Flash Back
((OOC: Been a while! And it's about time that I finish up those July Questions by writing a worst and best birthday in narrative form. So here we go, with the worst birthday. Warning, angst ahead.))
The white room is waiting for her when she finally wakes up. Initially, Mitsuru wonders why she isn't in her own room, with her books, her stuffed rabbit…And then she hears a voice drifting into the room, underneath the crack between the door (which is so far away from her bedside; she has no idea how her father can cross a distance like that in just five strides) and that blisteringly white tile floor.
"Could stand another test, you know." That's the gravelly voice of her grandfather. He must have been smoking while she was asleep, since his voice sounds raspier then usual. That sharp edge under his voice is also back again, and makes her want to do nothing more then curl under the covers and hide there until he's gone. The only thing that keeps her from doing so is thinking of how her father…Or her Grandfather might react if they open the door.
"Every time we think we've reached her limit, she's able to go for a while longer. She is improving Takeharu. We need to appreciate that, as well as nurture that quality and help it grow."
Mitsuru settles for grabbing two handfuls of the blanket instead, and holding them close.
"…I disagree." That's her father's voice. Soft, respectful, the way he always is when dealing with her grandfather, even if they aren't seeing eye to eye. "She managed to last for half an hour in the tank, so why push her so hard that the results come back negative? Even a prodigy takes breaks between competitions."
Maybe prodigies, but not her grandfather. She hasn't really seen him rest, or relax, for months now. But even if he doesn't agree with her father, their voices at least grow distant, as they walk away from the door, and her little white box.
Mitsuru only lets her breath out when the silence lasts, and then falls back onto her pillow, to take in the changes made to the room since she was here the last time. Those drawings she did for her dad are gone now, along with that book she got a few days ago.
No more photos at her bedside, either; none of her, her father, or…
A week ago, Grandfather had decided those photos would only serve as a distraction, or source of depression. And the second he decided that, they were all whisked away; no more images to remind Mitsuru of her mother, and, supposedly, no cause for tears.
Which didn't explain why she gets an odd, hollow feeling settling in her chest and stomach, which makes her feel sick if she focuses on it for too long.
Her hair is just getting long enough to run her fingers through, which Mitsuru does when she's nervous. (But not depressed, she tells herself. Grandfather, as he has made it so clear through his actions, does not like when she's depressed.) She's already learned, by herself, how to twine her fingers down through the curls without pulling or catching on her hair. Doing so three times is almost always enough to calm her down, and give Mitsuru a moment where she doesn't feel anything quite as intensely. She slowly counts out the movements.
One…
Soon enough, her father will be back. She hopes that he'll take her home for today, and maybe find the time to read to her. This is supposed to be a special day, after all, and Mitsuru hopes that might be enough to justify both things.
Two…
Today won't be the same as before, though; not even if she gets to leave, and a book with her father…There will still be that third part missing. The part, and person, that they watched fade away in the hospital, and then burn to ashes…
…That makes her heart pound a little faster, and Mitsuru forces herself to stop thinking about that, and on feeling her hair instead.
Three.
Her breath comes out more easily, and Mitsuru feels that strange, cold calmness spread out and envelope her again. Even though she doesn't need that feeling right now, since the only white around her is the room, instead of the white coats, Mitsuru decides to keep it close to her heart.
This one still moment, between the needle, the tank, the examinations, and that empty space that has started living in her family's house, that's the one gift Mitsuru has right now. Regardless of what else happens today, she intends on treasuring it.
The white room is waiting for her when she finally wakes up. Initially, Mitsuru wonders why she isn't in her own room, with her books, her stuffed rabbit…And then she hears a voice drifting into the room, underneath the crack between the door (which is so far away from her bedside; she has no idea how her father can cross a distance like that in just five strides) and that blisteringly white tile floor.
"Could stand another test, you know." That's the gravelly voice of her grandfather. He must have been smoking while she was asleep, since his voice sounds raspier then usual. That sharp edge under his voice is also back again, and makes her want to do nothing more then curl under the covers and hide there until he's gone. The only thing that keeps her from doing so is thinking of how her father…Or her Grandfather might react if they open the door.
"Every time we think we've reached her limit, she's able to go for a while longer. She is improving Takeharu. We need to appreciate that, as well as nurture that quality and help it grow."
Mitsuru settles for grabbing two handfuls of the blanket instead, and holding them close.
"…I disagree." That's her father's voice. Soft, respectful, the way he always is when dealing with her grandfather, even if they aren't seeing eye to eye. "She managed to last for half an hour in the tank, so why push her so hard that the results come back negative? Even a prodigy takes breaks between competitions."
Maybe prodigies, but not her grandfather. She hasn't really seen him rest, or relax, for months now. But even if he doesn't agree with her father, their voices at least grow distant, as they walk away from the door, and her little white box.
Mitsuru only lets her breath out when the silence lasts, and then falls back onto her pillow, to take in the changes made to the room since she was here the last time. Those drawings she did for her dad are gone now, along with that book she got a few days ago.
No more photos at her bedside, either; none of her, her father, or…
A week ago, Grandfather had decided those photos would only serve as a distraction, or source of depression. And the second he decided that, they were all whisked away; no more images to remind Mitsuru of her mother, and, supposedly, no cause for tears.
Which didn't explain why she gets an odd, hollow feeling settling in her chest and stomach, which makes her feel sick if she focuses on it for too long.
Her hair is just getting long enough to run her fingers through, which Mitsuru does when she's nervous. (But not depressed, she tells herself. Grandfather, as he has made it so clear through his actions, does not like when she's depressed.) She's already learned, by herself, how to twine her fingers down through the curls without pulling or catching on her hair. Doing so three times is almost always enough to calm her down, and give Mitsuru a moment where she doesn't feel anything quite as intensely. She slowly counts out the movements.
One…
Soon enough, her father will be back. She hopes that he'll take her home for today, and maybe find the time to read to her. This is supposed to be a special day, after all, and Mitsuru hopes that might be enough to justify both things.
Two…
Today won't be the same as before, though; not even if she gets to leave, and a book with her father…There will still be that third part missing. The part, and person, that they watched fade away in the hospital, and then burn to ashes…
…That makes her heart pound a little faster, and Mitsuru forces herself to stop thinking about that, and on feeling her hair instead.
Three.
Her breath comes out more easily, and Mitsuru feels that strange, cold calmness spread out and envelope her again. Even though she doesn't need that feeling right now, since the only white around her is the room, instead of the white coats, Mitsuru decides to keep it close to her heart.
This one still moment, between the needle, the tank, the examinations, and that empty space that has started living in her family's house, that's the one gift Mitsuru has right now. Regardless of what else happens today, she intends on treasuring it.