The wind blew furiously over her face as she walked. Her shoulders raised up as she shivered from the icy conditions. Still, she didn't mind the cold, and her snack cravings prompted more than enough motivation to endure it. Only minutes later, she walked through the automatic doors to the brightly lit convenience store and stepped into a blanket of warm air.
There was one worker working at the front of the room, and he gave her an acknowledging glance. For a second, his gleaming blonde hair reeled in her attention, but she kept her head from turning towards him. She walked down the middle aisle without hesitation, focused on obtaining her targeted snack. After grabbing two bars of chocolate, about to grab two more of a different flavor, a darkness fell over her eyes, and it took her moment to realize the lights had shut off.
"Don't worry, it's just the lights!" she heard the cashier yell towards her, and hearing a shuffling of boxes, he yelled out again, "Stay where you are, I'll take care of it!"
Holding the chocolate bars to her chest, she stood frozen against the shelf. An attempt to look around only reminded her how little she could pick up with her eyes, and the black surrounding her began to make her feel anxious. She lowered herself down to the floor to hug her knees as she leaned against the shelf.
"Hello?" she heard his voice again from the end of the aisle to her right. A circle of light appeared on the floor, and it jumped to her face, causing her to jolt up and look up with squinted eyes. "Sorry, that's bright, isn't it? Are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah, um, yes, I'm all right," when he extended his hand to help her up, she hesitated, and he took that as a sign of fear. He pointed the flashlight on his face, revealing a sympathetic look.
"I won't hurt you, I promise," he offered his hand again with reassuring words, "If you'll come with me, there's a place in the back you can sit for the time being."
She could not help but blame her lack of self control towards late night snacking for placing her into this situation. She sighed, and pushed herself up on one hand, while taking his with the other. She placed the chocolate bars back on the shelf, and asked, "What happened to the lights?"
"Not sure, but I can't get to the storage room. Don't have the keys," he mimicked her sigh, and then to her surprise, picked up the chocolate she had put down, grazing her hands softly as he did so. He shined the flashlight on the treat. "Let's take this with us. My treat."
He used his free hand to place the chocolate in his back pocket, and then, gently pulled her by the arm, leading her towards the back corner of the store. She retracted her arm, but tried to be polite, "Um, thank you, but I think I can follow the light."
"Sorry," he seemed unaware of her discomfort until she spoke up, and nodded as he continued to walk forward. Once they reached the back, he softly swung the door open, aiming the light at the room to allow her to follow it inside. When they were inside the room, he stood the flashlight on a nearby table, and said, "The light doesn't work in here either. I'm gonna light a few candles."
"Okay," she could not help but feel uneasy, wrapped around a literal and figurative darkness, being in the presence of a stranger in an enclosed space, and a handsome one, she couldn't help notice. She realized for a moment following him into the room could lead to deadly consequences. She remained close to the open door.
"What's your name?" he asked, and she could the click of his lighter as he lit candles on the table. When he heard no reply, he said, "I'm Syo, by the way. Just thought we might as well talk to each other, since we're the only ones here."
"Mara," she blurted, still unsure why she continued placing her trust in this strange. In a clearer voice, attempting to appear calm, she repeated, "My name is Mara."
"Nice to meet you, Mara," he slid the lighter to the back of the table and she noticed he had lit almost a dozen candles. He was placing them on surfaces throughout the room to add some light. While he did so, he spoke again, "I'm sorry, you must be scared right now, but the truth is, something must have gone wrong with the wiring in the back, and I hear they've been meaning to fix it, but I can't get to anything that might help because that room is locked and I don't have the key."
"So … what are we supposed to do?" she asked, while thinking of possible escape plans. She heard him shuffle through a box underneath the table and when he turned around, he held out a bottled tea.
"Here," he offered, and she took the bottle. He then pulled a cell phone out of his back pocket, "I'm going to call a few people."
Seeing nothing else to occupy her with, she opened the bottled tea and gulped down the slightly bitter drink. The room temperature liquid did nothing to comfort her, and she sighed as she twisted the cap back on. She leaned against the wall beside the open door, and watched him pace the room, one hand combing his hair, the other holding the phone to his ear. From the little she could discern of the look on his face, and the speed of his pacing, he seemed just as stressed as she was feeling herself.
"Hello?" he spoke up. She turned away, trying to avoid eavesdropping on his conversation. From the formal language she did pick up, she could tell he was speaking to his manager. She indulged herself in her bottled tea again, and in a few minutes, she heard him end the call.
