Erase Herゾごホ

現実 - reality

"Shota can you toss me my tool kit?" I shouted from the kitchen table, pulling my magnification goggles over my eyes as I delicately pinched my pliers over some clumped up wires. Shota grumbled a few complaints before reluctantly going to his room to search for them. I put my lip in between my teeth, gently gnawing on it as I continued the rewiring on my 'Eraserhead' chip. "If only Mei were here..." I mumbled underneath my breath, my fingers shaking slightly as I tried to drag the tiny circuits to their correct home. My nose twitched in frustration as I kept missing. My hand eye coordination failing me as I continually watched the chip spark, angry with my poor aim. I huffed, launching a few loose strands of (h/c) up into the air, slamming my tool down on the kitchen table. Why? I held my hand in front of my face, the deep scarring on my palms staring back at me. Why? My hands were trembling. I shut my eyes, a shred of fear wafting through me. Why can't my body seem to recover?

"Here you go." Shota said quietly, placing down a blue pouch beside me. I furiously unzipped the kit, fishing around various tools until finding the smaller pair of pliers. Because obviously that's going to fix my nerve damage. "Are you okay?" Shota asked, his cold hand resting on my shoulder slightly startling me. I glanced over, flipping my goggles atop my head and looking up at the tired man. I gave him a defeated sigh, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

"I just need my classmate. My fingers shake too much and I need her to connect conductor A to site F to see if that stops it from burning out so easily!" I shouted, pointing to the tiny chip below me. Shota raised an eyebrow, rubbing his chin softly as he tried to decipher some of what I said.

"The pink haired girl? Why don't you just go to class then? It's already been two months and you'll be having your casts removed in three days." Shota questioned, pulling the chair beside me and sitting down. He had his hero outfit on but his long hair tied back, which he normally had when lounging around home. I preferred it that way honestly, see the entirety of Shota Aizawa's face was a definite treat. But he was right on the topic. I had been out of school for a long time, almost an inexcusable long time. I haven't wanted to return. At least not in a fucking wheelchair. Having my friends dote on me every second of the day, special treatment from teachers, pitiful looks from other students. I don't think I can handle all that without going insane. Maybe it's a pride thing, but being seen as weak makes me sick.

"I don't want to go back yet." I admitted, looking up at him, "If I do that then I'll be accepting the fact that I'll never walk again." Shota let out a small scoff, his hand ruffling through my (h/c) hair.

"You will walk again." He reassured me, a small frown tugging on my lips. Every time I show a hint of doubt Shota always, at least, attempts to calm my nerves. I would be lying if I said hearing it everyday was helping. He was on an automated repeat. The normally negatively realistic man spewing positivity about my situation just seemed so out of place and I hated it. I know it's not forced, I know he genuinely believes I'll pull through in the end, but the more pessimistic side of me is starting to realize the truth. The truth being I'll never be able to walk again. "I'll be back soon, I'm just going to pick up some tests for grading while Midnight closes last period for me."

"You really don't have to rush back over, Shota. I'll be okay if you want to stay the rest of the day." I smiled gently as Shota rose to his feet.

"I was thinking of grabbing some takeout on the way home..." He muttered, ignoring my comment. I glared at him, tugging a rubber band off my wrist and wrapping my hair in my hands as he spoke. "Do you feel like yakitori or katsudon?"

"Soba."

"That wasn't an option."

"So-ba."

"Why do you insist on being such a brat?" Shota exhaled, grabbing his keys and lightly kissing the top of my head. "Don't overwork yourself."

And just like that I was alone. I pulled down the goggles over my (e/c) eyes, taking in a deep and determined breath before picking up my pliers and pulling at the odd colored wires, attempting to connect them in all the right places.

Spark.

Fail.

Spark.

Fail.

Spark.

Fucking fail.

"Fuck!" I screamed, tossing my tool down quite hard on the wooden surface I was working on. So hard that the pliers slid further down the table away from me. My eyes widened as I watched the metallic tool pause just out of arms reach. I pulled off my goggles, setting them down gently as my mouth twisted into a deep frown. I furrowed my eyebrows together, stretching for the tool, my fingers barely brushing the pliers and spinning it instead. I let out a small breath, grunting as I pushed myself further my arm trembling as I grit my teeth. My chair leaned forward with my body as I continued to stretch.

"Come on..." I mumbled, the tips of my fingers skimming the metal end. "Come on!" I yelled. The legs of my chair slipped forward. I let out a squeak as my body crashed into the things surrounding me before slamming into the flooring below. I let out a gasp as my head bounced off the ground, groaning as I hazily sat myself up, rubbing my temple. I blinked a couple times, my vision slightly blurry, staring at my legs. They were sprawled out in front of me, wrapped in blue casting that stopped right above my knee, seemingly fine. I should try to get up, if Shota finds me like this we will probably freak. I placed my palms on the chair I had fallen out of (after picking it up), hoisting my upper body up as high as I could. Managing to my lift myself off the ground, but barely. How the fuck am I gonna manage to do this without using my legs. I fell back down, looking up and wrapping my fingers around the table above me. I pulled as hard as I could, my arms shaking and muscles burning. I scrunched my eyebrows together, concentrating harder. The table gave out against my pull, falling forward atop me, slamming against my casted leg. I shut my eyes, hearing my tools scatter across the floor with clangs. I opened my eyes, my gaze falling over my legs in that stupid blue casting. Why? I ran my fingers over my thighs, begging to feel something. Reality. I grabbed my thigh, squeezing tightly, as hard as I possibly could. My eyes widening as I could feel my own skin in between my fingers, but I couldn't feel the pressure I was adding. Reality.

I'll never walk again.

I looked beside me, grabbing a screwdriver that had fallen with the table. My fingers wrapped around the handle, my hold shaking as I stared down at my legs. Why can't I feel anything?

"Fuck!"

I drove the sharp edge of the tool straight into my leg, blood spurting out from the wound, leaking over my (s/c) skin. I touched the red liquid, my lips parting in complete horror.

"No..."

I can't feel anything. Two months later and I can't feel a fucking screwdriver stabbing me in the leg.

It's over.

Tears filled my eyes.

I'll never walk again.