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The professor did not deign to look up from his book. He raised his steaming mug and, with chronic exhaustion, ordered something just before taking a sip.
“Open to page 22 of advanced calculus and start reading.”
Boring. Deadly boring as usual in this damn stupid classroom. Nothing new. Nothing different. Nothing at least with respect to it. Because of course, there is a certain other very particular thing that days ago has ceased to be as it had been until then. And, of course, she can't just let it go. She didn't have neither the capacity nor the disposition to do so.
Uzi grumbles in annoyance and bangs her head against her bench. How awful.
How horrible school is. How horrible is existence. How horrible she is.
It's been days since Uzi stopped speaking to Doll. Although it's not like they talk too much either. But something has changed. Something important. It's been days since she'd rather sink her own thoughts about her into the deepest recesses of her mental wastebasket. But she's still there . And Doll has noticed. She's no fool. She always notices what Uzi does. Of course she does.
She always notices Uzi even if Uzi doesn't want to. Even if that idea hurts her. Even if Uzi just wants to pretend she doesn't know when Doll looks at her. Even if her circuits burn scorched rumors every time Doll sets her optics on her. Every time she smiles. Every time she exists too close to her.
It's deadly to her. It drives her crazy. And Doll knows it all too well. She's no fool. She knows exactly the effect she has on Uzi.
She knows that it's enough to look at her. And with that Uzi won't be able to keep her composure. Even if she never makes an effort to do so. It is much more difficult when Doll looks at her as closely as she does. She knows that perfectly well. And she looks at Doll. And Doll loves it. She loves having Uzi there beside her, pretending not to care in the slightest, even when they both know perfectly well what's going on. Because of course there is something going on.
They both know but they choose to ignore it. They know all too well. Uzi knows it's not news to Doll. And Doll knows what Uzi intends to hide. But this time she's tired. Tired of continuing falling for her tricks. That's why she has decided to resign herself and stop trying. She doesn't need more drama. She's had enough.
And Doll has noticed. She wasn't going to let it go unnoticed. Doll always notices.
But she doesn't know what it means. She doesn't know why it bothers her so much either. It shouldn't. It's just about Uzi. She shouldn't care. She doesn't know where to put that anger she's not able to drown in indifference either. It is unnatural. It is inhuman. Incomprehensible.
Incomprehensible how easy it was for Uzi to ruin her. Without even trying. Without even wanting to. Doll would like to think she didn't mean to, at least. Or else it would be worse for her. And for both of them.
Doll ignores the professor's speech and goes back to scribbling among her messy papers. Anxious, hoping to draw such feelings out of herself. Hoping to soothe them a little.
"I will approach the shore of the ocean of your mysteries just because It pulls me in. I will let the water pool between my boots, around my feet just because you are there. Just because you've taken away my indifference for absolutely no reason.”
That was good. That sounded good. It was up to the standard of what she used to write. It met her standard. Because of course, she needed a standard even if she was going to write how ridiculous she felt. Even if no one was going to read it.
Embellishing her cumbersome feelings with fancy words makes her feel better somehow. It's better than breaking her (Uzi’s) visor glass with a screwdriver. It's easier. More normal. More appropriate.
How silly.
Uzi is no slouch. She's also a hopeless dramatist. She's a sentimentalist who hides her true intentions behind her rebellious, uncouth appearance. But of course she is.
Who would have thought? No one. Not even the delicate and observant Doll. That was convenient, to say the least.
Uzi grumbles once again. She fiddles with the pen, full of anxiety.
Thad asks her about the assignment. She reluctantly responds by denying everything about it. Of course she hasn't deigned to do the goddamn homework. That was the least important thing just then. It was never important anyway. She scratches the sheet in despair. She bites down on the pen, unsure, overwhelmed. She could indulge in some rhyming. Yes, it didn't matter anyway.
"When will you let me see behind your shadows? Tell me the truth
When will you break them in front of the rest? Let me know it
What are you hiding behind that face? Let me see it
When will you let me dig beneath your secrets? Let me have it.”
On second thought it didn't sound so good. How awful. Seeing her feelings put into cheap poetry is utterly disgusting. She shakes her head. Then squeezes the pen between her fingers and glances back down at the notebook. Again.
It's horribly corny. No one should read such nonsense anyway. Or else she would take care to blow the brains out of anyone who had the audacity to look through it. She could indulge in writing. No one needed to find out about that.
“Will you let me drown in the ocean of your uncertainty?”
Will you look at me even as I dissolve into the waters of your violent indifference?”
