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I am not immune.
I was dumb to think I was. I shouldn’t have doubted the universe and how strong you are. This is what I deserve, no? I mean, think about it.
...Think about it. If it weren’t for me, Ira wouldn’t have spiraled. Marina would be less stressed. Ah... Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.I’m sorry.I’msorry.I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry
Sorry, sorry, sorry. That will never be enough. I’ll need to say it to Ira, to Marina, to the Universe, millions upon millions of times. Until I die. That won’t even be enough. This is what I deserve. Nothing bad would’ve happened if I weren’t there. If you remove me from the equation, everyone would be fine. Everything would be in tune.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I caused all this. I see it now. The numbers. Sorry to Lev for doubting him. I never really doubted him, but I guess I denied the pills, which is close enough. I notice I’m writing.
No, I’m not writing. I’m drawing. A line. A really, really, really long line. It looks perfect. I know thats only because if you draw a line for long enough, it’ll always look perfect. I don’t know why I’m doing it. I can’t stop.
Line. Line. The line helps. I’m sorry for focusing on the line. I should focus on apologizing. I need to write how sorry I am.
Sorry, I write on the notepad. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
I’m sorry for what I did to Ira. I’m sorry for what I did to Marina. I’m sorry for what I did to my parents. I’m sorry for what I did to Vadim. I’m sorry for what I did to Tosya. I’m sorry for what I did to you, the universe.
I think I’m muttering the word sorry. I’m glad my parents aren’t home to hear how annoying I’m being. Ah... Sorry I’m being annoying. Sorry!
I’m thinking really, really hard. I’m hoping it distracts me from the numbers. They’re everywhere. It’s you. You’re beautiful. Your numbers are beautiful. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I lvoe you I love you I lvoe y ou i lvo e yo uo li ve l oeov
I’m still writing. Everything goes into my notepad. I’m writing how sorry I am, and how much I love you. Ah... I love you. Again. I say it again. And again. And again. And again. Your numbers are beautiful. You are beautiful. Nobody tells you that often, I'd imagine. You are so beautiful. I focus on the numbers.
OBJECT IMPACT: DRESS [TYPE 0135329] #UNIFORM
COORDINATE: 153.75, 057.32, 036.85
STABILITY: 0.571
PROBABLITY: 83%
It hurts. There’s too much information. But it’s you... You’re so beautiful.
I’m sorry for trying to focus on writing again. It hurts. You hurt. That’s rude. I’m sorry.
“Asya!”
Oh. Oh, no. Who came for me? I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have sent someone. Thank you, though. I’m very grateful. I’m sorry for making whoever this is check on me. I think I mutter the words I’m sorry again, but I know I write them on the notepad. I have to focus on the writing, because it hurts less than your numbers, even though my hand hurts horribly.
“Asya!!”
That’s someone different. There are two people here. Ah... Sorry! Sorry, you didn’t need to come help me! Forgive me... Sorry... I should probably say something, but I can’t. That means not focusing on writing. I need to write. It’s the only thing I can do anymore. Thank you for still letting me write. Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you sooner.
I should focus on your numbers again. I know it hurts, but it’s worth it. I swear. It’s nice. Seeing you. Knowing you’re there. I love you. I love you; I love you; I love you! I need to tell you, someday. Someday my signal will be strong enough. I’m sorry it isn’t now, but I swear it will be.
I’m sorry. For everything. If it weren’t for me, nothi—
Arms wrap around me. They’re warm. I hear them say someone's name. I’m pretty sure it’s my name, but I can’t focus. Only on the numbers, really. And writing. But the arms are helping. Whoever it is, they’re wearing a dark sweater. I hear the other person and them arguing, but it doesn’t really sound like arguing.
“—PILLS!”
“I DON’T—LIKE ME!”
“I’m... Sorry.” I say, more then just muttering. They pause. Someone else walks up to me, putting their hand on my head. They’re surprisingly warm. I know it’s a surprise. I know how grateful I am for them. I know...
Ira. Ira, my savior. Ira, my grace. I swore I’d never forget her. I’m sorry for focusing on something else.
I come to my senses enough to realize the other person is Marina, my saving grace. My beautiful Marina.
“Asya!” Marina says, hugging me tighter. I stand up from the chair I’m in, and Marina lets me out of her hug. I can see her. It’s all less blurry. She looks like she’s afraid that now that she let go, I’ll disappear. I've finally stopped writing. I stumble a little, and Ira catches me.
They bring me towards my bed as I regain my senses. We all sit on my bed, Ira’s head on mine, and Marina’s hand in mine.
“Sorry...” I feel find, but I find myself still apologizing. I am sorry. Guuuhh... I realize how stupid I’ve been. Sorry! Marina grips my hand a bit tighter.
“Stop apologizing.” Ira says. I feel the vibrations of her talking as her head rests on mine. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I agree,” Marina’s thumb traces the back of my hand, “It happens to all of us, Aska. Don’t be sorry.”
...
Thank you. Thank you for sending me people like Ira and Marina. Thank you for letting there be people like Marina and Ira. They’re the nicest people I’ve met. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re the nicest people in the world. That sounds about right.
Without them, I’d still be spiraling.
“Thank you,” I say instead of sorry. “Both of you. I love you.”
I think I mean it platonically. I’m not sure. It borders between romantic and platonic. I think it goes beyond that. It goes to you. It goes to the universe and back, my love for them. Romantic or platonic doesn’t matter.
“I love you too. That goes for you too, Ira.” Marina hums, changing her grip on my hand, not loosening, but not tightening her grip.
“I love you both too.” Ira leans her head more into mine, somehow. Some of her hair gets in my face, but I don’t mind.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I love these girls. My girls. My Ira, and My Marina. It’s selfish, but I don’t mind.
I love you, and I love them the same.