"I have some bad news," he sighed, and she quickly closed the bottle up. "My manager says the only way to really get out is to call the fire department and have them knock down the door."
"Oh, so … is that what we …?" she was unsure how to react, but felt she had no choice but to follow along.
"Well, if they do that, it's gonna cost them money to replace the door, and repair any other damage," he was quiet for a moment and combed through his hair again, as if hesitant to continue the explanation, but he sighed loudly and revealed, "Basically, my manager implied it would come out of my paycheck."
"That doesn't sound fair," she admitted. She heard another sigh from him, so she waited for him to speak again.
"Actually, they had left a note for the overnight workers to pick up an extra key before their shift," he looked guilty as he spoke now, "and guess who forgot to pick one up?"
"I'm confused here," she said, "Why do you sound like you're apologizing to me?"
"I'm trying to ask for a favor," he let out a small chuckle, as if laughing at the situation he had pathetically lead himself into. "Sorry, I usually hate asking things of people."
"Sorry, I'm still confused," she saw him walk closer to her, and she took a step back. She could see his blue eyes, pleading for help, and she gulped quietly, trying to quiet the voice in her head telling her how attractive he looked.
"Would you be all right staying here a few hours? Until the next worker comes in?" he finally asked her.
"Um, what time would he be coming in?" she asked back. "Also, why couldn't I just walk out the front door?"
"The sliding door is electric, so since the power's out, it won't work. Don't have the key to the back door, either," he picked up his phone again to glance at the time, "It's a girl coming in actually, and she'd be coming in at 4. Since it's a little past midnight, you'd be in here with me for about three hours. If you're not okay with that, just let me know and I'll make the call."
"Wait, you just asked me to stay here with you so that you'd save your paycheck," she pointed out, and he stepped back, keeping his phone in his hand and visible to her.
"I'm sorry, to be honest, I do really need the money, but I wouldn't force you to stay here if you really felt uncomfortable, or if you have plans early in the morning, or whatever reason you'd have," he stared at her with somber eyes, phone held up near his head, "if you'd really rather not stay here, of course, I wouldn't make you stay."
She let herself get lost in his flickering blue eyes for a small moment, and then realized he had given her a tough decision. The conscious inside of her empathized with his situation, as she understood well the difficulty of earning enough money to live on your own, and it remembered nothing of importance she had the next day. That same part of her could not help but give in to her attraction, and stay to indulge herself in the presence of a handsome young man, who might not have spoken to her under usual circumstances.
"I'll stay," she blurted out, and his body sprang up in joy.
"Really? Are you sure?" he pressed her for confirmation, but already celebrating the situation.
"Yes, I'm sure, it's okay with me," she reassured him.
"That's awesome, thank you!" he slipped his phone back into his back pocket, and he took out the chocolate bars in his other pocket. He took her free hand, and placed the chocolate in her grip. "Seriously, thank you."
"Yeah, I don't mind," she shrugged, hoping her awkward demeanor would not come through, leaving the chocolate bar on the table. "Usually stay up late anyway."
"You're being nice," he smiled, and she couldn't help but swoon all over again. "Thanks."
"No, I, um, I really don't mind," she tried to be convincingly genuine about her reaction, "I'm not really one to get too riled up in situations like this, like when life just happens. Or at least, I'd like to think I'm not."
"I believe you," he nodded, scanning her from head to toe, watching her body language, "You seem pretty calm, and I mean, you haven't yelled at me for being an idiot."
"Hey, everyone makes mistakes," she gave him an empathizing smile.
"Again, you're being nice, thanks," he pulled out two chairs from the table against the back wall. He took a seat in one and turned it to gesture her to take a seat in the other. "Since we're gonna spend a few hours here, might as well be comfortable."
They shared an awkward stare for a moment, and before he figured out there were inappropriate thoughts rushing through her mind, she stepped forward. After taking a seat and placing the chocolate bar on the table, and then noticing a slightly confused look on his face, she said, "Thank you."
"You must be really scared of me," he decided to speak up.
"What makes you say that?" she played with the cap of her tea bottle. Then, she looked up as she heard his chair screech forward slightly. He was leaning his elbows on his knees and looking up at her closely.
"Every time I even talk to you, you freeze up," he tilted his head in contemplation. "Also, you keep looking at me like I'm going to murder you. Maybe that's just me."
"Are you going to murder me?" she asked, and he dramatically raised his eyebrows in shock.
"Are you asking me seriously?" he sat back, as if enjoying the conversation.
"What if I am?" she persisted.
