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The day starts out like any other. She wakes slowly, taking her time to stretch the heaviness of sleep from each limb. She breathes deeply into an oncoming yawn, letting the sunlight wash her face before she goes to do it properly herself. Her eyes flutter closed for one brief moment before she finally swings her legs over the edge of her bed, catching her own gaze in the mirror.
Ah, right. Her days are different now, aren't they? She'd almost forgotten.
The ache never fades. It made its home somewhere deep in her chest a long time ago, though she can't quite place when it started. The only thing she is certain of is that it was there before the accident, even if she hadn't seen it before. She sees it now, and it hurts. It hurts enough that she sees the reflection of tears on her cheeks long before she cares to feel them. One hand reaches her mouth as everything goes dark when she closes her eyes, wondering—certainly not for the first time—if this is what it's like, if the darkness is the same. If it's just like falling asleep, then maybe it's okay.
Any potential spiral she may be falling into is interrupted by a soft tapping on her bedroom door, a rhythmic pattern emerging from the sound. Her breath hitches, and for a moment, she swears she can hear her voice again (does she even remember what she sounds like?). "Sumire, are you awake?"
But it isn't her voice, and it hasn't been for more than a year. "I am," Sumire calls back weakly, ignoring the painful crack in her voice.
"Oh, good," comes the kind tone of her father's voice. "I… wanted to ask if you'd like to come with me today." His words falter as if he has more to say, instead choosing to keep quiet. Sumire knows what he is asking. She always knows what he is asking.
On days like today, when her mornings are filled with tears, she usually declines. She'd rather attempt to salvage the day, to feel better by noon and keep pushing forward. It's all she ever can do, isn't it? If she stops pushing, stops looking ahead, she'll get stuck again. She can't let herself fall like that again. Never again.
Besides, how could she do it? How could she go, when doing that would mean another harsh reality check, an agonizing reminder of what she's done? Of what was her fault? What gives her the right to think she can intrude on something so raw and painful, when it could have been avoided if she'd just been normal–
But Sumire considers it a little more, and something bites at the ache, ripping and tearing at the wound like a caged animal, blood dripping down through her ribcage and seeping into her stomach, her heart, her lungs, until she finds it hard to breathe. When was the last time she'd said yes? How long has it been since she'd let her father take her to that place? How can she even think of saying no? He asked every time, and she always found some excuse to skip out.
How bad must it hurt him that his only living daughter refuses to share her pain with him? That she insists she's okay, she can handle it? What if he needs her, needs to have her close to ease his own pain? To think that she's done nothing but push everyone away, distance herself to live a life that was never hers… and has she done anything to try and bridge that distance?
Sumire swallows hard. "I think… I'd love to," she says, hardly more than a whisper.
She thinks she hears a sigh of relief behind the closed door, and her stomach twists and turns the entire time as she finally stands to get ready for the day.
The car is silent for a long time, neither party too sure of what to say. Sumire fidgets with the collar of her dress, occasionally smoothing away wrinkles that had never been there to begin with. It's the one she bought when she'd invited Akira-senpai out with her. She held that day so close to her heart for so many reasons, but perhaps the most important one is that it was the first big step towards finding herself again. Maybe that's why she chose to wear it today for the first time since then, to remind herself that she is Sumire Yoshizawa. To keep herself grounded, in check, aware of reality. She'd been scared then, too. This is the same, isn't it? Just another big step. That's all.
She thinks she must be the biggest liar in the world.
Her father clears his throat. "I didn't know you had that," he says at first, then stops, and she can tell he's thinking carefully about what to say next. "It's a beautiful dress."
Sumire bites back the tears suddenly threatening to fall. Instead of crying, she lets out a tiny laugh, hardly more than an exhale. "Thank you," she mumbles. "I guess I just… wanted to pick something myself for a change."
"It suits you," says the older man simply.
The lump in her throat tightens. She doesn't say anything else for the rest of the drive.
Whether she zoned out or dozed off, Sumire isn't sure. All she knows is that the car has stopped, though it isn't the cemetery that greets her. Instead her eyes find a small flower shop just a second before her father taps her shoulder. Without thinking, she moves to exit the car.
"You can wait here if you'd like," her father offers before she can open the door. And for a moment she considers it, because the lump in her throat grows again like some kind of stubborn tumor she can't get rid of, and the invisible yet bleeding wounds in her chest feel as if they're on fire. It would be easier to stay behind. It would be easier.
