Page 71 of Gunslinger Girl
His hands lingered for a moment before letting go. “If that’s what you want.”
Pity felt the mattress ripple as he lay back down but couldn’t bring herself to turn, to see whatever look was on his face. If I do, I might want to stay a little longer.
She stood and headed toward the door. It moved back and forth in her vision as she stumbled forward and caught the handle. No wonder—she had forgotten about her leg. It ached distantly.
“Are you sure you’re okay to—”
“Yes.” Pity yanked the door open. Light spilled in, far too bright. She blinked. “I’ll see you later.”
She staggered into the hallway, the door snapping shut behind her. Too late, she remembered that Garland’s room was nowhere near hers. She took one corner and then another, realized it was the wrong way, and turned back around. The hall spun; for a moment she lost her orientation completely. Everything looked the same—same corridors, same doors, same patterned carpet. Spotting a stairwell, she entered it, at least certain that she needed to be a few floors down. She gripped the railing as she descended, her injured leg even more untrustworthy than the rest of her. At one landing, she sat and tried to gather herself. A black number wavered on the wall above her head.
Her floor. She smiled.
“Pity?”
The relief disintegrated.
No, not now. She refused to look around, praying that voice was in her imagination, another manifestation of Luster’s pill.
But Max was really there. He slid into her vision, a smear of paint on one cheek—reddish-brown, like dried blood.
“Pity, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m…” She struggled back to her feet. “Just heading to bed.”
“Pity, look at me.”
She meant to ignore him, but in the next moment found herself staring into his gray eyes.
“Geez, your pupils are as big as dinner plates. What are you on?”
She shook her head. He couldn’t see her like this. Not like this, not now. Go away, she thought. Go away, Max. “Nothing… Luster…”
That scant mouthful was all he needed. “Dammit, Luster. C’mon, I’ll get you back to your room.”
“No…”
He got on her weak side and put an arm around her.
“No!” She pushed him away. “Stop it—I don’t need your help!” A whiplash of anger snapped her vision into focus. Mouth agape, Max looked like she had struck him. It only made her angrier. “I can take care of myself! I don’t need you always coming to the rescue!”
Pity grabbed the door of the stairwell, jerked it open, and plunged through.
It was too much. Her feet pedaled forward but wouldn’t stop. She struck the opposite wall of the hallway and slid to the floor. The contents of her stomach rose to the back of her throat, and when she closed her eyes, the whole world spun.
Some seconds later, she felt Max take her arms. She didn’t resist this time but couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, either. If she did, the frustrated tears would flow.
“C’mon,” he said. “Slow now.”
Pity allowed herself to be led. Blind, she became aware of Garland’s scent, still hanging about her like a haze. Her embarrassment grew. Could Max smell it, too?
It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It doesn’t matter at all.
Eventually, she heard a door open and felt the familiar aura of her room. She opened her eyes to find her bed before her.
“Lie down,” said Max.
“No.”