"Then, I would tell you," he started his answer, and smirked, taking a pause to think about how to prolong the amusement. He decided to do so by saying, "a murderer would probably lie about being a murderer."
"You're right," she appreciated the thought he put into the conversation, and noticed he seemed content with amusing himself by indulging a stranger in nonsensical conversation. She tightened her grip on her tea, denying the fluttering in her stomach. "But if I ask, there might be something to notice in your body language. Plus, every decision you make afterward would have to convince me you weren't a murderer. If you were one, that is."
"I must be doing a good job at convincing you," his smirked widened to a full grin, "managed to get you into this room, drink the tea I offered, and sit down next to me. Who knows, maybe you really could have walked out the door, and I was just bluffing."
"Yeah, I guess when you're that charming, you could be a murderer without even trying," she let him have his victory in this game. She couldn't help but smile without a care.
"You think I'm charming?" he reciprocated with a smile of his own.
"There's no way you don't realize yourself how attractive you are," she scoffed, but she felt the embarrassment crawl through her cheeks in a pink blush.
"You think I'm attractive," he chuckled, and turned away, as if also hiding a change in color in his face. They were quiet again for a moment, until he said, "You're not bad yourself."
"Now you're the one being nice," she took a sip of her tea, hoping the heat in her face would cool down. She heard him chuckle again.
"Girls are so hard to compliment," he laughed a bit, and then seemed embarrassed, but he decided to stick to his statement. "You're pretty attractive, too. Just take the compliment."
"Too? So you do think you're attractive," she smiled and looked at him, both catching eye contact, and retaining it to avoid another awkward silence, but suddenly realizing the tension between them. A strange tension neither seemed to dislike.
"I'll admit I think I'm attractive if you do," he broke the eye contact, combing through his hair again as he looked towards the table. He picked up his bottle of tea, and held it in his hands.
"Really?" she was taken back by his statement, but continued the flirtatious game. "I think I'd rather go back to debating whether or not you're a murderer."
"Would you rather find out you're hanging out with a murderer than say you're pretty?" he responded with surprise towards her reluctance, grinning in amusement. "So, you'd rather die than have some confidence in yourself?"
"Are you saying you're a murderer?" she tried to deflect the question once again with her own question. He shook his head, keeping the train of thought focused on his question.
"I'm not a murderer," he said, ending the conversational foreplay, and moving into more serious content. "What makes you think you're unattractive? Can't be the way you look, must be something you've done, so … maybe you're the murderer here?"
"Busted," she sighed, "Yes, I usually drop by convenience stores this late at night to murder innocent cashier boys."
"No, seriously, though," he chuckled a little, but persisted in his curious question. "Indulge me. It's not like we'd meet again, and I won't tell anyone."
"It's personal," she spoke in a more serious tone. She surprised herself at how reluctant she felt towards the conversation topic. Even she was uncertain why the topic repulsed her at the moment. Then she noticed his face revealed an inflection of guilt, so she said, "Sorry. I guess I do have issues with my self-esteem, but maybe we can talk about something else?"
"I'm sorry if I hit a sore spot, I thought we were just having a fun conversation. I'm the one who should apologize. Sorry," he raised his arms in apologetic defeat. She drank from her tea bottle while he thought of another question. "Are you a student?"
"Yeah," she replied. The lack of content in her answer hinted she felt less inclined to have conversation, and his guilt grew.
"Hey, I'm sorry," he said to her, as sincerely as he could express. "I work in an industry where self-esteem is important. I'm always curious when someone puts himself or herself down, especially when I see the opposite of what they're telling me."
"Which industry is that?" she asked, and her attention seemed to come back into the conversation, much to his relief.
"I'm an actor," he replied, looking directly at her to watch her reaction. She raised her eyebrows in slight surprise, but said nothing. He grabbed his bottle of tea and took a long drink. In between gulps, he said, "Usually people have a reaction to that."
"What do you mean?" she waited for him to finish drinking his tea, curious about his response.
"Usually," he swallowed his last gulp and closed the top, "they either seem super enthusiastic about the idea of meeting a potential celebrity, or I get a lecture on how unlikely my chances are at being successful."
"I guess I can relate because I'm in a similar industry," she explained. "I'm hoping to become a composer someday, maybe put together soundtracks for movies or shows."
"Hey, that's cool. Wait, do you say similar because we're both in entertainment?" he tried to figure out the connection. "Your confidence and self-esteem don't seem to be important when writing music behind the scenes. Either way, I'm sure you're quite popular in your field."
