Have you ever buried your face in your hands
'Cause no one around you understands
Or has the slightest idea what it is that makes you be?
Have you ever felt like there was more
Like someone else was keeping score
And what could make you whole was simply out of reach?
Well, I know
-Offspring
"Have you called the tow truck?" Iketani asked.
Shingo nodded.
"Are you hurt?" Kenji asked.
Shingo looked down at his wrist. It had hurt a lot when he'd pried it from the remnants of tape still attaching him to the steering wheel, but it wasn't hurting now. He wasn't feeling much of anything now. "I don't know," he admitted.
He didn't notice Kenji and Iketani exchanging a worried glance.
"How about I stay here to wait for the tow truck, and Kenji can give you a lift to the emergency room?"
Shingo stared at the twisted wreck that had once been his precious EG-6. He didn't want to leave it in someone else's hands. He hadn't had much reason to trust people, let alone a couple of racers he hardly knew.
Iketani gave him a reassuring, if awkward, smile. "I'll take good care of her – I promise."
Shingo sighed and handed the keys over. After all, the Speedstars had a reputation, if not for being particularly good racers, then at least for being decent guys.
"Come on, I'll take you to the hospital," Kenji said.
Shingo got into the passenger seat of the 180. As they pulled away, he took one last regretful look at his car before he turned away from the carnage.
"It's usually not as bad as it looks," Kenji commented.
"There's radiator fluid all over the road," Shingo said morosely.
"I'm sorry."
For some reason, the empty platitude rankled. "What're you sorry about?" he snapped. "It's not your fault, is it?"
He expected the timid 180 driver to retreat into silence after that, but Kenji persisted. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. If we didn't, we'd never learn anything."
"That's easy for you to say," Shingo grumbled.
"No, it's not." Kenji shot him a sideways glance. "You don't think I've made stupid, costly mistakes before? It happens to everyone."
"Hmph."
"You're just lucky you didn't get really hurt."
Shingo didn't answer. He was actually a little disappointed that he wasn't more seriously injured. He was disgusted with himself, and a part of him felt that he'd not so much avoided injury as escaped punishment. Though his wrist was throbbing now, it didn't compare to the regret that ate at him.
When they reached the hospital, he expected Kenji to drop him off at the entrance, but the Nissan driver insisted on parking and accompanying him inside. He was therefore forced to sit in the waiting room filling out forms with Kenji glued to his side like a Siamese twin. At least it was his left hand that was injured, not his right one, or Kenji would have had to fill out the forms for him, which would've just added insult to injury.
The waiting room was quiet. Apparently, this wasn't one of the more busy nights in the ER. They waited only a short time before Shingo was admitted to the exam room. Kenji did not follow him in, thankfully. By then, Shingo's wrist was an unidentifiably misshapen mass of swollen, discolored flesh.
"Mr. Shouji," the doctor said by way of greeting. "What did you do to your wrist?"
Shingo shrugged. "I was playing football, and I fell on it."
"At this time of night?" the doctor asked with a skeptical squint.
Shingo stared him down. He wasn't accountable to this asshole, or to anyone else for that matter. He did what he wanted when he wanted, and he wasn't about to get into a debate about illegal street racing with some holier than thou doctor.
After a moment, the doctor let the matter drop. He began to manipulate Shingo's injured arm gently. "Does it hurt when I do this?" he asked.
Shingo winced. "It doesn't feel good."
The doctor flexed his wrist, and this time Shingo felt a distinct popping feeling followed by a sharp pain.
"Ow!"
"Relax," the doctor murmured. He examined Shingo's entire arm from shoulder to fingertips, and then sat back to make his pronouncement. "All right, Mr. Shouji, you're going to need an x-ray before I can determine whether you've fractured your wrist, or just sprained it. The nurse will be in in a moment to help you." With that, he disappeared.
About forty five minutes later, Shingo was back in the exam room, a pair of freshly snapped x-rays of his arm on display in all their backlit glory.
