The Alias

Nineteen

It had been twenty days since I sent Ryuzaki that audio file and there was still no response. Every night I went out, broke into the cinema, and checked that damned cup holder that I told them to leave their response in. I was growing more and more depressive as each day passed, getting dangerously close to my breaking point. Living and being with Matsu was great, but I felt like my purpose in life was falling out of reach, like I was becoming obsolete. Before Kira showed up, my purpose was to be a good sister to Light. I would spend my days concerned with whatever was happening in his life, which was my way of ignoring the woes of mine. I'd help him solve social problems, study for exams, finish his chores, and I even completed some of his homework for him when he got overwhelmed. It was always easier to focus on his life than face the grim reality of mine: I was extremely depressed. Then, when he began pushing me away, I became purposeless. With nothing to distract me from myself, I was suddenly forced to deal with my ruinous thoughts. I quickly realized that my sadness and despair had been quietly growing behind my facade, now colossal. I broke under their weight, like a poorly built foundation under a skyscraper, and took a handful of Sachiko's sleeping pills before bed one particularly awful night. Much to my disdain, I woke the next morning covered in vomit, my attempt unsuccessful. Days later, I found out that Light was Kira. My purpose was restored; I could distract myself from my mind once again.

But now I found myself purposeless once again. It was 12:36 pm and Matsu had gone out to get groceries. I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of what would be the dining area if we had a table, counting my seeds.

45... 46... 47...

I thought back to my childhood memories. Memories of my 'mother's' neglect, and my longing for the attention and love she gave Light and Sayu. The memory which stood out to me the most was from when I was only six. I had brought home a finger painting of a cat, the paper still damp with paint, excited to show my mother what I had made. My small hands held that piece of paper up for her and I shook with excitement as she took the painting in her hands. She was not pleased, however, and she scoffed, not even bothering to even look at me as she crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. The look of pure disgust she had shown towards the picture engraved itself into my mind, and I hadn't forgotten it since. My art was far better than Light's and later Sayu's, but their squiggles and lines were always given the spot on the fridge; the spot I longed to have.

99... 100... 101...

I thought back to my adolescent memories. The faces of all of my abusers haunted my mind like a poltergeist. Their constant beratement, physical violence, and social outcasting burned an asymmetrical hole in my heart, a hole I couldn't seem to fill with anything. No amount of self-numbing could patch that irregularly shaped cavity, and without mending it only grew larger. Light, the one person that held the power to make it all stop, only made things worse. At first, he just ignored it all; he pretended he didn't see the horrors I faced and turned a blind eye to all the violence, even though it was happening right in front of him. But something changed, he changed. Light was no longer an innocent bystander, he took on an entirely new role, he became the Bonnie to their Clyde. He'd egg them on, and sometimes even join in on the crime. I wish I could say that I hated him. I wish I could forsake him, toss him aside like garbage, but I can't. I wish I could say that I no longer saw him as my twin brother and I want to be able to let go of this love I have for him, but I can't. I hate that I don't hate him.

133... 134... 135...

I thought back to L. I pictured his big grey eyes and poofy black hair. The dark circles under his eyes, which directly contrasted his pale skin, and the stupid way he sits. I imagined his hunched figure standing in front of me, hands in his pockets, looking straight into my eyes as we bounced ideas off of each other. I envisioned the way he'd listen to every word I had to say. His face may have been stern, but his eyes shone bright with curiosity, as if my thoughts were profound words of wisdom. I heard his monotone voice ask me about my day and the way he cocked his head in confusion when I asked him the same. I smelled his nauseatingly sweet breath as it attacked my senses, slowly suffocating me in its saccharine embrace, just before he pulled me onto his lips. I reimagined the intensity of the moment, the raw passion and lust, and for a brief moment in history, I felt whole. But then I felt the heat of the moment fade, and the moment became nothing more than a pipe dream, a fleeting memory in which time will forget. But I would never forget, for I was damned to relive it over and over until my death. And I hated that. I hated that he unknowingly made his way through the hedge maze in my heart, dodging every obstacle, and made it look so easy. I hated the way he rebuilt me, piece by piece, then in one single moment destroyed me once again. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I... I love him.

158... 159... 160.

I rose to my feet, all 160 seeds piled in my hands, and walked carefully to the kitchen. I let the seeds fall out of my hands onto the cutting board, taking care not to drop any on the floor, and slid a knife out of the knife drawer. I held the knife up to my face and stared at my reflection for the last time. My face was devoid of all emotion, no tears stained my cheeks, no light shone behind my eyes, only a ghostly expression of nothingness clung to me now. I brought the knife down to the cutting board and began to mince the seeds into pieces. They crunched beneath the blade, like bones between the teeth of a predator, growing smaller and smaller until the seeds were mere dust. Using the blade, I scraped the dust into a cup and added tap water, creating brown sludge. Holding my breath, I brought the cup to my lips and held the rim to my mouth. The warmth of my breath clouded the inside of the cup, and in a sharp, singular motion, I shot the sludge into the back of my throat and swallowed. I slammed the cup onto the counter and let my hand linger on the glass for a moment. Then it hit me.

Matsu.

I ran to the living room and fumbled through my backpack for a piece of paper. I tore an uneven page out of my sketchbook and frantically scribbled out my final words. I started to feel my mind go fuzzy as I struggled to move my hand across the page. In an instant, I watched my time with Matsu flash before my eyes. I was scared. I was scared because I had fallen for him knowing full well that I was already in love with L. Every memory of him played at once in one overwhelming moment of pure regret and sorrow. He didn't deserve this. I dropped my pen, unable to hold on any longer, and fell to my side. My vision faded in and out, all I could picture was him. I pictured his face... h-his eyes... his... hair.... his-