Title: Hell Bent chapter 1: personal holloway
Author: Trinity ~dreams_in_digital~
Rating: R for.. stuff.. ^^; though it was written by somebody under 17 so I
dunno.. ^^()
Dedication: for Reena , one of my best buddies, and Lys, one of my sistahs
^_^ and Kate (digitally obsessed) , like always, my in real life and online
twin!! woohoo, this is for y'all chiquitas! ok..
Song(s): Hell Bent' is by Kenna, personal holloway' and straight no
chaser' are by Bush off of their cd, Razorblade Suitcase. good songs.. go
buy the cd ^_^...
"Some satellites of pain can't always be ignored
It's all in the face of what we thought we knew before.."
"Straight no chaser" —Bush
I pulled out my keys, fumbled for the correct one in the dark, and tried to
put it into the slot of the lock, but to no avail. I kept missing the damn
hole. Key scratches made white scars in the dark forest green of my
apartment complex's door. "Shit," I muttered to myself as I thought of the
short middle-aged woman who dared call herself my landlady' yelling at
me the next day about those very damned scratches. I breathed a sigh of
relief tainted with anger as the key finally gave release and slid neatly into
the lock. I turned it to the right and pushed on the door. Relieved to be at
home; I didn't bother to turn on the lights. I checked the clock that was,
for some unknown reason, a part of my microwave. The glowing red
digits read 23:47. I had been putting extra hours in at the restaurant
lately. No matter, it's not like I actually had anything to come home to.
My job was my life. Of course, I still kept in contact with Hikari but that
was all, and I didn't really talk to her that much anymore. Since she had
"come out" about her sexuality and moved in with her girlfriend, Inoue
Miyako, she had been shunned by our family. I guess traditional Japanese
and new age philosophies don't mix. I threw an American tv dinner in my
microwave and headed over to my computer. I logged in under my screen
name, "lifeofbrian," and became the person everyone loved (online, that
is). Brian, the 23 year old jovial American college student. If only real life
were this easy to do. It was so easy to become someone else online. In
real life, I was Yagami Taichi, 26 year old chef and owner of a restaurant. I
was far from jovial. I was miserable. Hell, miserable was the
understatement of the year. Nothing really was the cause of it, I was just
a miserable man. I looked at the reflection of my face in the computer
monitor's glass and saw someone I barely recognized. My once thick
russet hair had lost its luster, and my cinnamon eyes had lost their spark.
My skin was pallid, far from the healthy glow it once had. I was still
handsome, but not close to what I could be. Of course, none of that
mattered. I hadn't dated casually in three years; hadn't had a serious
relationship since Mimi left me. Sure, the loneliness had led to casual sex,
alcohol, and the occasional hit of weed, but my job was everything. I was
an internationally famous chef and had even competed on the popular tv
show, Iron Chef. I had three restaurants in Japan and was about to open
my first in New York City. Why wasn't I happy, or even content? Who
knew? I sure as hell didn't. I stumbled through the dark to the microwave
and pulled out my tv dinner. Yum, various parts of a chicken processed,
breaded, deep fried, and flash frozen using some ionic compound I had yet
to learn. Also in my all American meal were some french fries and fried
apples in a cinnamon sauce. Fried everything. Pigs, didn't they know that
grease wasn't a necessity when it came to cooking? Excess.. everything
was in excess for them. I threw away the polystyrene tray and box and
headed to bed.
I changed into my pajamas, a t-shirt and some boxers, and headed to the
bathroom. It was now 24:48, as the clock radio beside my bed told me. I
stood in front of the mirror, as I did every night, pulled up my shirt, and
examined myself, another ritual. I pinched a finger full of skin from my
stomach and swore that I felt individual fat cells lurking in there. I
hurriedly opened my medicine cabinet and wrapped my fingers around the
box of oral laxatives. I held the box in my hand for a second, feeling
comfortable, and pulled them out of the cabinet. I leaned against the wall
and slid down it until I felt the cold tiles underneath me. My mother
would have said that it was unsanitary, but hell if I cared. I opened the
box carefully and pulled out the little bottle of dibasic sodium phosphate,
gazing through the clear solution that would lead the way to a better life.
I paused briefly, this was as far as I had gone in the past week. It had
started with holding the box, then opening it, and finally taking out the
bottle inside. I pinched my skin again, feeling the fat hiding between the
skin and the muscle. I looked at the bottle and slowly twisted the cap off.
There was a small silver seal covering the top to the bottle; I ripped it off.
I didn't need to read the directions, I had done so a thousand times before.
Take diluted with water, follow with a glass of water, this product causes
dehydration, blah. I downed the bottle and started my journey to
purification.
I woke up to my alarm at 5:30 the next morning. I got out of bed and
immediately felt dizzy. My stomach felt almost like it was concave,
imploding. Then I remembered the night before. Disgusted with myself, I
headed to the kitchen and pulled some cold leftover pizza out of the
fridge. Sitting down at the table, I munched on a slice feeling everything
was okay again. If I only knew how wrong I was. I started on a second
slice, but after the first bite I felt sickened by my gluttony. I was as bad as
the Americans, I thought. I ran into the bathroom and stuck a finger
down my throat. Throw up, I thought. There. Once, twice, until my
stomach was again emptied of its contents. There. I brushed my teeth,
took a shower, and put on my best suit. Work, the only "happy" thing in
my life. Great.