"I'm not popular," was her response. They sat in silence again, and he sighed, drowning in a developing guilt inside of him, blaming himself for the direction of the conversation. Watching the expression change on his face, and the tossing of his hair in anxiety, she felt guilty as well. She could just answered the question.
"You were right. I have no complaints about my appearance. It's how I've been acting that makes me feel like I don't deserve compliments," she admitted, and continued her explanation, compelled to make up for the discomfort she was sure to have caused him. "I've been going through a tough time recently, and I haven't been … coping very well."
"I'm sorry, you don't have to explain," he waved his hands in front of him, signaling the conversation did not have to continue. "We can talk about something else. Um, where do you go to school?"
"Saotome Academy?" she replied in a question, wondering if he would know.
"Wow, small world," his eyes lit up again, and the smile that riled butterflies in her chest returned. "I graduated from there about a year ago. Guess we're not complete strangers."
"I guess not," she said, then a thought occurred to her. "Why are you working part-time at a convenience store? I heard offers usually come flooding in for actors who graduate from Saotome. Your looks can't be the problem."
"You're pretty observant," he sounded impressed. "I've been going through a tough time myself recently."
"Indulge me. It's not like we'd meet again, and I won't tell anyone," she repeated his lines back to him, and he laughed.
"Didn't even have to practice that. Do you happen to have an interest in become an actress?" he resumed the flirting, and she giggled, but still waited for his answer. He tousled his hair again, and looked at her, "Seriously, you want to hear about stuff like this?"
"No. Sorry," she sighed, recognizing her own hypocritical behavior. "We just met and my problems are already interfering with our conversation. I'm a bit of a mess."
"I think you're being hard on yourself," he told her, offering a kind smile.
"I think I need to be hard on myself considering," she spoke to him, but it seemed as if she was speaking to herself.
"Considering what?" he asked, and when she didn't respond again, he assumed that was a signal to once again steer the conversation in a different direction. "Never mind. So, what brings you here so late at night anyway?"
"Oh, thanks for reminding me," her expression changed to a more positive one, and her eyes darted to the chocolate bar on the table. "I have been craving chocolate all night."
"You're a midnight snacker, huh?" he commented, and she shrugged, picking up the chocolate bar she had left on the table. She held it out towards him, "Is it really okay for me to eat this?"
"Don't worry, I owe you one. Consider it covered," he said casually, and when she reluctantly looked at him, he added, "I haven't poisoned it, I promise."
"That's not it," she smiled, relieved the humor had not left their interaction, "I was just thinking it would be selfish of me."
"How about we share it, then?" he held out his right hand and she handed him the bar. He carefully pulled the outer sleeve from the side, and reached his hand out to the small trash bin next to the table to toss it out. He slipped his nails into a corner of the silver paper to minimize the rip to open the bar.
"Do they train cashiers to open chocolate bars this meticulously?" she teased.
"Oh, you don't even know how intense the training is," he played along. He took both sides of the bar in his hands and pulled down to snap it in the middle. He gave the half in his right hand to her, and she gratefully accepted.
"Thanks," she held the bar with one hand, and used her other hand to reach into her pocket for money. She placed one bill on the table. "I can at least pay for half."
"I said don't worry about it!" he slid the money towards her. "It would make me feel a little better about keeping you here."
"It's not your fault," she told him, leaving the money on the table, and munching happily on the chocolate piece.
"It kinda is, considering I didn't follow the instructions properly," he let out an exasperated sigh, "No, actually, it's more that I didn't listen to the instructions properly."
"You missed a memo," she pointed out, "anyone could have made that mistake."
"I missed the memo, but also missed the meeting where they talked about that memo," he revealed, and he stopped himself from saying more. He let out a breath of frustration, and she recognized the strained look on his face. It was the same one she saw in the mirror.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, concerned. She imagined if she had somehow revealed to someone, even unintentionally, her weak demeanor, she would want them to ask.
"Talk about what?" he avoided facing her as he spoke, staring down at the chocolate in his hands, taking another piece.
"I don't know, but you seem sad," she risked hitting a sensitive place, but figured being honest was the better option, as long as she was operating on good intentions.
"Not the first time I've been told this week," he chuckled as he broke off a piece of chocolate and placed it in his mouth. They both enjoyed the chocolate melting in their mouths, and she finished her chocolate quickly before finally speaking up as he consumed another piece. "I thought we weren't going to talk about anything serious?"
"Fine, fuck it," she let herself speak comfortably, "two strangers who both happen to be going through a tough time, maybe it's the world trying to tell us we need to talk about it, confront our demons or something. You're an actor, I'm sure you've encountered this plot a million times."
