It often feels like to Sayori that she has so much hidden behind her smiling face that it wants to claw out of her, the pain wishing to rip from her throat and destroy her vocal cords. Although, when she finally contemplates opening up just a bit, just enough to relieve the pressure, nothing comes out and she forgets how to string any words together. Either way, it keeps her silent most days, a mask of careless cheer and playful sensibilities all she can let on to.

It’s when she’s alone, but not too alone, that anything ever seems to change. Her parents are never home, either at work or socializing without her, and the house grows cold and lonely. It makes her feel like she’s been properly forgotten and it soothes her as well as it panics.

But it’s okay because she has Monika. Everything is better with Monika.

Monika, who always seems to be hovering around her, skulking somewhere in her peripheral vision, asking about her well being and coming over all the time now. Monika, who has replaced all others in her life, the only person who cares anymore. Monika, who deserves someone more interesting, more open, more real, more alive, more sexy, than her. Monika, who is far too patient, too indulgent, too good for her.

The guilt pulls at her when they go to bed, as Monika hovers above her with a wicked, attractive smile. As she does to Sayori what this useless girl can’t do herself. Hurts her, loves her, pleasures her, makes all the bad in her head go away with the static of nothingness filling her brain. It’s certainly not fair to Monika to ask for something like this, to force the sweet girl to become a monster just to fix her own ills. Later, when Monika is gone and all Sayori has is what’s leftover, the unwanted scraps and decay, she’ll rush to the bathroom and be sick for hours, but for now she feels nothing, knows nothing, nothing but Monika’s pretty, twisted face and the build of arousal that comes in waves.

After, Monika whispers nasty truths into her ear and Sayori accepts them readily as she does with everything Monika says. Sniffling quietly over how pathetic she is, she tentatively clings on to Monika and asks in a scratchy tone when this will repeat again.

The honey in Monika’s voice when she answers cuts more than it heals.