolling and rolling and rolling and── and then he let go of my wheelchair.
It was way too sudden when he came to a halt, but the moment let me know of one good thing; that we arrived. We arrived at god-knows-where, but we finally arrived after what felt like hours upon hours of constant driving and rolling. A sigh of relief escaped out of me before my brain could properly process it.
"Okay, we're here," Roger said behind me, smacking his lips afterwards. His footsteps, though usually silent and as present as that of a ghost's, were now loud and snappy. It felt awkward hearing them from someone like him, but they had a purpose: to let me know where he was at any given time, and right now, they were letting me know he was walking ahead of me. I must be in front of something. Something that should, in his eyes, surprise me. "You can take off the blindfold now."
"I swear to god, Roger, this better be worth it," I quickly replied, reaching for the cloth he had wrapped around my head earlier, before leaving the hospital. "They really didn't want me to leave, and honestly, I didn't want to either."
It's been weeks since the last day I was outside. Maybe even a month. Who the hell knows how much time has passed, really. All I know is that the time I've spent at the hospital has been better than the time before it, and that the real world has been dying for me to step out of there so that it could smack me across the face. I would deserve it, I know that fully well now, but I need more strength to face it head on. Obviously I'm not ready. Right now, I can't even stand up for a single second before gasping from the sadist that is pain. I mean, I deserve that too, but──
"What's taking so long, Jade? Are you scared? Nervous? Nothing will bite you here, and trust me, this is worth it," Roger said, chuckling softly. "Why else would I pull strings to get you out of there for a day?"
"The doctors weren't in on it, there's no way. It didn't seem like it."
"Say whatever you want, Barbie doll, but you're out today and that's a fact."
I didn't know what exactly I was expecting before taking off the blindfold, but what I was looking at was definitely not it. Before me, aside from a beaming Roger resting on a mailbox with his last name, stood a simple home, green and lively, with flowers basically everywhere my eyes landed on. The only exception to that rule was a decent sculpture of a nude woman focused on a bird on the palm of her hand. A small wooden birdhouse hung from two of her fingers like a Christmas decoration to a pine tree. Roger must've put that birdhouse there. Or his mother. Who the hell knows. It was alright.
Okay, it was beautiful. But why was I there?
I didn't hesitate to ask. "So what's so worth it 'bout coming over to your house, Roger?" I began, cocking my head to the side. "Am I here to have sex with you or somethi── "
"Ugh, oh god, no," Roger quickly exclaimed, shaking his head and stiffening up as he muttered something under his breath. By then he was stepping on his flowery yard, writhing in some form of cringe. It felt awkward seeing such a reaction from someone like him, but it wasn't just awkward. It felt... weird. It's not the type of Roger I usually see. It wasn't the cool-headed one, the wounded warrior. It kind of stung my pride to hear him deny me in such a manner, too. I may be ugly── if that's what he believes, but he didn't have to show it. Or maybe he just couldn't help it; maybe it was just instinctive. Hell, to think I had it in my mind that I was alright in that department. Guess I'm not.
In general, a lot of things made me lift an eyebrow about what he had done, but the world didn't give me enough time to respond. A whole minute, or even an hour, wouldn't have been enough for me had the world given me that. Lucky for me, I didn't need to respond, either. Roger reads people exceptionally well, and it's been a fact since day one; a fact I refused to accept before my hunger for change 'cause I failed to see myself as a monster. I had no choice but to accept that now though. I have been given the wake-up call of a lifetime── Ane, with the stabbing, Teresa, with the serum, and Roger, with his priceless support and solid sage vibes. I could not be any more grateful.
Once Roger got back to his regular level-headed self, he clenched his jaw and sighed.
"Sorry, Jade. I didn't mean for it to come out that way, it's just... well, you're here so that I can cook something for you, to play board games and watch movies together. I'll drop you off at the hospital at eight o'clock. Sounds ordinary by universal standards, doesn't it? Not for you. It's odd for you, isn't it?"
"What?"
"You're here so that you can have some sense or feeling of normalcy," Roger said, now on his way to the front door. I followed him from the paved path, watching his feet avoid stepping on flowers and wince at the grass they hurt in return. "For the latest quarter of your life, and even before that, you've been missing it. You haven't had the chance to grow and bond with others healthily, you haven't had the chance to breathe, you haven't had the chance to be in a safe space that allows you to mold yourself into whatever you want to be. People have taken advantage of you in the worst of ways, but as I have said before, you can still live. That's why you're here today. You need it, and trust me, you'll thank me later. So no, you're not here for sex. Never. I mean, unless you sneak someone in here that's around your age for yourself── and even then I don't want minors doing it in my house."