"The good news is I can't detect any breaks in your wrist. Of course, hairline fractures are often difficult to detect by x-ray. From the amount of swelling, I think the likelihood is that there is a very small fracture that I can't see, but it could also be a particularly bad sprain. That happens when the ligaments between your bones are stretched or torn. Either way, your condition isn't so severe that you'd need a cast. I'm going to have the nurse bandage your hand in an elastic wrap. It will help to keep the swelling down. She'll give you an ice pack, as well. Keep the ice pack on it for about 20 minutes at a time. She'll also give you a sling to wear around your neck. I want you to wear that for the next 48 hours, to reduce swelling. After that, I want you to wear a wrist splint for the next 10 days. That will limit your mobility in that hand, but since it's your left hand, you should be able to function fairly well with it. If it hurts, take some ibuprofen or aspirin. If the pain increases, or it becomes very swollen, please come back. If not, then I'd like you to follow up with your regular physician after the 10 days, just to make sure everything is all right. Ok?"
Shingo didn't have a regular physician and certainly wasn't going to come back to the ER just for a follow up, but he nodded anyway.
"All right, I'll send in the nurse. You have a good night," the doctor said as he left.
A few minutes later, a nurse bustled in with a lot of stuff in her hands. She bandaged Shingo's hand up while reiterating almost verbatim everything the doctor had just told him. She tied on his sling and made him put his hand in it while she adjusted the height. Then she slipped an ice pack in there, gave him his splint and a couple ibuprofen, and sent him on his way.
Kenji pounced on him the moment he stepped out into the waiting room. "What did the doctor say? Are you all right? Is it broken?"
Shingo sighed wearily. "It's just a stupid sprain. I'll be fine."
"Oh, good!" Kenji said with just a little too much relief, as if Shingo had just announced that he didn't have cancer.
He gave the 180 driver a strange look, but Kenji didn't seem to notice.
"Iketani called while you were in there. He asked the tow truck driver if he would consider towing it to a garage in Myougi, but they said that would be pretty expensive. He didn't think you'd want that, so he just gave them the address of a local garage. I know the place; we use it often. I can give you the number so that you can call them in the morning. Don't worry, they do good work, and you can trust them not to screw you on the price."
Shingo nodded.
"So uh, I was thinking about it, and uh, do you want to crash at my place tonight? It's just that it's late, and it's a long way out to Myougi. You're more than welcome to stay at mine. Otherwise, I could take you to a motel or something."
"If you're offering, then yeah, it's better than paying for a place."
"Great!" Kenji said with a sort of breathless enthusiasm.
Shingo squinted at him in the harsh fluorescent hospital light. He felt like he'd just accepted an invitation to a party or something. Whatever drugs this guy was on, he thought maybe he could use some.
A short while later, they arrived at Kenji's abode.
"My mom's not home yet, I guess," Kenji said as he turned on the lights in the living room.
It was a typical lower middle class two bedroom flat with cheap wooden furnishings and a floral patterned couch. It felt a little too familiar to Shingo, and for some reason, it put him on edge.
"You want some water or something?"
"No, I'm fine," Shingo replied.
"Ok," Kenji said amiably. He led them to his bedroom. The lights turned on to reveal a tidy little room with a single bed and desk. The shelves above the desk were lined with racing magazines. A few of the magazines were stacked on the desk, and a few items were lying about, but for the most part, the room was neat and orderly. "I was going to let you sleep on the couch, but since my mom's not home yet, she might freak out if she finds you unexpectedly. If you don't mind the floor, you can sleep in here."
Shingo sighed. "I don't mind," he said. He'd slept in worse places and besides, he was just too exhausted to care.
"How's your hand? Do you need more ice?"
Shingo removed the melted ice pack and set it on the desk. "Yeah, maybe in a bit. I'm only supposed to keep it on for 20 minutes at a time."
"Oh, ok. Just let me know. The bathroom's over there, by the way," Kenji said, leaning out of the room to point down the short hallway.