Once at work, I didn't feel like being around food, so I let the head chefs
take care of the customers. I sat down in my office and looked at the
papers scattered on my untidy desk. The paper on top read, "Customer
Complaint." This was not good. This was VERY not good. "Tanaka!" I
called to my secretary.
He rushed in quickly, and after pushing a hand through his thick black
hair, he bowed and cried, "Yes, Yagami-san?"
"Send X'ian Li in here..." I paused when I saw Tanaka hesitate. "NOW!" I
screamed at him. Tanaka bowed and left the room. I could feel the
tension twisting the muscles in my shoulders into knots. I popped open
the top of my handy bottle of aspirin, took three, and chewed them
quickly. There was a knock at the door. "Enter," I commanded with as
much sanity as I could muster. A short, beautiful Chinese woman entered
the room and bowed.
"O... Ohayo gozimasu, Yagami-san." She said nervously, pulling the hem
of her skirt down subconsciously.
"X'ian Li.. I've just received a customer complaint about you. This man
said that you gave him bad service and that you were impolite towards
him. This is inexcusable. Do you know what this means?" I gave her my
best pissed off boss' stare with cold brown eyes.
"But.. Yagami-san.. Bossu. He was.. he tried reach up my skirt!" She
stammered, her almond shaped eyes widening, pleading forgiveness from
me. She was intelligent, a hard worker, but her Japanese was bad and she
was rebellious.
"Wear pants." In two words, I managed to piss her off to her extreme. Her
eyes narrowed into slits and she flipped her long shiny black hair over her
shoulder in an act of annoyance. God, was I good at pissing people off.
My only talent.
"Yagami Taichi you ARE asshole, you know? If I wear pants, you fire me
for dress code!" Her voice rose as she threw the diatribes at me one after
the other. Her Japanese may have been bad, but she seemed to know
every profane word in the book. (Did I mention that I had dated her?)
She then stormed out of the room, slamming the door after her.
I began writing a note of apology to the man who had violated her.
After work I stopped by at the local bar, which I hadn't done in.....about
two days. "Gimme a Sapporo," I told the bartender, glaring at him under a
furrowed brow. He quickly pulled the amber colored beer from some ice
and handed me a chilled glass. What a wimp. I hunched over the beer,
not bothering with the glass. Pulling my fingers through my thick russet
hair I leaned my head against the palms of my hands. Suddenly, I felt a
presence beside me. Perfume. Great, a woman. In my peripheral vision I
saw her flip her hair casually and then sit on the barstool next to mine.
"Hey baby, you look like hell." Her voice was sugared. She had an Osakan
accent, making her words sound more harsh than they were meant to be.
"What a way to start a conversation," I said, looking up at her.
Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise. "You.. you're Yagami Taichi,
aren't you?" She stammered at me.
"Yeah." I shrugged and turned back to my beer.
"I'm Kourin." She bowed her head slightly. "Hajimashitte."
I held out my hand and she backed away slightly. "Oh, sorry. I must have
forgotten my manners." My voice was laced with sarcasm. I bowed my
head slightly in return. Wouldn't she let me wallow in my misery alone?
The bitch, I want her to go away. She began jabbering about some topic
unknown to me. Well, maybe I would get what she was talking about if I
was actually listening. Maybe she would get the picture and just leave me
be.
"... I'm hungry. Maybe you could take me out to dinner." She winked at
me, her dark brown eyes shimmering defiantly. She was trying to get to
me, how dare she. I put a yen note on the bar, picked up my coat and
began to leave the bar. She trailed after me like a lost puppy.
I was bewildered. The little witch picked one of the higher priced
restaurants in town. Women are so strange. Men are so much simpler. As
we sat down, food was immediately brought to us. For starters, a bowl of
an onion broth, with dried shittake mushrooms floating in it. I lifted the
bowl to my lips, slurping politely. I lost myself in food. Thank the kami
that I had a high metabolism. Kourin interrupted my moment of bliss.
"So.. how do you spend your time, Yagami-san?" She gazed up at me, her
fingers entwined in her long dark brown hair. I grunted, setting down my
now empty bowl on the table.
"Well, owning and running a restaurant is kind of a full time job."
She crinkled her nose indignantly and began some sort of retort, but was
interrupted by our waiter once again. Bowls of rice and pickled vegetables
were set out and I grabbed one immediately, wanting to avoid
conversation with the little insolent bar-hopping slut. As a declaration of
my repugnance, I poured soy sauce all over my rice, a gesture of extreme
rudeness. I glared up at her, my dark eyes twinkling and a slight
mischievous smile curving my lips. She pursed her plum coloured mouth
and looked away, pretending not to notice. I stirred the soy sauce in with
my chop sticks, hoping to make this a my worst date' experience.
The dinner ended, and I motioned for her to pick up the bill. I glanced at
the amount due, through my half of the money on the table and left the
room.
I didn't look back.
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