Sundance

19. Epilogue (Izuna)

I sighed as I pulled off my mask together with my hood. I got out of the suit, put on a vanilla-white sweater that went to my knees. Before my burn, dressing like that always made me feel cute. Now, not so much. But what I was comfortable with wearing still hadn't changed.

I allowed myself the rare freedom of exposing my skin to the air after every show in the privacy of my own changing room. My colleagues knew I was badly burned, but had never been allowed to see me, and they respected me enough that I didn't need to lock the door. I stood in front of the mirror, looked at my face, or lack of it. Do I still feel like myself? I had, more than once, asked me that question. And the answer was, I did. On the inside.

I took my phone out, opened my photo album, chose my favourite picture of myself, taken on a beautiful spring day when the cherry blossoms stop in bloom behind me. My smile was genuine, happy. I looked into the mirror, the different man that stood before me. A sole tear fell down my dry skin, and I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if that tear held some magic, making my skin normal again on its way. That the only thing I needed to do was cry a lot, collect my tears and then bathe in them.

I hugged myself.

Took myself back to yesterday.

Who would have thought.

He smelled the same. Tobirama. He behaved the same. He was the same. I, however, was not.

But he hadn't realised it was me.

That part has been crystal clear, and why should he?

I wondered how our relationship would have been, had I not burned myself. Would he have come after me to the States? Would I have stayed for him? Would we be estranged, just like we were now, only I wouldn't be burned and I wouldn't be in Cirque du Soleil? Wasn't it interesting, how I achieved a wild dream but probably never would have, had I not lost my appearance that was so precious to me? But I knew I would've chosen Tobirama over this life without blinking.

I suddenly missed him. I missed his kind words, his fantastic ability to make conversation easy, his genuine interest in me and my life and my interests, and my genuine interest in his. I missed his body, close to mine, closer and closer until he was inside me. I missed the sounds we created together, his dark moans with my screams. I missed the unmistakeable love between us that I believed had been unconditional, but indented with fear.

Would I ever find it again? Would I ever find anything even close to it? Surely, somewhere in the world there must be a man who could love a burned one, even if that man wasn't Tobirama.

Suddenly, the door opened.

During my five years in Cirque du Soleil, that had never happened.

I didn't think straight but immediately turned round, my damaged face, my bald head with my pathetic tuft of black hair, all of it exposed.

In the doorway stood a tall man, dressed in a big, black sweater and white jeans. His hair was tousled and became even more so as he pulled his fingers through it. In his hand was a sole yellow tulip. He was looking at me directly, not at all hesitant but grounded, like an old oak tree.

And he saw me.

All of me.

My burned-away nose.

My lack of lips.

My eyes that had lost their shape.

My crackled skin.

My ugly face.

And he wasn't repulsed at all.

"Hi, Izuna", he said.

I fell down to my knees and burst into tears.

End.