There was something warm about his words. I couldn't place a word on it, but my eyes stung. "S-So it's not a safe space for sex?"
"No, not for you. Find a room elsewhere."
"Oh come on," I moaned, clenching my hands. Deep inside, I was holding on to something. Something that stung, yes, but something warm, too, that made my throat stuffy. "Don't... Don't fuck with me like that! Please?"
"It's a hard no, kid."
A few moments after some more of my bitching and moaning, Roger opened the door to his home and turned over to me, stepping aside and motioning for me to go in. There was a welcoming smile on his face that once again felt weird from someone like him. It was a warm smile, similar if not exactly like the one he made when I told him I didn't want to be under the code and Oath of contract killing; under the control of my alias; Blossom, and all that they stood for. Roger's smile was warm, welcoming. Like── if not exactly── the one he made before kissing the top of my head and promising to always and forever be by my side. Weird it was, yes, but so very warm. So very welcoming. A smile from the Reaper. No, a smile from Roger, the one person that is miraculously incapable of hating me for bringing him down to hell and instead wants to help me out of it.
A smile from Roger, the noble, self-sacrificing, stupid hero with a cape. Warm, welcoming, and weird.
Beyond the door, there was nothing but coziness and calm. The walls from beyond the door were a light, soft shade of brown. There were no portraits of people on them, but there were a couple of paintings and sketches relating to nature, aside from sappy embroidery pieces from, most likely, his mother. From outside, I was already able to spot the first bit of furniture: a recliner. It beamed right at me, just like its owner. A lamp stood next to it, waiting to brighten up the room and my day. Everything seemed fluffy in there, in his home. I couldn't help but to look behind me. I mean, I had to. I didn't want to look at Roger or his house or anything within it for long. The sting in my eyes grew stronger. It all felt warm, too warm.
Yes, it was a warm afternoon; the sun burned my skin, there was little to no wind, and my ass felt more than moist against the wheelchair, but none of it excused the warmth in me. The sun wasn't the thing warming up whatever bits and pieces of humanity were left in me after years of being a monster. It was something else── happiness, perhaps. It was warm, welcoming, weird.
How weird was it for someone like me to feel happy?
☆☆☆
I almost convinced myself that my bloated stomach was gonna blow itself up, almost, but I was able to hold my sanity together by drinking water. I don't know how it worked, but it worked so fucking well that I thought I was able to move. Of course, I should've known that it was just a dumb mind-trick. I couldn't even move more than a single inch, if my stitches were ever to allow me.
I was full── that was a given, and it was obvious, but Roger didn't care. He continued filling up my plate every time I finished it, giggling to himself like a schoolgirl as he watched me wolf it down. I had to stop him from serving me for the fourth time.
In truth, I didn't care about how full I was 'cause his cheesy beef lasagna and steamed, seasoned veggies were to die for, but I wanted at least some space for the dessert that I knew was coming. Rice pudding. Without fail, Roger brought rice pudding with him every time that he visited me at the hospital, but there was something missing all along; the fuzzy feeling of warmth. I didn't know it was missing 'til I rolled myself into his home, but it was a clear feeling that couldn't go away once I found it. It was a feeling that came along with the happiness a monster like me may or may not deserve to feel, but I found it nevertheless. The pudding was bound to taste better in his home, it was a simple fact.
Roger, as if reading my thoughts, carefully placed a bowl of fresh rice pudding in front of me before sitting on the chair across from mine. His eyes were on me, giving me a playful glare as he mumbled something under his breath, right before I gave myself a spoonful of the heavenly treat.
"Shit, Roger, I waited a whole eternity for you to finish cooking. Three fuckin' movies' worth. Stop dissing me under your fucking breath. Don't judge me," I said, somewhere in between my third and fourth spoonful. It was without a doubt the best thing my tongue had ever tasted. The warmth in his home made everything so much better. Weird, but in the best of ways. "This is so good, man. You don't understand how I feel right now."
"Is that so," he replied, with his standard chuckle. "I had no clue, not a single clue on your chipmunk cheeks, dilated pupils, heavy breathing, fast chews── "
"Wow, oh my god, shut the fuck up," I heard myself giggle. Some pudding flew out of my mouth and landed right inside the bowl, where it once was. Back into my mouth it eventually went.
"What? I was only being honest, it's not a bad thing," Roger said, putting his hands up in defense. "Do you want to know what is a bad thing?"
"What?"
