She saw it a second too late. A tick, a single chime, a breath, a fall. A second too late.
We lived on a throne. My family was oozing talent and promise. My mother was a classical pianist, my father an actor, my sister played lead guitar in her metal band. We were famous, the Mai family.
Until we weren't. Until the clock stopped.
My father's manager was driving. She had taken off her glasses for a second to examine her mascara, and ran a red light.
I remember the steering column exploding, and smoke billowing outside the tinted windows. I remember the smell of blood and the wail of sirens. I remember the weight, the crushing weight, on my hip and down my leg and I can remember that even when they pulled me out, I couldn't move it. I remember, at that moment, the clock began to tick again and I began to feel pain.
The manager died on impact, and my mother later in the hospital. My father walked away with a crushed lung and is now on breathing tubes. My sister hasn't waken up.
It was two weeks ago. The clock stopped only once.
I run it all now. The family fortune, that is; millions of yen in my possession. Well, technically, my father's, but he sleeps too often to care what I do with it.
So I used it to start over.
That's what I had to do. I did it, and it's all okay now.
_.-X-._
It's the pitying glances that do it. They make my arms shake with rage. Two weeks ago, when I mentioned my name, I could get in anywhere. My classmates would crowd me at lunch. I rejected young ladies every week.
I sit alone in an empty classroom. My left pant leg is rolled over my knee and metal glints in the afternoon light. I flick it in an annoyed mantra, in time to the rhythmic ticking of the clock.
Brand doctors said I was lucky.
Click.
Lucky? They call this lucky?
Click.
I miss it.
Clang.
I yelp, and my metal leg vibrates where it's notched in my upper thigh, irritating the wound. The desk slips out from under me and I topple to the floor. The leg whacks against the floor with yet another loud clang. Something deep inside my knee clatters.
I push myself up and kneel on one knee, my left leg stretched out beside me. The plastic kneecap popped off and the metal bone hangs limply by one screw. Desperately, I slide my hands in a wide arc along the ground, searching for the missing screw in a haze of panic. I can't walk like this! I can't go out in public! I'm still trying to recover from the accident socially, people can't know I lost my leg too!
My fingers brush over it and I sigh. I grab it, align the plastic kneecap with the holes in the metal bone structure inside, and use my fingertip to screw it in until I can't turn it any more.
Slowly, I prop myself on the desk and stand with all my weight on my natural leg until I feel confident enough to test it. To my relief, it holds.
The bell rings for club period.
My steps even out the quicker I walk, so I pretty much jog from the emptied classroom.
Habit is a fickle beast. I find myself in the school's dance room on habit. Nevertheless, I drop my bag on the floor, drop my suit jacket, glasses, and tie on top, kick off my shoes and socks, and approach the opposite wall.
It's all mirrors. My eyes drift to the plastic and metal foot. My hands clench the smooth bar in front of me. My breath steams hot on the glass and fogs my features; my honey brown eyes and chocolate hair and softly curved features all become one big blur of color.
I back away, to the middle. The dance room is huge and cool, all ashen wood and smelling strongly of sweat and wood. I drag my bare foot across the panels, feeling the grains under it, and my hips and shoulders follow. My metal foot drops behind me, and I lean backwards.
The movements are slow, painstakingly slow, and I can pick them up. So I do. I glide and twirl and float, but somewhere under it all, I know I'm limping because I know my leg hurts so badly. The screw is too tight and my muscles have not moved like this since the accident. It hurts.
I fall on my shoulder with a clatter of my metal leg.
"Are you okay?"
"Hm?" My head shoots up and I flick my gaze around desperately. Someone is standing there, leaning against the doorway. I scramble to my knee, and my fake one pops out again. Something clinks against the floor and rolls away. I tuck my pant leg over my foot.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Who are you?"
"You're lying," he says. I blink, surprised, and he strides forward, past me, and taps me on the shoulder from behind. "You dropped this."
I hold out my hand hesitantly and he drops the screw in my palm. I blanch.
"Th- anks," I finally manage. He doesn't move.
"Do you need some help?"
"I'm fine," I cough awkwardly, the tiny screw still cupped in my palm. He still doesn't move. Shakily, I sit back on my right leg and swing my fake one in front of me. I push up my slacks and realign the pieces for the second time that day. The second screw goes in tighter than the first.
When I'm done, I hesitantly turn my gaze upwards to meet his eyes. Without my glasses on, he's just a tall cyan and black blur. He offers me a hand and I take it. He pulls me up with little effort.
"What's your name?" I ask again, limping off to gather my things. I slide my glasses on my nose and look at him clearly for the first time.
He's tall and menacing, with sharply pointed features and dark, dark hair. His eyes are so dark they almost match his hair; they're hooded and piercing and I could swear he's looking right through me. Despite everything about him, something is just… gentle.
"You can call me Mori," he offers in his voice that somehow reminds me of dark chocolate. I return to gathering my things.
"Well, Mori." I chew my tongue for a moment, feeling awkward. "I'm Naoki Shun Mai." I swing my bag over my shoulder and slide my feet into my shoes. "You won't, um, tell anyone about my-" I gulp, bite my tongue, and gesture down my left side. He shakes his head.
"Where are you going?" He asks.
"Well, I used to be in dance club but- I'm not in a club. You?"
He gazes at me, intensely but softly, and I'm suddenly self conscious, like the very sun is looking to my soul. Finally, he blinks, I relax, and Mori offers, "Come with me."
"I- uh," I try to deny him, but he's already in the hall and watching me expectantly, and I am trapped. So I close the door to the second dance room behind me and follow Mori down the hall.