Heaven's Crime (gxg) ✓

twenty-three. kindred idiots

                 When I wake up, the room is dark.

                 I am panting, shivering. Am I in the hospital? Why is the body below my neck covered in a thin white sheet? 

                 For some reasons, my thoughts don't connect. I feel drunk―I feel out of control.

                 I struggle to open my mouth, to speak, but nothing comes out.

                 The last I remember is the colour of Veah's eyes. Pure lightning.

                 Are you sure you can keep me alive? It's a lot of work.

                 Not for me. Not if it's you. 

                 A girl quoted a classical play for me. If she were anyone else, I swear I would be in love at this point.

                 Now I am alone, and my hands are trembling in front of me―but I can't feel them. My fingers are numb as I lift the sheet from my body.

                 Maybe this is hell.

                 When I push back the sheets, there is metal jutting out from my legs. Metal, twisted through the bone.

                  I open my mouth to scream. Nothing comes out.

                  And Veah is suddenly there, her face carved in shadow. "Shh, it's going to be okay, Kaya."

                  She has a gun to my head.

                  "Don't watch," she whispers, 

                   I just have time to think, This isn't real. This is a nightmare, as she pulls the trigger.

                  I wake up again, and it is night.

                  And I know it's night, because Tokyo city is lit up with the brilliance of a thousand windows. Neon lights gild the buildings in vibrant colour, and the world―even through the glass, even from so high above―pulses with life, vitality. A disembodied heart, glowing from the inside in a million shades of pink and blue and gold and green.

                   I wonder how much electricity it takes to power a city like this.

                   When I try to sit up, my heart catches painfully against my chest. Where am I?  

                   It is a sleek room, with glossy floors and silvery curtains. But I'm alone―there is an IV in my wrist, blankets covering my body, and a glass wall to my left.

                   It was a dream. 

                   The memory of it comes back to me. My legs, impaled with shards of metal. Veah, holding the gun to my head.

                    It was a dream, and I'm awake now.

                    I press my fingertips against my chest. My heart is pounding against the skin, a drumbeat.

                     We're in Tokyo.

                     The last thing I remember, I was fainting―oh, my God, again―and there was a storm. But that was still in the U.S. How did she get us here?