"No, it's okay. I'd like to pick some flowers, too," Sumire says before she can change her mind again. It won't be easy, but she'll do it. She has to do it. She's done hiding from the truth of it all. Isn't that why she agreed to come along in the first place? Besides, Akira-senpai had taught her a thing or two about flower language, and she kind of wanted to use it, both as a thank you to him and a proper tribute to her sister. Her sister, who is gone. Her sister, who is buried and cold, six feet in the dirt. Her sister, her best friend and worst enemy and biggest rival, who will never smile or laugh or cry again.
Her sister, Kasumi Yoshizawa. Sumire has to remember that. She can't forget again.
The flower shop is small, locally owned, and smells wonderful. The colors and arrangements remind Sumire of stained glass windows in a church. She sees some blooms she recognizes and even more that she doesn't. She remembers some of them from the early days after the accident, surprisingly clear despite her relatively addled state of mind from the last year. For some reason, the flowers have always been the clearest. How strange it was, when she thinks about it now, that the arrangement for "Sumire" had been roses. Maruki had left so many loose ends to pick at, unraveling the entire tapestry he'd so carelessly woven out of her life. It's no wonder she'd felt so out of place all the time.
Maybe now isn't the time to feel this way. She's being selfish. Today is about Kasumi, and there are rows and rows of flowers to choose from.
Sumire ends up with six flowers. She holds them delicately in her hands, repeating their meanings to herself over and over. Five of them are roses, all different colors; they only clash a little bit, but she loves that they do. Green, red, and yellow melt into black and white, and if the entire thing is just one big apology, then that's okay too. The flowers will say everything she couldn't out loud, and maybe that's enough.
It's quiet again. Too quiet. Sumire hardly dares to breathe within the cemetery grounds, feeling her chest tighten with some kind of apprehension. She puts a hand to her throat. The lump has started to bleed, splitting open into yet another gapiing wound, this time stealing her voice as it tears at her vocal chords and sends tears to her eyes, blood dripping down her chest all the while. But her dress remains clean, the flowers remain clean, and there is no blood in sight.
The nameplate is fuzzy and unclear. Sumire wonders how anyone could have done such a terrible job of engraving it. She sees a wet droplet fall upon the shiny surface and looks up, but there is no rain yet depite the looming gray clouds. Another droplet falls as she turns her head back down, and then another, and she realizes that she can't see clearly because of the tears pooling in her eyes. Her chest threatens to drip again, and the hand on her throat does little to keep the wound closed. She can't speak.
Sumire wants to scream. Sumire wants to scream, break something, claw herself to pieces so the pain will have a different source than the crushing guilt. Sumire wants to cause a scene, and at the same time she wants to disappear just to see if anyone will notice. Would they wail and cry for Sumire as they had for Kasumi? Would they whisper about what a shame it is, that Sumire's talent is gone just as Kasumi's is? Would they take the time to choose flowers that fit, delicate arrangements to honor her? Would they lay Sumire to rest beside Kasumi, reuniting two sisters who should never have been separated in the first place, much less passed on so young?
Would anyone bleed for Sumire the way Sumire bleeds for Kasumi?
She doesn't think she knows the answer to that.
Something in her heart slows, a low pulse that feels hot and out of place. It bubbles and promises to spill over the second it gets the chance. She's fallen to her knees by now, clenching the stems of the flowers so tightly that the force turns her knuckles white. Five roses and a single violet tremble in her grasp. Her apology. Her promise. She wills herself to drop them. The last thing she wants is to ruin something else.
Raindrops begin to fall.
Sumire isn't okay. She knows she won't be for a long time. Everything feels as dim and cold and hopeless as the day of the accident, blood diluted in puddles in the road as she cradled her sister's head, staining her own uniform and feeling the warmth drain from the body of the one person she didn't know how to live without.
The sprinkling turns to a steady pour. At some point she notices her father's umbrella covering her, though she's soaked to the bone and still feeling colder than the rain could ever make her.
She can't see the bright side right now. She doesn't want to. She wants to bleed out here, drain the awful infection inside her heart. She remembers that she fought for a world where she has the right to do that.
Sumire lets her hand fall from her throat, and the blood pours as she breaks into sobs. The gashes in her chest burn, the blood her heart pumps so tirelessly now finding a new place to rest upon the soil and stones. The rain mixes with her tears mix with the blood until she can no longer tell what came from where. It saturates her dress, her skin, seeping into every crack it can find. It drowns her.
When Sumire leaves, she feels empty. Not well, not healed, not whole, but she knows it has to happen someday. She doesn't bother cleaning up the mess of her grief she's left behind. The rain will wash it away by morning.