The morning was perfect.
But only in the sense that it was perfectly wrong, perfectly symmetrical.
It had to be.
I hit the alarm before it even began to go off. A cold shower, a cup of coffee. Black, no sugar or creamer. And then the suit.
I hated that suit.
It was everything about this life that I couldn't stand. The stiffness, the sameness. Every day the same thing, a broken circle. Sometimes I wished I could have a black and white life, lines clearly defined, where things actually made sense. My life was just a smudged mess of gray.
I got on the subway, briefcase in hand, like a cutout businessman. I found my seat among the nameless, faceless, noisy people. For some reason they felt like they had to scream their business to the entire world, broadcasting their emotions on an open frequency. It felt like their bright lives were spilling over into mine.
The Family caught my eye immediately. The Father wasn't there today, and The Mother was having a hard time controlling the Boy. I watched them every day, and every day I had to close my eyes and force myself to look away before I did something drastic. They were blinding in their perfection, the American stereotype family.
I think the Boy noticed me staring, that time. He hooked an arm protectively around his Mother's leg, tiny fingers curling delicately into the fabric of Her pants. They were so small and pink, I knew I could break them all in a matter of seconds. I could almost hear it now, the satisfying crack of bones being pulverized, the pathetic cries. I wanted to hear that, my fingers itched to reach over and… But no, I tore my mind away from that.
Not now.
Not here.
Not ever again.
They were both blonde. The Mother was pretty in a harried, strained kind of way, and I guess some people would call the Boy cute. We passed a light in the tunnel, and the shadow of the Boy's eyelashes crept down his cheeks like spiders. The Mother rested Her hand on His golden head, and my hand unconciously rose to my own crimson locks.
Before I knew it, the automated voice rang out and we were at my stop. It was always the same ride to the same place, but it seemed to get shorter every day.
Some part of me was thankful that I got off before the Family. If I ever found out where they lived I knew I would slit all their throats before I could stop myself.
The rest of the day was a haze of faces and forms, a movie being played in the screens of my eyes. And then, about halfway through the day, someone hit the pause button.
It was a meeting with the president of a huge company we were trying to merge with, and I was sure it was going to be the same routine shit they always were. To tell the truth, I wasn't totally aware of what was happening until I had my hand on the doorknob.
I glanced down at the papers in my hands, wanting to get the man's name right. Naruto Uzumaki. I had expected him to be an officious prick like ever other President, just an empy suit. Somehow, however, the name suggested otherwise.
I wiped my sweaty hands on the suit, which was odd. I wasn't nervous. What more could this man, this Naruto, take from me? Money was nothing. Pain was nothing. I was nothing. When you put nothing and nothing together, you still get nothing. It must have been the temperature and the stifling black suit that was making me sweat. I was never nervous.
I opened the door to the conference room and stepped inside.
"Hi," the man said, extending his hand , "I'm Naruto. You must be Gaara."
I forced myself to nod stiffly and take his hand, my heart thumping so loudly I was sure he could feel it. This man… I couldn't make myself think it. I could barely even look at him.
He was wearing a blue dress shirt, open to the top of his chest. I forced my eyes to move up from there, taking in his unbearably tan skin and contrasting ivory smile. His hair was pure gold, even in this horrible fluorescent lighting, and his eyes… his eyes defied imagination. They were so blue it made your teeth ache. They made the spheres other people saw out of barely look like eyes.
So blue.
And so familiar. I had seen these eyes almost every day for months. I realized I was still holding his hand, and I quickly let it go and sat down. He followed suit. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it and cocked his head. He studied me as I must have been studying him, his eyes moving unashamedly up and down my body.
"You look familiar. Have we met before?" His eyes were curious, but it wasn't a question. A statement, if anything.
"The subway," I blurted out, hating my rough voice compared to his, "I've seen you on the subway. You're the Father of the Family."
I didn't tell him what else he was.
Perfect.
Gorgeous.
Everything I wasn't.
I didn't have to. He had probably noticed my glaring wrongness, so blatant next to his soothing right.
"That's right!" The Father exclaimed, excited like a little boy. I can't exactly describe what his eyes did, but I guess flickered is the best word. They flickered with understanding, with happiness, with unsatiable curiousity. So blue.
"But I'm not a dad. The girl I ride with is Nira, she's my sister. And her son." There was a thick silence.
"Why do you say it like that, anyway?"
I was instantly on the offense.
"Say it like what?"
He put a hand on the back of his neck, elbow in the air.
"You didn't say father, you said Father. With a capital letter."
I realized I had been doing that in my head, unconciously. I knew why, of course. He wasn't just any father of any family, He was the Father. The one that mattered to me, the one who I hated and, simultaneously, was so attached to.
"I wasn't aware there was a difference." My voice was so cold, I'm sure it frightened him. Just like a little boy.
When he spoke next, his voice didn't have the same friendly air, and some part of me was relieved. Every other part of me grieved silently.
The rest of the meeting was routine shit. Just like every other meeting. Every other day.
This one could have been different, we could have been friends.
But since when have I needed friends?
I watched my hands sit limply on the table, like useless wax dummy hands.In so many ways, that's what I was. What did I do? Why did I live? Just a filler. A stand-in.
I heard his footsteps near the door, and the squeaking of the hinges.
I methodically noted to tell someone about that.
"Hey, Gaara?"
I didn't let myself hope.
"I've got a break soon. You wanna have lunch somewhere?"
I spoke before thinking, and I have no idea exactly what I said. But I do know exactly what I thought afterwards.
What the hell did I just do?