"Maybe you're right," he agreed, laughing at her reference to many movie plots, "I haven't really spoken to anyone recently, and it's not like people get stuck together in back rooms every night. Could be a reason behind it."
"Yeah, there could be a reason for us being here," she nodded. Then, she returned to ask about his previous statement. "What is it you haven't spoken about recently?"
He placed the rest of the chunk of chocolate in his mouth, and chewed quickly, prolonging his answer. He picked up his tea to take a few gulps, and she waited patiently. He took a deep breath, but seemed convinced a conversation could actually help. "I'm still in love with my ex-girlfriend. I think it's tearing me apart inside."
"That sucks," she empathized, and then, uncertain how to continue the now serious conversation, she countered with, "I am, too, actually."
"In love with your ex-girlfriend?" he smirked, unable to resist the temptation of a joke.
"I thought we were trying to be serious here?" she said, crossing her arms playfully, and he nodded apologetically, but acknowledging the light humor.
"Did he leave you?" he asked straightforwardly, and she thought to herself before answering.
"He broke up with me, yeah," she said, then asked, "Why do you immediately think he left me?"
"Oh, no, don't take it the wrong way, not trying to say there's something wrong with you or anything," he quickly defended himself, "You were denying your own attraction earlier, and I was thinking, maybe your lack of self-esteem comes from not feeling good enough. If he left you, that would make sense."
"Wow, detective, you've solved the case," her voice had a bitter and strained tone.
"He couldn't have left you because you weren't attractive," he said, "Was he that shallow?"
"No, you're right about what you said earlier. It wasn't because I wasn't good enough on the outside," she claimed, and her mouth widened to a grim smile, "much worse, I wasn't good enough on the inside."
"What makes you say that?" he pushed her for more answers. There was no turning back for either of them. Not even an hour had passed.
"I couldn't get myself together. Like I found myself struggling through clinical depression, but," she painfully revealed, so casually and quickly that he could not process it fully. She seemed to dismiss it so he did not speak up and continued listening, "Even when I was getting help, I couldn't get it together."
"I'm … sorry to hear that," he felt as if he was walking on thin ice with his words. He remained quiet as long as she was, letting her take the reigns over the conversation.
"Yeah, it doesn't really matter if you really empathize with me, or you pity me," the bitter tone was clear in her voice, and she avoided eye contact.
"I don't pity you," she heard him say quietly. "Hey, at least you got help. My friends have been telling me I should be speaking to someone, but I can't even … I've been trying to convince myself nothing's wrong."
"Yeah, no pity, no empathy, I get it. I don't deserve it," she spat out, and it sounded as if anger or frustration had entered her tone of voice, "I sought help, so I should have gotten better."
"That's not what I'm saying. You sure have a talent for twisting words," he muttered, but she heard him, and when he looked up at her, her blinking eyes had a glossy layer of tears over them.
"He used to say something similar to me," she bit her lip, and kept her gaze towards the ceiling, desperate to keep the tears from spilling over. He stood up suddenly, then moved into a squat, rummaging underneath the table and coming up with a roll of paper towels, which he presented to her. She didn't move, didn't even make an effort to look down.
"I'm sorry if I said something insensitive," he stood the roll of paper up on the table close to her reach, and sat back in his chair, looking away.
"No, no, I'm sorry," she sniffled this time, "ugh, I can't believe this. I can't believe it's still so hard to talk about this."
"How long has it been?" he asked, worried again he would worsen the situation, but worried silence would be just as bad.
"Almost a year," she replied. Again, she sniffled, and even though he wasn't looking, he thought he could hear the wiping of tears. The paper towels remained untouched.
"You must really love him," he stated, and realized he was projecting his own situation onto hers. "It's been about the same amount of time for me."
"Does it … still hurt … for you?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes, and he shook his head. She sighed, and breathed in again, closing her eyes at another attempt to hold back tears.
"I can tell you things change, because your life changes, or you make changes, and your body is forced to adjust," he risked being wrong to attempt to connect with her situation, at the small chance it might be similar to his, "but if you're as much in love with your ex as I am, then that pain you feel inside probably won't go away for a long time."
Her face fell into her hands, and he heard her begin to sob. He could tell she was trying to minimize the noise, but he placed a hand on her shoulder as both a comforting gesture and an indication of safe space. He could not find any words to say this time, and waited until she spoke up again.
"Why … did you and her separate?" she was wiping her tears with her sleeves, and he picked up the roll of paper towels, tore off a sheet, and placed it on her lap.