"Great." Shingo made a break for the bathroom. Once he was safely locked inside, he lowered the lid of the toilet and sat down. He hadn't had a second to himself since the wreck. Now that he had a moment to reflect, however, all he could think was what the fuck was wrong with him? What was he thinking swerving into Fujiwara like that? He stood, suddenly restless, agitated, like there were a million bugs crawling under his skin. He wanted to fight someone until he beat the hell out of them (or vice versa), or fuck someone (or vice versa). Now was not the time or the place for any of that, though, so he got up, washed his hands and face and dried them on a faded towel. "Oi!" he called as he exited the bathroom.
"Yes?" Kenji said. The eager look on his face reminded Shingo of puppies at the pound hoping to be adopted.
"I need a drink," Shingo announced.
"Oh, ok. We have some lemonade and maybe some coke. There's also water-"
"No, a drink," Shingo said with emphasis.
Kenji glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand, and cocked his head quizzically. "Now?"
"Yeah, now," Shingo insisted.
"We don't have any alcohol, but there's a convenience store down the street," Kenji said.
"Great," Shingo said as he turned and headed for the front door.
Kenji quickly caught up with him. Slipping on his shoes without untying them, he followed Shingo out the door and into the street.
"Lead on," Shingo said when they reached the main road.
Kenji turned left. "It's this way."
"Howcome you don't have any alcohol? Don't you drink?" Shingo asked while they walked. It seemed strange to him, since his mom always kept at least a few beers in the fridge at all times.
"My mom doesn't believe in drinking."
"What's to believe in?" Shingo wanted to know.
Kenji shrugged. "She thinks it's the same as drugs."
Shingo extracted a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket and lit up in one quick, well practiced motion. "As long as it's not hurting anyone, what's the harm?" He exhaled a stream of smoke into the humid air. God, he needed a drink.
"I don't know," Kenji answered, "but when she comes home, try to hide it, ok? It would upset her if she knew we were drinking in the house."
Shingo grimaced, but nodded. He was a guest, after all.
They were soon at the convenience store and confronted with the task of picking something out of the store's surprisingly diverse selection of drink.
"Let's get the vodka," Shingo said after a few minutes of staring at all the shiny bottles with colorful labels lined up on the shelf.
"I guess it's cheap," Kenji said with a shrug.
Shingo grabbed the bottle off the shelf, brought it to the counter, and paid. In minutes, they were back outside and headed for home. Shingo walked quickly, anxious to start drinking. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, and it was driving him nuts.
Kenji let them into the house and Shingo immediately went to the kitchen to retrieve two glasses. He entered Kenji's room to find the 180 driver sitting on the bed, channel surfing.
Shingo joined him on the bed and poured them each a double shot of vodka. He handed Kenji one of the glasses and raised his own glass briefly before he downed the contents in one swallow. The alcohol burned its way down his throat, but it was so comforting, like sinking into a soft bed.
Kenji sniffed at his glass. He took a small sip and made a face. At Shingo's disapproving look, Kenji quickly knocked back the drink. He swallowed, choked, and started to cough.
Shingo slapped him on the back. "Good stuff, right?"
"Yeah," Kenji wheezed, his eyes watering.
Shingo promptly poured them each another double shot.
"Oh, no," Kenji protested. "Really, I'm not much of a drinker."
Shingo shot him a pained look. "Listen, Kenji, nobody likes drinking alone, yeah? And seeing as I've had a really shitty night, I think you can afford to humor me a little."
Kenji reluctantly picked up his glass.
Shingo polished off his drink with relish, and poured himself another. As the alcohol hit, he relaxed, leaning against the wall, and felt some of his anxiety ease.
"You're all right, you know," he said by way of thanks.
Kenji set his empty glass down on the nightstand. "Um, thanks?"
"Seriously. You could'a left me there, but you didn't," he said. He noticed that his speech was becoming a bit slurred, but the beauty about having drunk several shots of vodka in the space of ten minutes was that he didn't give a damn. "I mean, I know that tofu kid hates me now. Shit, I don't blame him, and I wouldn't'a blamed you either if you'd just kept on driving. But you guys, you're stand up guys."
Kenji flushed. "Iketani's always saying that team politics should be set aside when people really need help."