"Hair growing out of its dye. Golden roots on a flat rosy head looks more than a little off, Jade," he noted, now blinking a couple of times and pointing at me with a finger. His other hand, as if it had been waiting for the chance all along, calmly placed a box on the table. A box of hair dye. Blossom pink. "Do you want a touch-up?"
There was something in his dark eyes that told me it was not a simple question. The box meant something, and not to him── to me, and he knew it. It was mandatory for us to have something on our bodies at any given time to identify our own selves as who we were; as the puppets of the underworld, born again under a different name. Blossom, for me. Dye, for me. It was my one connection to Blossom, to the code and Oath. It was meant for me, not for him. The box, the dye, the blossom pink, that is.
His simple question was easy to understand when taking that in mind: Did I want to keep an identifying factor of my now-retired alias? Did I want to keep Blossom in my present, or my past? Did I want to live my life with Blossom, or above them?
In another time, the fact that he knew would require me to kill myself, as a part of the protocol, and I would follow it without batting an eye. Anything that meant the discovery of my identity as Blossom would require me to. But who am I now? Just Jade, or is Blossom eternally present within me, caged and bound and hopefully rotting away, like the Reaper may or may not be to Roger? Or has Blossom always been Jade, or a part of Jade? Does dye even matter, does Blossom even matter, when in the end, it's my hands that are stained with blood? I don't know. I don't know anything. It's all confusing, but Roger was waiting for me to say something, whatever it may or may not be.
"No, I'm fine," I found myself mumbling, picking on what was left of the pudding.
"Oh, oh wow, okay," Roger said, running a hand past his smiling lips. Only the heavens knew what the hell he had in mind. "Growing out of the dye?"
I took my time eating the last few spoonfuls of the pudding before giving the both of us an answer. My stomach by then wanted to explode, but the pudding was seriously to die for. It didn't mean I savored every single one of those last bits, though. For those few moments, it was only a distraction to the big picture Roger had made for me. Once I begrudgingly finished the dessert, I knew it was time to say something, anything.
"No, I── just cut it off, alright? Leave me bald or with a buzz cut for all I care."
My hair's already short as hell, but fuck it. If I wanted change, I might as well go all the way, right?
Roger, furrowing his eyebrows and in doing so echoing Daniel's, cocked his head to the side. His smile was out in the open now. His face had all sorts of mixed signals by that point, leaving me more confused than before. "Okay, I'll do it, if that's what you want."
"Are you sure it wasn't what you wanted?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Jade, that was your decision, and yours alone," he snorted, lightly flicking the box of blossom pink dye afterwards. "I'll be honest, because once again being honest is not bad── all I wanted was for you to think about things. Dye or no dye, who cares? The choice itself isn't important right now."
If blossom pink hair dye didn't matter; if what defined me as Blossom didn't matter, did it mean that whether I lived with Blossom in the present or past didn't matter either? ...Yes, it really didn't matter, 'cause in the end I'm a monster, whether it's Blossom or Jade, right? 'Cause we shared the same stained hands that killed, and killed, and killed. We hurt people, and that was a fact. Change or no change, pink hair or not, Jade or Blossom, it was a fact. Maybe that's what he wanted me to think about.
"Wait, then what did you do? If it's not important, at least not to me right now, will it eventually be important? Did── did you keep your connection to the Reaper, or... ?"
There was a sudden silence in the air, a deafening silence. Seconds of it passed, if not minutes or hours or days, but eventually, as he stared at his dining table and clenched his jaw, Roger gave me an answer: "Yes, I kept it, and that will never change. I don't want it to. I am responsible for every single life I have cut off and that fact is always in my mind, but I don't trust myself. If there ever comes a day that I don't think of my past actions, such a connection will bring me right back down to the hell in my mind, where I belong. It's a precautionary measure of mine, is all."
I wish I had the nerve to say I was sorry right then and there for feeding him to the wolves, for forcing him to live under the code and Oath to save my own skin, for using him as my leverage to not be killed off for not passing my first training and to ultimately be given a second chance years back, but instead I did nothing. I didn't say anything. I watched his dark eyes continue to stare at the table, as they possibly looked back on moments of pure horror. Of what I indirectly did to him.
To him, the choice did matter. His connection mattered. Perhaps, it was a tattoo. Perhaps, it was a scar. Perhaps, it was every single cell in his body, but then again, I created the Reaper, and that was a fact. I didn't train them, but I did plop Roger into the scene. Into the underworld.
It would make a lot of sense if, perhaps, his connection to the Reaper was me.