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You are a stranger, wearing the skin of Shinobu's childhood friend.

It is uncanny, really, seeing you in such disarray. Shinobu has always been studious, wise, and hardworking, but as Valedictorian, you have always been a little bit better.

A little more studious, a little wiser, a little more hardworking.

Most of all, you never cried.

Shinobu remembers how often you would injure yourself. Jealous classmates would shoulder you, shove you, and trip you. Sometimes, for reasons unknown, you'd pass out standing up. You'd fall, skin your knees, and bleed onto the pavement.

Then, you'd get up and dust yourself off.

It amazed Shinobu how dry your eyes were. Even as young as six, you never whined. You never threw tantrums. You were 'perfect,' the teachers said. A child without flaw or feeling, more stone and ice than flesh and blood.

You have been reborn.

As Shinobu holds you in a tight, protective hug, deep down, your tears disturb her. The shoulder of her uniform is completely soaked.

You do not just cry.

You sob.

You wail.

You despair.

Nothing is impenetrable.

"I'm here, I'm here," Shinobu coos into your ear. She tries to sound as kind and gracious as Kanae, but you are inconsolable. Still, she persists, "I'm here… I'm here…"

"Shi-no-bu," you wail through broken sobs, "I'm-so-rry… I'm-so-rry…"

A pair of girls walk into the restroom. They are all smiles and chatter. When they see the mess of you on the floor, they pause.

Shinobu glances up. The girls' eyes ask if they should help, but Shinobu shakes her head.

Go, she mouths.

The girls leave without another word.

The nice thing about college is how considerate most people are. There are still a few bad apples in the mix, but you mostly find those rotten seeds planted in the debauchery of fraternities.

In you and Shinobu's shared hometown, your high school peers would have taken pictures of you crying on the restroom floor and spread rumors. Bullies would have spun stories about how you were pregnant, and if you tried to dispel the rumors, everyone would have assumed you had an abortion.

People in your hometown already make all sorts of assumptions about you. You have your cruel, disgusting father to blame for that. Even as a child, Shinobu hated that man with every bone in her body, and she was not sad when she found out he died.

You were not safe with him. Neither you nor your mother. But the authorities wouldn't listen. No matter how many times Shinobu's parents filed reports, your father's abuse was swept under the rug. He had just enough money and charisma to hide the ugly, inhuman creature on the inside.

You were Valedictorian, but you were never enough for him. You were a stupid child who made him furious, even when you withdrew into yourself and did what you were told.

Your mother was a dutiful and faithful stay-at-home wife—exactly the kind of woman your father desired. But that wasn't enough for him, either.

He pursued her, he shaped her, and he destroyed her.

In death, he destroys you, too.

"I'm here," Shinobu whispers and shuts her eyes, "You're safe."

You dig your fingers into Shinobu's sleeves. The squeeze is angry and painful, and if Shinobu were not so tough, she might pull away.

You don't say anything, but your shift in demeanor says everything:

Nowhere is safe.