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1. Corners
Corners are all you have. Tiny hide-outs for a tiny girl.
As you wait for them to show up, you kill your sobs and bury your tears. Tears won't make the sound of footsteps getting closer go away. Sobs won't drown the noise of boisterous laughter or childish squeals.
You bite your lips and shut your eyes. If you don't see them, they won't see you.
The door is opened. You hear your name. You start counting. 1, 2, 3, 4…
Maybe they'll just invite you along to play this time.
…13, 14, 15, 16…
Maybe they'll just ignore you this time.
… 100, 101, 102, 103…
Maybe they'll stop soon.
… 257, 258, 259, 260…
Maybe somebody will stop them.
… 327, 328, 329, 330…
Maybe a teacher will help you.
… 484, 485, 486, 487…
Maybe one of them will stop it.
… 639, 640, 641, 642…
Maybe it'll just stop on its own.
… 816, 817, 818, 819…
Maybe you'll forget this.
… 1068, 1069, 1070, 1071…
Or at least it won't matter. Because there's a corner of you they'll never reach.
You keep counting and focus hard on that piece of you they're not taking. They can't take it, because you've hidden it and it's so perfectly hidden they'll never see it. It's so perfectly hidden you've forgotten where it is.
But it's still yours. And maybe someday you'll get it back.
2. Verge
Bando slammed the door and breathed hard. The bathroom was empty and so were the school hallways and so was her.
The door was cold, but the coldness numbed the pain. Tears trickled down her cheeks and her hands were fists. Fists that never fought back.
'Bastard.'
She was not weak. She was not.
She was not ugly either. Or stupid.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Face full of mascara, but at least no visible bruises. Bruises meant odd stares and in the worst cases, questions.
She took out her brush and started fixing her hair with short, angry brushstrokes.
When the door opened, Bando froze.
'Um, Bandon-san,' she heard and then she stared at the intruder.
Of all people...
'What do you want?'
At least Nobuta was a nuisance and not a threat.
'Nothing... Just...are you all right?'
Bando huffed and pointed at her face. 'I'm fine. Can't you tell?'
Nobuta took one step back. Bando coulnd't help but smile. She was still scary, even after all that had happened.
'Did...did something happen?'
Nothing new, at least. Nothing ever changed. Nobuta's breathing was audible and Bando could smell her fear. 'I broke up with my boyfriend.'
Now she could smell Nobuta's pity.
'Did he...hit you?'
Bando put the brush on the sink and avoided looking at her wrist. 'He pulled my hair.'
She tried to erase her tears, but that only made her mascara cover her face even more. 'Bastard,' Bando muttered. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
All of them. Bastards.
'Here,' she heard and then saw a pack of tissues. She took them, half-believing they'd disappear the moment they reached her hands but hoping they didn't.
She took one tissue out and started to work on the disaster that was her face. It didn't quite work, because she still looked terrible. A small smile worked better.
'Thanks,' she said.
3. Edges
Most people think late night shifts are for the desperate and the disfranchised of the world, but Bando likes them. Everybody is a little weird at 4 A.M., either because they're normal people at 3 P.M. but the lack of sleep brings out all the tiny unpolished edges or because they're simply weird and dislike being seen in broad daylight.
She doesn't know for sure if she fits in any category, but she likes the people she gets to meet.
Sometimes they're drunk and boisterous or creepy and unnerving, but she can hold her own against anybody. Fear is an old friend of hers, after all.
She tried to be a normal office lady once, but it didn't have that kick of adrenaline of a bad day at a konbini at 3 AM or that calmness of a good one.
And she likes the regulars all right. They smile sheepishly, like that old lady with insomnia since her daughter came back home. Or they make small talk, like that widower who lives a block away. Some don't even talk, like that strange young man who never makes eye contact.
She knows how to handle them, because she can tell they feel as alone as she does.
Sometimes, when she thinks they're too desperate, too out of it, she tries to help. And when that girl shows up, she decides this is one of those times.
She can't be older than 20 and at first sight, she's perfectly normal. But Bando can't help but notice her quick glances at a car waiting and the nervous man sitting behind that wheel. She can't help but hear her scream 'Get me out'.
'Hm. I want... I want,' the girl starts, trying to hide her wrists with a way too small, way too tight pullover.'I want...'
She stops talking and stares at her own feet. Bando isn't exactly sure of what to do. Asking will yield no results and neither will calling the police.
'You can take as long as you want,' she says.
'No, I can't.'
Bando takes a deep breath.
'I see... I've never seen you. Do you live nearby?'
The girl nods.
'Hm. As I said, take as long as you want. Maybe he can go home and you can go on later...'
The girl's eyes widen and she gapes.
'No, I can't.'
Bando nods. Of course she can't.
The girl silently picks up some magazines and then some beer and gets back to the counter.
'I want this, please.'
'It's ¥ 7,000...' Bando makes a pause.'And this is my number. Just in case you need somebody to talk to.'
The girl takes the number and hides it in one of her pockets.
'Just in case,' she mumbles before darting off.
Before getting out, she stops and looks over her shoulder .'Thanks.'
Bando sees her disappear into the night and just hopes.