So sorry…
The first time it happened, the phone rang.
At first the sound of the phone ringing was only an irritation that pulsed along with the excitement and apprehension that he'd been holding deep within him at the thought of finally, finally playing Shindo. The next second, the voice on the other line was a mumble of words. All emotions faded with the rush of blood pounding in his ears. There was a cold numbness that lined his insides as he stared at the wall in front of him. It was completely incomprehensible. The line clicked and his heart thudded at the sound. The numbness moved. It was like a wave, covering emotions, covering sounds, covering all sight—it stopped the mind from making sense of it—it stopped the heart from crying—until…
Until.
The hospital is white and bare. Sterile. There are people all around, activity bustling and mimicking life at it's frenziest as if trying to hide the naked truth dancing around the entire building. Death is in the residence. The numbness starts to fade as the pounding of feet against the tiled floor starts to match the beating of the heart. It completely breaks away and leaves a gaping hole inside when all of sudden the door they were looking for is there right in front of them. A doctor is in the room. And on the bed…his father. No. The heart beat is loud. No. The heart starts to cry. No. The thoughts start to wail, crashing in and out—in and out. No. Please. No. Mother is the first to move and her stifled gasp is already too loud to bear. If she starts to cry—but she doesn't. She grasps father's hand in a tender motion and simply gives a tearful smile as she gazes down. Her words to her husband are low and when he takes a step forward and then another, he realizes painfully that she's saying reassurances. Crazy but he'd never thought of his mother and bravery in the same context. The thought spins away leaving a vague notion that there are many faces to bravery and that he's just seen one. He kneels beside his mother, placing his own hand on top of their intertwined hands and it's all he can do to not break right there and then.
…
Hospitals have rules that need to be obeyed no matter how much they tear at the family's heart. Visiting hours were over and they were sent home. His eyes kept glancing back towards the door and as it was finally lost from view, he couldn't help but think he'd lost his sense of reality as well. His foundation of strength, the man that defined him is suddenly miles away and the future in front of him is no longer a straight path. It's dark and crooked and there's such an intense fear, it feels like he'll never be able to breath properly again. It hurts to do so. Ogata-san opens the car door, for once he's not smoking and he looks much too subdued. The fear grows, insidious like a poison that's eating him from the inside. He doesn't want to look at it, to think of it…if he does, it will become real.
It will be ok.
His mother reassures everyone in their house. He wishes these men that he'd thought of as brothers would just go away. Their somber presence is making him feel caged and claustrophobic. The worse is Ashiwara whose wide eyes are downcast and he rubs at them from time to time when he thinks no one else is looking. She invites them to eat with them, thanks them for coming and supporting them during this time of need. He wants to scream instead but he too thanks them. He flinches however from Ashiwara's impulsive touch—no doubt the man wanted to bring him comfort and needed it himself—but all his mind knows is that if he's touched…if he's touched he'll be anchored to this place. It'll all become real. And it can't be real because it's like his mother had said. Everything would be ok. Thank you for coming. Thank you for the support. But it will be ok.
The last of the men finally leave.
And darkness crowds their home which suddenly seems way too big. His mother is sipping at her tea, her eyes very far away and when she comes back to wherever she's been, she simply offers him another one of those smiles. He realizes then that they seem very empty and don't cover well enough the fear she tries to hide behind them. It freezes him on the spot and mechanically he responds to her goodnight and promises that he'll go to sleep soon. He's such a good boy and the routine is one that he's lived through so many nights it's almost instinctual to complete it. To go through the motions. The only problem is that his father isn't there and the routine is broken.
There's only silence now and it's just as oppressive as the noise and company was.
His thoughts are his only company and he suddenly can't hide from them. He wishes the numbness would come back but it doesn't and he's left gasping in the darkness as he tries hard not to cry. He doesn't want to think. He doesn't want to imagine. But the mind is cruel sometimes and there's no way to truly control it. So the thoughts unravel and reveal his main fear. That his father is dying and that their last words to each other were mumbled in passing…both too busy with their own lives and concerns. How selfish, how petty, how foolish everything now seems. He just wants more time. He just wants his father to be at his side. He needs him with him. And doesn't know how to continue on without him there. He reprimands himself in the darkness, that the doctors seemed hopeful and that his father would be fine. Had to be fine. Had to be. But no matter how many pacifying words he tells himself, the poisonous thought is still there. What if he dies…
The night finally breaks away, leaving room for the day to start.
There's a silent but frantic need for time to move forward and yet to still to a halt as they wait in the kitchen until the visiting hours are allowed. Ogata called to say he'd be able to drive them. His mother thanks him profusely and busies herself in the kitchen. Akira simply waits. He needs physical reassurance that his dad is still with them, is still ok. A phone call from the doctor this morning is not enough to relieve him. His mind is too full and he seems stuck in going back and forth between complete numbness to complete and intolerable pain.
