"What?" asked Kumiko.
She's playing dumb. Pretending she doesn't know exactly what I mean. Does this piece of shit think I'm too stupid to see through her schemes?
Wait—maybe this version of Kumiko doesn't want to kill me. What did I do the first time around to make her hate me? There has to be a reason.
Then it finally hit me: Olympia.
She's mad that I stole her supposed best friend from her. So she wants me out of the picture.
Wait—
If that were the case, why did she kill Olympia? And Kagami…why go out of her way to kill Kagami?? It doesn't make sense. But nothing makes sense anymore. I've been coming back to life time and time again. Why am I questioning things at this point? The truth is, the reality is, that Kumiko is a blood-hungry killer. The fact is that she wants to kill me.
Should I…kill her first? End things before she can?
"Kiyomi?" I heard as I was thinking to myself. "Are you okay? Where would you get the idea that I want to kill you? That's not true. I know that rumors have been spread about me, some of which may even be true. But I don't want to kill you."
She's…concerned for me. The person who killed me in the last world…is concerned for me. This must be one of her manipulation tactics. Why else would she be so kind to me? In the previous world, she was callous. She made it clear that she didn't want me to be around. I could tell that she didn't like me. She practically told me she didn't like me. Why is she acting like this now? Please make it easier for me to hate you. You're a murderer. I hate you. You make me sick.
…
I like you. I enjoyed talking with you, even when you made it clear you were uninterested. I liked seeing you smile and laugh, even if it was for a brief moment. I had even more fun when you were around. How can you betray me like that?
"Kiyomi, why are you crying?" she questions sympathetically. "I don't know you well. I don't know you at all, but I feel bad seeing you cry. I don't care for most people, especially strangers, but for some reason, I hate seeing you so unhappy."
Then suddenly, she makes a face. A silly one. She squishes her face together with her hands, puckers out her lips, and crosses her eyes.
"Pfft." I can't help but laugh.
"Was that a laugh? Aww, don't go back to pouting. How about this?" She makes a mustache with her hair and wears a serious face. Super serious, might I add. Something in me snaps—not in fear, but in relief.
"Pfft. Pfft. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA." I start dying of laughter on the spot. It's hard to contain myself. My stomach begins to hurt. It takes me a minute to pull myself together again.
"This tear," she puts her pointer finger right under my eye, and seems to catch a tear. "This tear…this one's from joy, right?" Then she puts her pointer finger into her mouth—she eats my tear. "Don't look so grossed out! This is something Olympia taught me. If you swallow someone's tears, the emotion that brought about that tear will be extended."
"You know that's not true, right? I'm not even sure if that is some sort of myth. That seems like something Olympia made up herself."
"It doesn't matter if it's true or not. It brings me joy to believe that I can bring someone else happiness in such a simple way. Hey, Kiyomi, can I tell you something about myself? Something that most people don't know."
"Shoot."
"I hate myself. Always have, always will. I've gone to therapy for most of my life. In other words, I've been a mess most of my life. I've gotten a lot of help, but none of it ever did anything for me. Other people have tried to understand me, but only because they've had to. It's a therapist's job to understand their patient, but it's all for the money. All of my shrinks have expressed little interest in me. And the reason why is obvious: I'm too self-aware. I know what my problem is. I've spent most of my life alone, thinking. Too much time thinking. I know exactly what my problem is. I even know how to fix it. But…I'm too scared to do anything about it. What if I'm able to fix myself…but what if, once the pieces are together, I'm still just a piece of shit—just a more organized one? Maybe I would have had a chance to reinvent myself into something greater if I had been smart enough to do so when I was younger. But I know that's just another excuse of mine not to take the needed steps to become better. I won't tell you the specifics of what's wrong with me. All you need to know is: there is something wrong with me. I know how to fix it. But I won't. I'm too cowardly. I push others away because I'm too afraid to get rejected. Before they can reject me, I reject them. It's that simple—It's that pathetic.
"But, I've met someone. Someone who assures me that even though I'm broken into a million pieces, she'll always love me. I think that's what I love most about her: that she accepts me. As much as I reject others, as much as others would reject me if given a chance, she accepts me. When we first met, I wasn't nice to her. To be rather frank, I was mean and hurtful to her. Whenever she approached me, I would ignore her. I acted as if she didn't exist. One day, I didn't bring myself lunch, nor was I given money to buy lunch. Not to say I was ever given lunch money. But when Olympia noticed this, she did what any kind-hearted person would do: she offered to share her lunch. Again, I ignored her. In the end, she got up and left where I was sitting. But not before she could leave her lunch on the floor for me to pick up and eat. She didn't share her lunch—she gave me all of it. I couldn't believe what had happened. I don't know why she would be so generous towards me, someone who didn't acknowledge her once. After that day, I stopped ignoring her. I wouldn't say anything, but I would look her in the eyes and react to what she had to say. The majority of the time, all she had to say was nonsense, but it was nice having someone to talk to.
"Sooner or later, I began to actively participate in our conversations. Our conversations. I guess I should call them that once I begin responding to her with words. It wasn't a conversation if I didn't say anything back. I opened up to her rather quickly. Or perhaps I should say I trauma dumped on her. And once I saw that she still accepted me, we bonded. Or perhaps I should say I bonded with her. Yes, that is the extent of our relationship. That is the extent of our relationship. I love her so much, or perhaps I love the fact that she's the only person who has accepted me. I hate how folly our relationship is. I need to reveal my deepest secrets and be accepted for a bond to form. But all she needs is a single conversation to become bonded with someone.
"I don't want to say anything else. Once I start rambling, my head starts to hurt. Wait! I should say this before I send you off:
"I promise," she says softly. "I won't kill you."