Those were only a couple of almost unconnected lines. But both written under the same cumbersome, suffocating feeling.
Uzi sinks her head into her arms, covering herself anxiously. The mumbling of the classroom becomes deafening white noise. She doesn't need to pay attention to the class in turn. It is not important. She couldn't care less. She prefers to drown in her own misery.
Have things always been this way?
She wants to think not. She would like to think that there was a time she and Doll got along. But it didn't last long enough to think she was okay with that either. Because she wasn't. She never has been okay with it.
Why does love always have to hurt?
What a stupid question. Stupid as herself.
She liked to see Doll smile.
Her smile alone burns, eats away her, there beneath the steel. It shoots electric whispers through her oil. It burns her nerve wiring noisily. It hurts so bad. It hurts to see her smile. Because the reason is never her. And that's something Uzi can't stand.
She still wants to fantasize about Doll and her perfect smile. But it's useless and she knows it very well.
But why? What did Doll do to make Uzi want to stop pursuing her? Why just then? Why not before? It would have been easier that way, wouldn't it? It would have saved** all that. Why then? What happened?
Nothing in particular. Nothing that anyone outside the two of them could notice, at least.
Maybe it just happened that maybe one day, Doll was colder than usual. And that's saying a lot, considering what she was like. Maybe Doll stuck her optics on her, as if she wanted to see Uzi die. Maybe Uzi noticed. She's not stupid either. At least not that stupid.
Perhaps Uzi considered apologizing for something she didn't know she had done. Yes, that's how it was, Uzi the rebel, swallowing her ego for someone who wasn't her. Unthinkable. But she considered it at least. She toyed with the idea out of sheer desperation. Out of necessity. But Doll didn't give it any hint either. She just stood there. Quiet. Indifferent. Strange as she always was.
Maybe that was enough to make her want to die or kill Doll. She was fine with either anyway. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she was seeing things that weren't there.
But she wasn't crazy. No. Uzi wasn't crazy. At least not that much.
She knew very well how Doll used to be. She knew well how Doll always looked at her. She knew all too well the way she talked to her. With that exotic tone that made her feel anything but normal. Slurring her R's, speaking slowly, with a certain rhythm. Without varying her tone too much. Uzi knew very well how she used to behave. She crossed her leg, elegant, carefree, almost intimidating. With a presence she couldn't ignore. Then she would lean her head on the back of her hand. Distracted. Feminine as always. She never deigned to look up from her book, (of course, because she always had a book on her), unless she was really interested in whatever anyone was saying. Which was something weird. She was weird. And that simple idea turned her oil on like nothing else did.
She knew the way Doll looked. The way she walked. The way she talked, the way she laughed. But most of all the way she looked. She had spent hours analyzing her just to be sure. Sometimes Doll just looked at her glazed, lost. Most likely distracted in her thoughts. But always with her optics over her. It didn't bother Uzi at all. It stirred something burning in her chest. Something unfamiliar and messy. Something suffocating. But she was okay with it. She was fine with Doll.
That's how she was. So they were fine.
And there, between mingled glances and silent words there was something. Something intense, as intense as the glances they exchanged endlessly. Something exotic and intoxicating. There was something she wanted to decipher. Something she wished to own. Something she had to pick up and analyze under the light of a hot lamp. Just to make sure she wasn't hallucinating again. Just because of her. Because it was about Doll.
It burns her. It hypnotizes her. Her delusions are as false as Doll is. She’s living a lie. She poisons herself with doubt. She can't help it. It is intoxicating. Too tempting.
But still then, she's tired of trying without trying at all.
She's tired of being and not being hers. She's tired of Doll looking at her that way. As if her optics melted the thick crap of sanity she has left. Staring behind her monitor. Stabbing her with those crimson optics. That stupid pair of optics she can't evade. She gulps. Breathes haltingly. Scribbles the sheet once more.
“I'll hide my gaze among the thick night so she doesn't catch me drowning on her own.”
She was so dramatic. But it was all she had. It was the only thing that brought her comfort without choking her. It was unsettling. It was ridiculous. But it was something of hers, something Doll couldn't take away from her, unlike her now zero peace of mind. She ran her optics over her own poorly traced letters. She clenches her jaw. She doesn't want to cry in class. Not again.
"Keep on rising. Soon you'll bleed incandescent indifference over the horizon of my most desperate longings as if from the sun itself."
She wants so much to pull out her own wires with a razor. In order to forget that cumbersome feeling. To drive away that one which burns under her plates, that which pierces her steel and melts her repulsive existence.
To ignore that she still feels things every time Doll decides to look at her again.