"Same as you. Couldn't get it together, so she told me it wasn't working out," he responded. "Except I was much less noble than you. I thought I deserved better. Haha, couldn't get over myself."
"I'm … not really following," she bowed in appreciation and picked up the sheet of paper, folding it in half before dabbing it on her cheeks.
"Being an actor means meeting a lot of people. A lot of those people are famous directors, successful actors, rich affiliates, the list goes on. Some part of me was proud of myself for making these connections, working hard at my auditions, but I think that same part of me seemed to think I deserved more than what I was getting out of my relationship," he took several pauses between his sentences to phrase his explanation carefully. She appreciated his habit of thinking through his actions and his thoughts.
"Maybe that relationship wasn't enough for you," she suggested.
"Maybe," he considered it, but he shook his head, unconvinced, "or maybe I was selfish. I took what I had for granted because I let my arrogance get to me. I complained a lot about her, but when it ended, I realized how much I missed her."
"If you had reasons to complain, maybe she wasn't treating you the way you should have been treated?" she threw him an optimistic perspective of the situation, and he seemed to smile gratefully at her.
"I guess there were a lot of things both of us didn't do well in that relationship," he sighed, thinking back on past occurrences, "but I think she really did love and care for me, in her own way. I just focused too much on my own expectations, and that lost me my best friend."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he just shrugged in response. She then cleared her voice, and made sure to express herself as clearly as he made the effort to, "That's empathy. I'm saying I'm sorry things didn't work out, because even though I can't know what you're feeling, I can imagine it must be rough."
"Thanks," he sighed again, but seemed to appreciate her thoughtful response.
"You know the reason I was being weird when you first spoke to me," she explained, and decided to take a leap at a joke, "wasn't because I thought you were a murderer."
It seemed to work, and she saw a slight smile on his face. She took deep breath and dabbed the tears in her eyes one more time.
"It's because I was … am … attracted to you," she noticed his smile grow wider.
"I know. You already made that obvious earlier," he laughed a little, "Thanks for trying to make me feel better by boosting my self-esteem, but an ego boost is the last thing I need."
"No, that's not the whole story," she said with a clearer voice, "I couldn't help but think about … inappropriate scenarios … and how to maybe convince you to … "
"All right, you're scaring me now, if that's not a confession to being a murderer, I don't know what is," he pushed himself back on his chair with slightly raised arms, confused by her words.
"Some people deal with their problems by drinking, or smoking, or gambling," she pushed the flyaway hairs back and attempted to smooth them back with her fingers, "but I escaped my problems by falling into the arms of whatever guy was willing to have me."
"Hey, I'm not that easy, just so you know," he threw back a joke, hoping she would know he didn't judge her coping mechanism the way she might have expected. She smiled and appreciated the playful response.
"You don't have to be nice. I know it's disgusting," the bitterness returned in her voice. "Sure, there are people out there who think less of me, but the people in my life who are important don't judge me based on my weakness. It doesn't matter, though, because I'm the one who can't help but think less of myself. There's a guilt drilling through my insides, and I can't help but hate myself for what I did."
"Would you mind if I asked an invasive question?" her face seemed to give approval, so he asked, "Did you ... cheat on him?"
"No, but … I might as well have," she responded dejectedly. "Even though it was after we broke up, I started sleeping around so soon after it ended that it might as well be called cheating."
"Why do you think so?" he asked.
"It must have hurt to know that someone you love," she grabbed the roll herself this time, feeling tears collect in her eyes, "whether officially in a relationship or not, it must have hurt him to know someone he cared about was being intimate with someone else."
She started crying again, and he could not risk saying something insensitive, so he continued playing his role as listener while she explained the rest of her side of the story. When she could control her sobs, she continued.
"I know my friends tell me it's okay, because we had broken up, and I know a part of me tries to justify it as a coping mechanism," she seemed to be rambling a bit, but he tried to listen carefully, "but I feel terrible and disgusting, and for months, if there was a guy who seemed interested, I took the opportunity to make myself feel better, and I hate myself for it … and it might as well have been cheating because the entire time, no matter where my body was, my heart was still in love with him."
"Hey, you're being hard on yourself again," he ripped another sheet of paper towel for her, and she took it, placing the ones she had used on the table.
"I ruined everything we had," she sobbed, "and when it was over, if there was any chance of saving the relationship, I ruined that, too."
"Hey, listen," he pulled his chair up closer towards her, "I don't have a say to whether what you did was right or wrong, but I know relationships take effort from both sides to work. The blame doesn't fall completely on one person."
