Disclaimer: I don't own digimon
Chapter One: Chance Encounter
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"Life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all." – William Goldman
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Have you ever woken up one day and not been able to remember how you got there? Kind of like 'whoa, this is my life?' And you think back to when you were little, when you had so many dreams and thought that somehow, someway, everything would work out. But things didn't work out, and you aren't what you pictured yourself to be, and that kills you, because you feel like you've let your ten-year-old self down.
That's my life, in a nutshell.
I imagined my life as this amazing love story. I would have a guy that loved me more than anything and would do anything for me. I imagined meeting my dream guy in college (or perhaps I'd already known him). I would finish up school at about twenty-two, and then we could get married and raise family.
Things are funny like that. You have this amazing picture of something in your mind, and then, much to your dismay, it turns out to be nothing like you imagined it to be at all.
Never in my mind did I realize that I would actually have to work for that dream, and that nothing would be handed to me on a silver platter.
I realize this now, but it's a little too late to do anything about it. All I know is this: there will always be the one who got away. I think that's true for everyone, everywhere. There will always be one person that we want, but can't have. And if we can have them, we won't take them.
I used to think it was because humans are greedy and we always want what we cannot have, but once we might stand a chance of having them, they lose their appeal and we no longer care that much. Recently, however, I changed my opinion. Sometimes, you can spend your whole life wanting something but when you finally get it, it's under the wrong pretenses, and your damned conscience gets in the way. You're too good of a person to just say 'to hell with it' and throw caution to the wind. You sit on the sidelines as the game plays on.
Will I sit on the sidelines? Will I sit on the bench, desperate to play, but restrain myself from doing so? Or will I jump up and run onto the field, ready for whatever the other side will throw at me?
I guess my wondering is pretty useless, since I'll most likely never get the chance to test out this particular theory. I've lost my chance. The buzzer has sounded, the game is over. My team lost.
That's what I thought, until today.
Today, I am twenty-six years old (not to mention single and alone), and fate has decided to rear its ugly head again.
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I push my way through the busy streets of New York City, where I have lived for four perfectly lovely – and yet still lacking that special something – years. After graduating from the top fashion school in Japan with a degree in fashion and photography, I relocated to the Big Apple to hopefully launch my career.
I had originally wanted to try my hand at modeling, but I quickly changed my mind and decided I'd be more interested in the photography aspect of things. I've actually had a pretty lucky career, if you think about it. Most aspiring photographers take years, building up their portfolios, before they make it big. I, however, hit the jackpot.
I met this guy at a club one night and, after a few too many drinks and one very interesting night filled with dancing in a rather close proximity, he told me to stop by his office the next day. It turned out that 'this guy I met at a club' was the fashion editor of Vogue Magazine. After a quick visit to his office, which led to us going for coffee, he looked over my portfolio (miniscule, though it was) and hired me for his upcoming fashion spread.
Since then, my pictures have appeared in Vogue, Flare, Glamour, Elle, Style, Cosmopolitan, and many other fashion magazines.
I've worked with some of the hottest Hollywood 'it' girls, such as Cameron Diaz, Heidi Klum, Rachel Bilson, Jennifer Aniston, Elle McPherson, Adriana Lima, and Gwen Stefani.
I've traveled all over the world, visiting six of the seven continents and meeting quite the variety of people.
I can speak three languages: Japanese, English and French. Japanese is my first, but I started learning English way before I moved to America. I picked it up pretty quickly once I arrived here. French is something I learned when I lived in Paris. Once I started making money in New York, I decided I wanted to buy a place over there. A spur-of-the-moment purchase, I can assure you. I lived there for five and a half months about three years ago before I decided it was dreadful and moved back here. Paris just wasn't my scene. I know that now.
All that might look good on paper, it might impress snooty celebrities and other important clientele when they consider who shall do their next photo shoot, but I don't really care about what I've done. None of it matters, because it's just a job. It used to be my passion, but the fire inside me, the urge and hunger to make it big in this industry, has long since fizzled out.
But where was I, again?
Oh, right.
I push my way through these hectic streets, cursing the gods above me for my bad luck. I don't have a bad life, but lately, it seems like I'm constantly being reminded of what I don't have. My best friend, Paige, just got married to her longtime fiancé, Daniel. He's a great guy and I'm happy for her, but I can't help wondering, had I not chosen career over romance, if that would be me.
Whenever I go back to Japan, which is rather often, I get together with my old friends. I see all the old, familiar faces and know that, although my apartment is thousands of miles away in New York, I'm home. I usually stop by Tai's first to see him, Sora and the kids. From there, I go see Mimi and Matt – which reminds me; I need to call her when I get home. The last time I saw Mimi, a month ago, she was so pregnant she was about to pop. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, her due date is tomorrow. Then I make a quick stop over at my parents' house, update them on everything and do a little shopping with my mom, before going back to New York.