Days pass.
The human mind forgets easily. Once the doctors release his father from the hospital, his mind is quick to shy away from the horrible memories. They seem too unreal, too bleak, and horrible. Life finds the normal flow again and the smiles surrounding him seem to be more real and genuine. He accepts Ashiwara's enthusiastic and happy embrace this time on that day when his father stepped into the house. He remembers that moment, the rushing of blood, the beating of his heart and the overwhelming need to cry. He thinks it's strange and embarrassing and he hides the need so well even to himself that he's surprised when finally alone, he breaks down in great heaving sobs. He can't seem to stop them though and the tears are hot and heavy, his nose suddenly feeling full and his head…oh god it hurts. But it feels so good at the same time, as if the poison is being bled out of him finally. His mind cries that it's over. It's really over. And his father is good. He's good. Finally.
The second time it happened, he was there.
He was showing his parents around his apartment. They had yet to see it since they'd been in China when he'd moved out from his childhood home. He was proud to show them what he had earned and what he now called home. His father was smiling and asking questions and then… The words were mumbled. There was a crease in the wrinkles caused by a growing frown. The smile faded. Akira pointed to the couch and got a glass of water. He heard the words but the numbness was coming in to block them out. "I'm fine. I'm just not feeling all that well." His father muttered as he sat. "It'll pass." He thanked him for the glass of water and shook his head at the suggestion of calling the doctor. "I just need to rest for a bit. I'll be fine." Perspiration was beading up on the forehead, the skin had a waxy appearance. No. Not now. Not like this. The eyes closed. No. It was too soon. No. There was a thump as unexpectedly, his father's body collapsed within itself, nearly sliding off the couch. He had grabbed—instinctively and now he felt the dead weight of his father pulling down against his hands. "Akira! Call the doctor!" Yes. No. Mustn't let go. He heaved his father's body up onto the couch more and then shaking, dialed the number. The rest was a blur of colors, sounds, thoughts, fears, heart and blood pumping within him. It was a numbness and a ripping within him. Mustn't let go…his hands ached, clenched by his side. Mustn't let go…
I'm sorry. It was all we could do…
Blur. No. Beat. No. I'm so sorry. No. No. Don't…I'm so sorry. A hand was pulling at him. Don't touch. Don't make this real. Please don't make this real. Shut that person up. Shut off all the noise, the sound…He didn't want to hear. He didn't want this to be real. I'm…Shut up!...so…SHUT UP!...sorry. It hurt so much. It hurt so much and he couldn't breathe let alone see what was in front of him. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to have to move on. He didn't want to go on…At that moment, irrationally angry at himself for all the moments missed, for all the time wasted between a father and son, Akira would have traded anything—even his own existence—if it could bring his father back. He only wanted the man to still be alive. The hand tugged at him harder.
Your mom needs you…I'm so sorry.
Move he did. Dry eyed he reached for her and pulled her back as well. They left the sterile place and found themselves surrounded by friends, family…strangers. All of them seemed so far away from him and though his insides ached to be close, to be able to reach out to them the distance separating them was too far for him to breach. He felt exhaustion at simply breathing, at simply feeling his heart beat numbly inside of him. His mind kept up its litany: Tell me its not happening. He smiled weakly. Say it's not as it seems. Helplessly. Tell me that I'm going to wake up. He shook everyone's hand. It's just a bad dream. He said what he needed to say. Please tell me that it's fiction. What he was expected to say. Tell me it's just a lie. But what he wanted to say was kept buried deep within him. Whatever you choose to tell me… He listened to the words they told him, felt them try and strengthen their hold on him, yet the distance continued to grow as his thoughts became louder and louder. Please say he didn't die. He felt like he was dying inside, like he was going insane and nothing could stop this.
I miss you so much.
Days continued to pass, life tugged at him to join back the flow. He resisted—heart-mind-soul— he ignored the worried whispers. If he didn't, only the blackest and bitterest of anger would well up within him. He was tired of them. Of this. "Let's play." Shindo asked. He'd come out of no where, grabbing his hand. "Let's get out of here and really play." The sound of stones was too loud. Had been for awhile but numbly he went through the motions. Nigiri. Shindo was white. He was black. They started the play and watched as the patterns formed across the board. What had held such importance to him before seemed so meaningless now. "Touya," Shindo sighed. "Touya…come back to us. Come back to me. I…"
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry…
"I don't know how." He surprised himself when the words came out. A mumble. A heart beat. "I'm so…" sorry. tired. lost.
"I know." Shindo was quiet. "I know…" He moved his chair around, the metal legs scraping against the floor until the two were sitting side by side. "…I miss him too…"
The end.
A/n- The lyrics that were interspersed as Touya's thoughts are from Jem's song Miss you.