"Well, then, most of it was on me," she insisted, and he was stumped, but attempted to offer comfort anyway.
"Fine, if you insist you somehow are responsible, I don't think there's anything I could do about that," he told her, but then calmly expressed, "but you know what I've realized? You can't change the past. You can't change your situation, or the people in your life, or even how you feel."
"So, what? I should just suffer in my pain? I deserve it, right?" her tears fell freely from her face, and she did not bother to hide or wipe them away.
"No, stop playing this victim," he sighed, feeling frustratingly inadequate to carry this conversation with her. "The pain you feel, the pain I feel, I don't think anyone really deserves stuff like that, but we do go through it. We keep living our lives, and hope for the best. Eventually, our bodies will adjust."
"Is that what you've been doing?" she asked, comforted by his words.
"Yeah, pretty much," he nodded. She seemed to slowly calm down, and in wiping her tears, be lost in her own thoughts for a moment.
"You know … you don't have to do that alone," she told him. He was surprised the advice was coming from her this time. "I think you should talk to someone."
"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" he ran his fingers through his hair and leaned his head on his palm, resting his elbow on the table. "I actually haven't told anyone else about this."
"Thank you for sharing that with me. I'm sorry I kinda forced us to have this conversation," she apologized, but was relieved that he had listened so attentively and offered such kind advice.
"No, you didn't force me to do anything. I willingly shared that information with you," he corrected her, glad to have gotten a burden off his chest. He scanned her face quickly to check her condition and offered the paper towels, "I do feel like my shoulders a little lighter. Besides, it seems you're the one who shared more with me. I'm sorry I made you cry."
She laughed, and he was relieved to see her smiling again. "You didn't make me cry. I cry very easily. Very, very easily."
"Are you okay, though?" he asked, offering the roll of paper towels again.
"Yeah," she replied, waving her hand to politely decline the paper towels. "Thanks for asking. Are you okay?"
"I'm all right, thanks. We still have," he looked at his watch and said, "about two more hours until the next worker comes in. You can still talk about it some more, if you need to. Or you can ask me whatever you want. Seems you're pretty good at getting me to open up. Ever consider a career in therapy?"
"You're funny. I appreciate that," she giggled, complimenting him.
"You'll take that back once I say something insensitive and make you cry again," he tried to point out, keeping the light-hearted atmosphere to prevent another flow of tears.
"I can tell you're at least being careful with your words," she smiled. "Thanks for caring."
"It's the least I can do after trapping you in this dark hole," he smiled back, looking around, he checked quickly to see that the candles would still last the next few hours. She tried to think of a way to bring the conversation away from herself and back to him.
"Do you miss her?" she asked, and immediately was hit with regret, considering the hurt such a question could trigger. She considered taking back her question and apologizing.
"Every day," he interrupted her thoughts with his answer. "I still dream about her, wake up thinking about her, daydream about her. Haven't figured out a way to turn it off yet."
She could only stare while he spoke, and he noticed. "I know it sounds pathetic, and probably not as bad as your situation, but …"
"You don't have to compare our situation," she stated gently, and in a softer voice said, "I have my pain, and you have yours. It's not pathetic at all."
"I can't help but remember every happy memory, and miss her even more," he seemed to be laughing at himself. "I feel almost as if every happy memory I remember covers up all of the bad ones, and I forget what was even wrong with the relationship, until I really think about it and remember. Maybe the reason I can't get over her is because I'm not letting myself. I just indulge myself in these thoughts."
"Why don't you tell her you still love her?" she brought up. He sat up and moved to a more comfortable position, sitting back with his arms crossed, putting considerable thought into his answer.
"How about you? Why don't you just talk to your ex?" he decided to counter with his own question, allowing himself more time to think.
"I have. But he's already seeing someone else," she said quietly, and his body sat up in surprise and confusion. Before he spoke up, she said, "He deserves to be happy. If he found that in someone else, it doesn't matter how I feel anyway. I'm not in his life anymore."
"Then, you basically just answered your question to me," he said. "Mine is also seeing someone else. Get this, she works here, too. Both of them do, actually, haha."
"I can't even imagine how tough it must be," she said. "I'm so sorry. Is that why you haven't told anyone about this?"
"Yeah, it's tough to see them around, but that's pretty much why I took up overnight shifts. Don't have to see much of anyone. And I agree with you completely, actually," he said. "She deserves to be happy. If there's a chance she found that with someone else, I don't want to ruin that for her either."
"I guess it's like you said," she reminded him, "there's nothing we can really do to change how we feel."
