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I SHOULD BE old enough to understand that there is nothing I can do.
But how am I supposed to sit and watch as the only girl I have ever loved bleeds out all of her loveliness?
She dies in my arms. Her blood is warm on my hands. I try to push the life back inside her. Try to hold her together by the red wound that smiles on her stomach. I've seen too many dead. Too many friends go. She cannot become one of them.
But she's bleeding so much. It all slips through my fingers. Pools at her back and drips through her shirt. Spills from her mouth. Her breaths are a beating to her lungs. I rip my shirt off and press it to her wounded stomach. But the cloth soaks through immediately. There is nothing I can replace it with.
Her eyes do not open. They closed when the patchwork of a curse stabbed through her stomach with a blade made of skin. It was so sharp. It opened her with one slash of the curse's arm, and I had to watch as the first seconds of the last moments of her life began.
My world caves in when I see that she's stopped breathing. She leaves me without a goodbye. Her death a loud silence. The girl I love leaves me to pick up so many of my pieces. The unmoving stillness of her cold body is what breaks me open. I cry into her chest.
Her body is all that remains of the lovely girl I would kiss to sleep. The lovely girl who would stumble through the kitchen trying to make pancakes. The lovely girl who taught me how to trust, to believe that I was never alone.
I beat a fist into the floor. Each breath I take is agony through the vise in my chest. I do not want to breathe. I close my eyes as I press my forehead to hers. I whisper for her to come back. Beg. She is so still, so small in the hands of death.
Something glints through the thick paint of her blood. I reach for it. Searching for the threshold of sanity.
It is the necklace I latched around her neck on that one New Year's Eve. We had watched the fireworks together, then. A quiet sob punches through my throat as I realize I will never see her smile the way she did on that night.
Of course she wore it to battle. As she always has. It is hard for me to understand why I will never see it on her again.
It takes Nanami, Fushiguro, and Gojo to take me away from her. I do not hear my screams. But they haunt the dreams of the rest, and for once, I cannot be sorry for that.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
I should be old enough to know she's never coming back. But sometimes my body forgets. Sometimes I wake in the morning to head over to her old dorm room and instead see Nobara there, crying into the smell of (Y/N)'s unused sheets. I always join her. Always end up breaking further than I can be fixed.
Every time I look at my hands, I see her blood caked beneath my fingernails. Sometimes she is all I think of. All I see. And I know that it is always a lie whenever I hear her voice in the halls, or at night when I am alone. It is only my mind trying to delude me.
I should be old enough to understand that this is how life is supposed to go. You lose those you love, or they lose you.
But I have had to watch. Every single time I had to watch as one by one someone stole the life of the people I love most. Every single time I had to hold my cherished person to my chest and tell them everything was going to be alright. And every single time I have wondered why I am always the only one left alive. The one left alone.
I am only a liar in a broken body. A broken mind. A broken soul.
Without her, it is a way of life I do not mind following. So I hold these people to my chest. Cradle their heads as they bleed. Lie to them, assure them that they will be okay. That everything will be okay.
I wish she had heard me when I told her the same thing. If only I'd said the words sooner. Maybe then she could have died at peace, not with her hand clutching desperately at my collar as a wordless plea for me to save her. I saw the same desperation in her eyes.
She did not have peace in death. I know I that I will have none in life.
