My head hurts.

I keep thinking of better days. Maybe as a means of distracting myself. Maybe she’s just what I think about whenever my mind drifts like this. Either way, it’s better than murder – regardless of which island. Regardless of the time.

It’s never been physical. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, about what she and I have. I guess you can’t even call it a ‘relationship’ in a traditional sense. One time, she suggested marriage – but only as a convenience. But nothing more.

Ikuko loves me. And I love her. And it’s not just platonic. I know that much. But we’re not really lovers, either.

She makes me happy. Something about the way she looks at me. Something about the way she sees the world. I don’t know the half of what reflects in those eyes, to be honest. But bits and pieces of it come through when we write. Those moments where we simply surrender to fiction. Where she forgets that she needs to be who she says she is.

I still remember the first time she showed it to me – ‘The Strange Tale of Beatnik Island.’

Or… no. No, wasn’t it… ‘Kurokubi Island’? Did we change that? I think we did. To which one, though?

It doesn’t matter. What matters is her smile. I was so proud of her.

…

Thinking about it now… there was one time. One time where it… was somewhat physical.

It was after my… fit. Where she found me, broken and begging to die. Through snot and shame and pain, telling her about the demon living in the back of my skull. Hiding. Waiting for the moment to take over. To hurt her. To burn everything I learned to care for. To destroy the world. I kept telling her to kill me. I begged her. I knew she would never understand, even after everything I’d told her about my regained memories, but I begged, anyway. Hoping.

Of course, she didn’t kill me.

For weeks after that, I was stuck in a bed. Unable to walk. Doctors saying that, even if my nerves healed, the damage to my psyche would be a major stepping stone in my recovery. That was the first sign that I would never walk again.

Even so, she lied in bed with me. Held me tight. She said nothing. She understood. Just as I understood that she had no intention of letting something like that happen again. I cried in her arms. She ran her fingers through my hair.

I felt safe.

I felt like going to sleep was fine. Because I’d wake up and be me. She’d chase the demon away.

But I can’t feel her presence. Not here.

Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.

I need you to keep reading. I have no choice but to do the same. I don’t know what this is. This isn’t her work. This isn’t our work.

My head hurts.

Where am I…?

How did I end up in this place…?