Fukawa had a distaste for lies. Petty lies, white-lies, or even important ones. Criminals lied, thieves lied, murderers lied. There was a part of her, in a sense, that lied as well, and she hated the very pit of it.
Why do you hate me? I’m just like you. No one likes me, like you. No one cares about me, like you. You and I are one in the same!
"I am nothing like you…" Fukawa thought to herself, closing her eyes shut as a powerful headache wracked her body. She kept trying to think, between the voice, the girl in front of her, and her still-missing papers. Through clenched teeth, she stared at the girl in front of her and—
—but wait, was that really possible? That word she said, “lost.” Was it possible that her papers were not stolen, but it was her own disorganization that led to her accusing a bystander? She wanted desperately to say it was someone else so that, for once, she could scream and yell at another person, hate another person for their mistakes. Once again, however, it seemed it was her own fault. No point in playing the blame game any longer.
Hee hee, looks like you fucked up again!
Letting go of her braids, she brought her hands up, clasped them together as though she were begging for forgiveness, and tried to resist biting on her nails. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She carefully mulled over her words. Should she apologize? Maybe say “thanks”? Instead, she muttered, “W-whatever, I don’t care if you stole them or n-not, but I… I need them back. My papers… the ones I wrote my-myself.”
"H-how do I know you won’t just run off as soon as I turn my back? For all I know, you’re plotting to run away r-right now, aren’t you?"
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, deliberating if she should answer the girl or not. Her hands lowered from her chest,and she fiddled with her hands in front of her skirt.
She settled for a mumbled, “I’m Touko Fukawa…”
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