Izzy is a billionaire. He invented some computer-thingy a few years ago that was huge. Last I heard, via Forbes Magazine, Izzy was living in Barcelona, Spain with his supermodel wife. Oh God, what was her name? I photographed her a few years ago, before she met Izzy, but I can't remember her name.
The worst part isn't they have all grown up and gotten lives while I'm stuck here in a rut. I like my rut. Well, I'm at least accustomed to my rut. No, the worst part is that I've actually lost track of Joe and T.K.
I don't know where they are, I haven't talked to them in what seems like forever. I think Joe is living in Canada, though I can't be sure. I suppose I could just ask Matt where T.K. is, but that would raise too many questions. Even after all these years, after all the boyfriends I've had, I still get teased over my feelings for T.K. – feelings that have long since evaporated.
I notice that it's getting kind of late, so I pick up the pace a bit, since I want to be home before dark. I was running a little late this afternoon and I missed the subway. Now, I have to walk all the way home. Twelve down, twenty blocks to go.
I keep my eyes glued to the ground the entire time. I've had a terrible day of photographing one of the bitchiest celebrities I've ever had the misfortune of crossing paths with (I'm not going to name names, but I will say that she will be appearing on next month's issue of Vogue). Since I'm not watching where I'm going (which is stupid due to the business of the street, I know) I smack into a random passerby.
Mumbling an apology, I keep walking, still not looking up. Apparently, my apology wasn't good enough, because the guy steps in front of me, not letting me pass. My head snaps up and I glare at the terribly rude person before me. He smiles, which angers me even more. Throwing him the dirtiest look I can muster, I try to step around him, but he blocks my attempts.
"Going so soon, Ms. Kamiya?"
I know him. I can't figure out who he is, but I know him. I have to, since he knows me, right? Or maybe he just knows me because I'm a famous photographer. What if he's a stalker? Oh, shit.
"That depends on whether you're going to get out of my way or not," I snap.
He gets a hurt look in his eyes, and I get a knot in my stomach. I'm supposed to know this guy, I'm sure of it. Judging by the look on his face, he agrees with me. I do a quick scan: Tall, attractive, blue eyes and blonde hair. Okay, probably a model, right?
"Kar? Are you okay?" he asks.
Kar.
There's only one person who has ever called me Kar. There's only one person that can get away withcalling me Kar.
Standing in the middle of a busy street corner, everybody seems to disappear and time stops moving entirely. All noise fades into the background, where it becomes a barely audible hum. Things are going in slow motion, and although a wide grin creeps across my face, I feel like I might be sick. I can't remember how I got to this street; I can't remember where I'm going. There is just us, and this moment.
"T.K.!" Without a second thought, I launch myself at him and wrap my arms around his neck. "Oh my God, how are you?"
"I'm amazing. And you, well, I don't need to ask, 'Ms. Fashion Photographer Extraordinaire,'" he muses. "If you don't have anywhere to be, would you want to get some coffee around the corner with me so we can catch up?"
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Three hours later, I'm still at the coffee shop with T.K.
We've laughed about old times and updated each other on our lives. Now, we are just sipping our coffees (I'm on my third, he's on his fourth) and making casual conversation. I can't help but think that this wonderful feeling in the pit of my stomach will go away once we get up and go our separate ways. I want to ask him if I'll see him again. I want to make long-term plans so I don't ever have to lose track of him again.
A cell phone goes off and I'm about to comment on how annoying those contraptions are when he pulls his phone out of his pocket and grins sheepishly at me.
"Mind if I take this?" he asks after glancing at the caller ID. I smile and shake my head. He stands up and walks outside, chatting on his phone to whomever. His back is to me, and despite my best efforts, I find myself staring at him as he stands on the street corner, cell phone in hand, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
And as I sit here, watching this grown up and yet oddly child-like T.K., all those feelings that have, and I quote, "evaporated", come rushing back full force. The butterflies in my stomach are flapping around faster and faster and my heart is pounding against my ribcage. T.K., the boy I've loved since before I can remember, is on the other side of this glass door. I can feel something bubbling up in my stomach and realize what it is – hope.
Maybe it was fate that made me miss my subway today. If I hadn't had to walk, I never would have run into T.K. and wound up getting coffee with him.
Yes, the fate gods are smiling down on me today. This is it, my second chance. I lost him once; I'm not stupid enough to do it again. Thank you, universe!
I wipe the small smile off my face as he comes back and sits down.
"Who was that?" I ask, not really caring. I'm just trying to buy some time, trying to figure out a way to express my feelings without putting myself out there too much. Is that possible?
