April-December

It's a long and hard and painful fight.

The girls resort to trying to slam the demon against walls, breaking wooden pallets left along the side of a dumpster and using the wood like clubs. They break after a hit on the demon's tough hide but it's better than nothing.

The demon does not hold back. The demon's claws leave deep gouges on the ground and tear through Rumi's leather jacket like paper. Their hooked tips slice through her side and snag underneath her skin.

Rumi chokes back a scream and scrambles away, hand held to the gashes along her ribs, blood blooming across her shirt and dripping down her leg.

"Rumi!" Mira and Zoey yell.

They don't see the demon freeze at the name, the confusion in its eyes, the shaking of its head like shaking cobwebs out of old boxes.

With a fury and strength she hadn't known herself capable of, Mira grabs the edge of commercial dumpster and drives it forward into the demon's chest like a battering ram.

The demon slams into the side of a building hard enough to create cracks that splinters the side of the wall. Stone dust settles on the demon's skin.

The demon slowly pushes itself to its hands and knees. Before it can rise to it's feet, shards of glass embed themselves in the demon's chest.

Zoey, her fingers cut and bloody, picks up more glass and flings it at the demon and it slices the demon across the face before hitting the wall and breaking into a cloud of broken glass.

Ichor, dark and purple and shining like oil, pools underneath the demon.

The demon cries out.

Its tail lashes out and bony quills fly, arrow-like, through the air.

"Get down!" Mira yells, tackling Zoey to the ground.

A boney quill slices through the air where Zoey had been. Mira hisses in pain as the spine grazes across her shoulder.

"Get away from them!" And Rumi is running towards the demon with a metal pipe in her hand.

Zoey grabs the quill from the wall.

Rumi swings the pipe towards the demon. The metal slams into the underside of the demon's jaw.

The demon's roar turns into a bloody gurgle; it's own bone quill protruding from its lungs.

It slumps onto the floor.

Its head stirs. Its eyes lock with Rumi. It reaches out with a clawed hand towards Rumi. Before it can reach Rumi, its patterns glow red like hot iron and drag it back to the other side of the honmoon.

rumi scans the kitchen - maybe she accidentally picked the wrong sauce from the fridge? but everything looks right. and they're still staring at her.

'what? what did i do?'

'nothing!' zoey bounces to her seat, yanks her sandwich forward to cram half of it in her mouth.

mira tugs hers forward too. 'looks good. thanks, rumi.'

'you're welcome?'

she cleans up before she comes to eat with them. she runs through everything - zoey clinging to her back, making the sandwich, handing it over - and can't think of what she did wrong.

//

rumi is standing in the laundry room and despairing over the machine - stupid, new and stupid, new and stupid and with too many dials and she hates it - when her girlfriends slink out of their rooms like once-stray cats. they're trying to be subtle about it but it's hard to do when they literally follow her from the laundry room to the couch and sprawl on the other end as she folds her clean clothes.

'okay, what is going on?' rumi demands, a touch of her leader voice crawling into her tone.

they exchange a quick glance that alone would have made rumi suspicious.

'what? nothing! why would something be going on? with us? what about with you? what's going on with you, pretty girl?' zoey winces. 'that was convincing, right?'

'not really.'

'no.'

'okay! well! thank you for the feedback! i'm going to go - ' zoey hesitates. 'cry about it later.' she exchanges another glance with mira and then they both fix on rumi and smile.

rumi quirks a brow. she returns to her folding, shakes her head. 'you're creeping me out.'

'rude?'

'really rude.'

'insulting your girlfriends!'

'i've never been more wounded. emotionally. spiritually.'

'what about when that demon bird dumped on you?'

mira ignore's zoey's reminder with impeccable grace and slams a pillow into her face. zoey goes with the motion, laughing, and topples off the couch. she claws her way back up only to be hit by a second pillow. rumi tosses mira a third one when she makes a grabby hand motion and laughs quietly.

'we're worried about you,' mira says simply.

rumi sets her shirt down on the pile. she has more new clothes than she ever has before--all at the same time, that is--and she's still not one hundred per cent sure how to feel about it. short sleeves. cropped tops. one sheer number mira declared would be "insanely hot".

'worried? about me? why?'

zoey peeks up from behind the couch. looks suspiciously at mira and the pillow in her hands, then smiles at rumi. 'because a huge secret got revealed without your say so?'

'okay, but...' rumi feels familiar nerves crawl up her throat. her eyes dart down to her hands - arms all exposed - and firmly reminds herself that the girls know. they know about her patterns, about her, and they still want her here. 'we already talked about that?'

'we know. but still. it's going to take some time for everything to settle.'

'okay.' rumi nibbles at her lip. 'is that why you've been staring at me so much? i thought it was about--' she lifts her arms. her girls shake their heads no. 'then...what?'

mira doesn't want to answer her. rumi watches as her face goes very still and blank and she won't meet her eyes. her fingers pluck and pull at the corner of the pillow, which she holds in her lap, equal parts for comfort and protection. rumi's stomach swoops. she looks to zoey next, who has half crawled back onto the couch, and zoey isn't much better. her eyes are huge and bouncing around rumi--face, hands, arms, knees, hands, face--like she wants to memorise her. or, rumi thinks, like she's looking for something.

'i'm still me,' rumi offers softly.

zoey winces, caught. 'we know that.'

'do you? i'm still -- nothing else was a lie. i know it was a big one but i - i still cut my sandwiches into triangles and i still prefer our old brand of laundry liquid and i still want to want turtle documentaries with you. i'm still - i swear,' rumi tells them, close to tears, 'i'm still me. you still know me. i know that i was - was hiding, a little--'

'a lot.'