Mitsuki's blank eyes wandered around the hospital room. There was nothing so awful about it, really; except that it was too cold, and it had that bland, yet somehow sharp clinical smell that always made her head ache. That was the truth behind the bed curtains and the soft hum of the radio in the corner and the overly chirpy nurses. But she found herself smiling faintly, with self-deprecating humour if nothing else. She used to love the hospital. Now she hated it. She'd come full circle.
We say good-bye
I turn my back
She heard her mother come in, her usual rose perfume floating around her and enveloping Mitsuki in a sweet cloud of claustrophobic perfume. Her mother never did know the meaning of the phrase "a little goes a long way".
"I spoke to your father; he finds himself unable to return from his trip," her mother sniffed, her bracelets chinking together as she shifted her arms. Mitsuki nodded, turning her head towards her mother's voice; her father, Aoi, was often away on business trips to Europe. "I also rang your school; they are now aware that you won't be attending for sometime. I hope you appreciate all the trouble we're going through for you, young lady."
Run away, run away
"Hai, mama," she answered obediently, her hands folding together on the bedspread. Her mother stood from her chair, and judging by the swishing of some kind of fabric, she was brushing herself down.
"Don't cause any trouble," she said, her high heels clicking as she walked to the door, "I'm going home."
"Hai, mama. Have a safe journey home," she replied obediently, pasting a smile on her face.
"Mn," the mother murmured non-committedly as she left. The daughter heaved a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping. She loved her mother, she really did, but honestly, the woman just had a way of setting her on edge. The clock ticked loudly in the now empty room. Mitsuki felt lonely. She could hear other patients chatting away in the ward outside her door, talking enthusiastically to their visitors. And she was tucked away in a side-room by herself.
"Mitsuki-chan! We came to visit!"
Mitsuki grinned, her heart warming. There was only one person who was ever that cheerful.
"Sakura-san, how are you?" she replied, holding out a hand as Sakura Kinomoto's warm, soft hand grasped hold of hers.
"Great!" Sakura chirruped, falling into the seat her mother had recently vacated, "Tomoyo-chan and Syaoran-kun are with me!"
Not far from here
"Hello Mitsuki-chan," she heard Tomoyo's unmistakably soft voice say somewhere near her left side.
"Hi Tomoyo-san, Li-san," Mitsuki said politely, smiling, "How did you know where I was?"
"Well, Kyoshiro-sensei told us in homeroom that you'd be gone for a while, and Tomoyo-chan knew that you came to this hospital regularly; she brought you over once, remember?" Sakura chattered.
"Hai." Mitsuki reached for Tomoyo's hand as well. "Thanks for coming."
Both girls squeezed her hands, and a third hand patted her shoulder lightly.
"Any time," Syaoran said warmly.
After that, they talked about ordinary things, about parties and Roller-blading and music and books. Tomoyo asked if she could design her some nice clothes for her stay in hospital, which Mitsuki agreed to; somewhat cautiously after hearing Sakura's trademark "Hoe...". Syaoran sat quietly, occasionally shifting slightly in his seat and unexpectedly joining into the conversation sometimes. But finally the visitors left, and a nurse that smelled of peppermints came in to take Mitsuki's temperature and blood pressure. And then she was alone.
You see me crack
It was late. She could still hear a TV, but it was far away, perhaps at the end of the corridor. A hush seemed to have fallen over the ward. She felt very alone. After a few hours of tossing and turning, she got off the bed with an agitated sigh, picking up her stick. She slowly made her way to the door, keeping one hand on the wall as she wandered along the corridor.
"Where are you going?" a voice asked. Mitsuki sniffed the air. Peppermints.
"Just stretching my legs, Korin-san. I'll be back soon," she replied before continuing down the corridor.
Like a bone, like a bone
I'm so breakable