"My wife. I went out for milk about three hours ago, and I still don't have the milk," he laughs.
There is one person for each of us. One person who makes our hearts beat faster and slower at the same time. There is one person, and one person only, who can turn us to mush and make us get all giggly. There is one person who makes us feel indescribably happy, so happy that we're afraid to blink incase it all disappears and we're left with just our dreams and the hope of what could have been.
For me, unfortunately, that person is T.K.
I'm sure of it.
I had, after all, spent the majority of high school in love with him. He was my best friend, and he was the object of my every desire. All he saw me as was someone to hang out with, someone to joke around with and laugh with when he was bored.
He was easily the best-looking guy in our school. And he was my best friend. All the girls wanted to be his girlfriend, and me, I was stuck being the best friend; I couldn't do anything to stop other girls from pursuing him. What was I supposed to say? 'T.K., I don't think you should go out with her, because you should be dating me instead?'
Actually, I could have said that. Why didn't I?
I tried to get through it by dating other guys. T.K. may not have wanted me for romantic purposes, but I was no troll. The boys definitely liked me. I got five invitations to junior prom, after all. And I even had a sort-of boyfriend at the time.
To make it easier, I told myself that I wasn't really in love with him at all. I tried to convince myself that I was only lusting after him, like the rest of the female population at Odaiba High. It was highly plausible, considering I secretly wished for the day that T.K. would push me into the janitor's closet and lock the door behind him.
Love, lust, what's the difference?
The point was that I had feelings, feelings that I wasn't supposed to have, for my best friend. I wanted him so bad that it hurt. He would tell me all about the girl he was dating, and whether or not he really liked her. I would always pray that he wouldn't, that he would be alone until the day he finally realized he should be with me. If only it had happened that way.
After we graduated, we went off to different schools, with different dreams and aspirations. We would always be able to look back on our childhood and remember each other, as our childhood best friends. That was all there was room for anymore. We would be contained, stored away in each other's memory banks. We would be fond memories, complete with a reflective smile and sentimental laugh. We said we wouldn't drift but there was no certainty that we would always be close. We had different dreams, and we would eventually be taking different paths in our lives.
It astounds me to realize that we have already gone down our separate paths. We have been gone for quite a while, and I never even realized. I guess I had to find him again before I could fully recognize the fact that I lost him.
I curse myself for having hope, for letting myself think that maybe, somehow, I would get what I wanted out of this newfound friendship with T.K. If I stay really still and listen really closely, I can probably hear the last remaining piece of my heart crumbling to dust with his sentence.
"You're married? When did that happen?" I blurt out before thinking. Now, I can only hope that I didn't sound too outraged or upset about this sudden revelation.
I should have noticed. I should have checked for a wedding ring when I first saw him. I just never assumed T.K. would have gone off and gotten hitched … Without me.
"Three months ago," he reveals. I force a smile and try to keep the tears in check. I never realized just how strong my feelings for the man before me still were. Love is like a volcano. Just when you think it's dormant and you stop worrying that one day it'll erupt, it erupts. Life's cruelly ironic like that, isn't it?
"That's great, congratulations!" If I appear happy for him, I can assure you that I'm anything but.
"Thanks." He gets an uncomfortable look in his eye. "I would have invited you, but –"
"No, I … understand. Don't worry." He smiles appreciatively at me, because I let him off the hook. I say I understand but, in reality, I don't. In fact, out of everything that has happened today, this is the part I'll analyze over and over tonight as I lay in bed. Why did I interrupt him? Why didn't I just let him say what he was going to say?
It's too painful. It's too painful to sit here and listen to the love of your life explain why he didn't want you to be a part of the happiest day of his life, why he didn't want you to share in his joy. Although I'm sure that I wouldn't have been sharing in any joy. In fact, I probably would have backed out, saying I had an important photo shoot that I couldn't avoid or postpone.
"Sorry to cut this short, but I have to get home," he says, standing up. "We should do this again sometime, though."
"Yeah, definitely," I agree. I reach into my purse and pull out one of my cards. "Here. Call anytime." He takes the card and smiles at me. My breath catches in my throat when he doesn't break eye contact and stares at me for a few agonizingly long moments. "What?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says, looking down at the card. "It's great to know that you still have time for the little people," he teases. I smile, though I feel like running the nineteen blocks home and never leaving my room ever again.
He promises to call me tomorrow, but I won't hold him on it. He has a life, a wife, and I understand. I don't have to like it, but I can at least respect it. His life is going a certain way and, from the looks of things, he's happy about it. He doesn't need me, his so-called friend, screwing everything up for him.
I watch him leave, and any chance I have for real happiness goes with him.
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