Shingo nodded. "That's good, that's nice. But you know, nice people only get fucked in the end. Do yourself a favor, you know? You can't go through life like that, being nice, just doing what people tell you to do. If you want something, you gotta just take it."
Kenji frowned. "It's that sort of take what you want, screw everybody else attitude that's got this world the way it is."
Shingo snorted. "Whaddyou gonna do, change the world? Good fucking luck! You might as well bend over and get ready to be screwed."
"Well, I think it's better to be screwed over than to screw someone else over. At least then you're not perpetuating the cycle of misery."
"Hey, the cycle of misery doesn't need your help to perpetuate," Shingo said. He poured them each another shot, slopping a few spots onto the nightstand in the process. "Every minute of every day some guy's getting robbed on the street, some girl's getting raped by her own boyfriend, and some kid's getting the shit kicked out of him by his old man. Nothing I can do to stop any of that, is there? So why not just do the best I can with what I got?"
"Iketani says-"
"Oh yeah, I just bet he does," Shingo interrupted. "He's straight, you know. It doesn't matter how much of his drivel you swallow or how hard you try, he's never gonna like you the way you want him to."
"Wh-wh-how-" Kenji spluttered, turning bright red.
"Oh, cut the theatrics," Shingo snapped. "It's so obvious. If he doesn't know, then he's just about the only one."
Kenji stared down at the comforter, his face burning with shame.
Even in his alcoholic haze, Shingo felt a twinge of pity for him. "Hey, come on. It's not so bad. There's other fish in the sea, and all that."
"Other fish? He's my best friend!" Kenji said. "We're…meant to be."
Shingo snorted derisively. "What do you think, that he's gonna miraculously turn gay for you? Wishing for shit gets you nowhere, and believing in fantasies just makes you more miserable in the end. My advice? Move on."
"That's easy for you to say, isn't it?" Kenji retorted.
"Hey, you think you're the only asshole in the world who's ever loved someone who didn't love you back?"
Kenji winced. "I guess not…"
"Kenji? I'm home," a woman's voice called from the living room.
"It's my mom!" Kenji sprang out of the bed and proceeded to flap about in a blind panic.
Shingo grabbed the bottle and glasses off the nightstand and hid them behind a pillow.
Kenji's mother appeared in the doorway a moment later.
"Oh, honey, I didn't know you were having friends over tonight," she said with a slight frown.
"I'm sorry, it was all kind of last minute," Kenji said.
"What happened to you?" she asked as she spied Shingo's sling.
"Mom, this is Shingo," Kenji said nervously. "He got into an accident-"
"While playing football," Shingo interjected. "I sprained my wrist, so I couldn't drive home. Kenji was nice enough to put me up for the night. I hope it's not too much of a bother."
She gave him a calculating look. "No, it's not a bother," she said at last. "Kenji, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Kenji swallowed. "Um, yeah."
He hurried out into the hallway, pulling the door ajar behind him. Shingo sighed and flipped through the television channels while he waited.
When Kenji returned, he closed and locked the bedroom door behind him. "Sorry."
Shingo raised an eyebrow at him. "For?"
"My mom." Kenji inadvertently pulled a face. "She wasn't exactly happy to see you."
"Parents never are."
"Well, you did lie to her. Not that she suspected the truth, but she thought you were 'sneaky'."
Shingo snorted. "I am sneaky, but I didn't do it for me. I did it for you, you daft bastard. You never tell them it was racing. Don't you know anything?"
"What's wrong with telling her the truth? I don't want to lie to my mom."
"Think about it. Next time you go out racing, what's she going to think of? She's going to picture this," Shingo pointed at his sling, "and she'll think oh my god, that could happen to my baby! She'll freak out, and then every time you go out from then on she'll give you a hard time about it. So if you want to get hassled every time you walk out the door, then by all means, tell her the truth."
Kenji sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm sure you have a lot of experience with that kind of thing."
Shingo shrugged. "Not me, I live alone. Some of my friends' parents are like that, though. Here," he said, topping up their glasses.
They clinked glasses and drank down their shots. Kenji popped a random movie into the DVD player. Shingo was sure that the 180 driver had told him what they would be watching, but he couldn't remember and didn't really care. He slumped down in the bed and allowed himself to slip into a comfortable daze.
He drifted in and out of consciousness as the bright action scenes flashed across the screen. Something touched his leg, and he looked down to see Kenji's hand on his thigh. As he watched, the hand crept higher, drawing lazy circles across his leg. He glanced over to find Kenji looking at him with that same sort of puppy look. Then the 180 driver kissed him, and his lust spiked sharply.
Shingo snapped awake with a start. The television was off, and the room was dark. He looked over at Kenji in alarm, but the 180 driver was fast asleep. It was just a dream. He shifted to ease the pressure in his pants and the crick in his neck. He had fallen asleep sitting up in bed. He was supposed to have slept on the floor, he recalled, but Kenji had simply carved out a niche for himself on the bed and went to sleep. With a shrug, Shingo slid underneath the covers. The bed was meant for a single occupant, so it was extremely cramped. There was no way he could sleep without touching Kenji. In the end, he wound up with his back against the wall, loosely spooning the Nissan driver. It wasn't ideal, but before long, the alcohol in his system put him right back to sleep.
Shingo woke to a warm body in his arms. Without achieving full awareness, he snuggled closer.
A soft gasp brought him fully awake. He opened his eyes and glanced around the room, disoriented. Then he looked down, and found Kenji looking up at him with a confused expression.
Shingo reddened. "Er…sorry," he said. He quickly disentangled himself from the 180 driver and sat up.
Kenji pulled the covers up around himself and eyed him apprehensively. "It's…ok," he said.
Shingo sighed. "You sleep ok? Sorry I just crashed here. It was late, and I didn't want to wake you."
"Don't worry about it. I slept fine, probably because of all that vodka."
Shingo nodded, then excused himself to the bathroom. When he emerged from a steaming hot shower, he felt much better, more alert. He hoped Kenji didn't take the incident in bed too seriously. The last thing he needed was some goony kid developing a crush on him. Not that he considered himself particularly crush-worthy, but Kenji seemed like just the sort of attention starved virgin who would have low expectations.
"How you feeling?" he asked.
"Oh, ok," Kenji replied. "I was feeling kind of sick this morning, but I just went back to sleep."
"Yeah, I think I slept through my hangover too."
"It's almost noon. The garage should be open by now, if you want to call them," Kenji said.
"Oh yeah," Shingo said. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand. "What's the number?"
Kenji pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolled through his address book, and read out the number.
After a few minutes in conversation with the garage, Shingo hung up. They would need to do their evaluation of the damage before they could come up with an estimate. Till then, he would just have to wait.
"Listen, do you think you can take me home now? I have a lot of things to do today."
Disappointment flitted briefly over Kenji's features, but Shingo chose to ignore it. "Yeah, sure, of course. Let me have a quick shower, and then we can go."
About an hour later, they arrived at Shingo's apartment complex.
"Uhm, do you think I could have your number?" Kenji ventured.
Shingo sighed. He had to give the guy credit for trying, but he'd been hoping they wouldn't actually have to have this conversation. "Listen, Kenji, you're a nice guy. You don't want to hang around with someone like me."
"Why not?"
Shingo ignored the sad little hurt look on Kenji's face. "I have a lot of problems," he said curtly.
"Like what?"
"Like it's none of your business," Shingo snapped.
"Oh," Kenji said. "But…can I have your number anyway? It's just that, I don't know any other guys who know about, um, you know, and it would just be nice to have someone to talk to about…these kinds of things."
"…fine," Shingo said, rolling his eyes but caving nonetheless. The guy just seemed so helpless. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "What's your number?" Kenji dictated while he typed it into his phone and dialed. When they heard Kenji's phone ring, he hung up.
"Thanks," Kenji said.
"No problem. Thanks for taking me home. See you around." Shingo got out of the car. He waved one last time and then hurried up the sidewalk to his apartment building.