"Yeah," he agreed. "Love kinda sucks, doesn't it? I thought movies were being dramatic about heartbreak being painful, but now I don't think they even emphasize it enough."
"True, but it was nice when it was reciprocated," she tried to defend, "it can be … wonderful and … amazing … and comfortable and warm … but when it goes away, I guess it leaves a void as big as it filled. The people they're with must have it nice."
"You have a pretty positive way of thinking," he told her, "No wonder you're in so much pain."
"What?" she wasn't sure if he was complimenting her or insulting her.
"You're trying to take the high road, be the better person, sure, I applaud you, but," he thought of a way to phrase his words tactfully, "it's okay to be angry, you know? Or jealous or something."
"Are you angry? And jealous?" she asked, and he knew she would throw the question at him.
"Sure, there's a part of me who's jealous that he gets to see her be happy, and be intimate with her, and talk to her about her day," he admitted, "don't tell me you don't feel that way."
"I do," she said. "It does hurt that she gets to be a part of his life, while I'm left to watch from the outside. But I don't want to let jealousy get to me, and I don't want resentment to grow towards him, and definitely not towards someone I don't even know."
"You're a much stronger person than I am. Maybe I'm the digusting one," his gaze seemed distant as he traveled deeper in his thoughts, "I sometimes imagine … that she developed feelings for him earlier than she admitted, and that what I thought was just friendly conversation at the time was his way of flirting with her. Then it would give me reason to be angry at them."
"I hope that's not what happened," she tried to comfort him.
"I wouldn't even blame them if that happened, though," he said. "I didn't treat her the way she deserved to be treated. I didn't give her everything I could. I kept thinking about myself, placing expectations on her and on the relationship."
"I wonder if this is how you felt when I was being hard on myself earlier," she mumbled, and realized the helpless feeling that induced eventual frustration inside of her. "Sorry. You shouldn't be too hard on yourself, because at least you were aware of how you acted."
"I guess it helps when you hear someone else say it," he waved his hand at her, indicating her apology wasn't necessary.
"Okay. You're right. You've been right. We both made mistakes. We both fucked up," she said bluntly, expressing her honest feelings about herself, and then attempted to harness the positive outlook he seemed to find in her, "but I think admitting that and acknowledging our faults is progress, right?"
"Again, I think I'm glad you have such a positive outlook. And I'm glad you're not being self-deprecating anymore, it's gotten so exhausting," he grinned playfully and she recognized he was teasing her.
"I'm sorry if I'm a difficult person to talk to," she huffed, taking the role of the victim.
"You're not. You're nice to talk to," he took back his tease, and as she hid her blush by pretending to wipe the remaining tears from her eyes.
"You're the one who's been so patient, especially with me bawling my eyes out," she blushed out of embarrassment, remembering her own breakdown only moments ago.
"I can't help you with your pain, but least I could do was listen," he gave her that charming smile she could not look away from. Her inappropriate thoughts we coming back.
"Thank you," she said softly. "I guess talking about this with a complete stranger with no biases or expectations helped.
"Yeah, I agree. Thanks for having this conversation with me," he leaned back in his chair, taking a long gulp from his tea bottle. To her surprise, he leaned in close to her face and then asked, "so, would you really want to … do something inappropriate with me?"
She was shocked by his question, and by the forward nature with which he asked her. She was tempted by her own thoughts, and by the natural attraction she felt in her body. He waited for her answer, scanning her body language, and smirking as he watched her freeze up, guessing her mind was where it was when they first met.
"I think," she spoke slowly, and he held in his laughter, watching her struggle with her her decision, "I have to decline your offer."
"I'm not asking what you have to do, or what you should do," he pulled up even closer to her, his face close enough to hear her breath, "I'm asking you what you want to do."
Suddenly, she jerked out of her seat and practically flung herself at the wall, facing her body away from him. He stumbled back into his chair, attempting to regain his calm composure, but giving in to laughter seconds later. She turned to look at him when she heard his laugh.
"Why is this funny to you?" she whined.
"I'm kidding! I know I can be a selfish jerk, but I'm not the kind of guy who would take advantage of a girl," he laughed, thoroughly enjoying his little prank. "I would probably murder someone before I did that."
"Sure, that makes total sense," she countered sarcastically, embarrassed by her own reaction, and failure to detect his playful intentions.
"But I'm a good actor, right?" he laughed more, but stopped himself before going too far, "I'm sorry. You were giving me that look again, so I couldn't resist."
"You were right about the arrogance," she pouted, taking back her seat, placing her chair farther away from him.
"Haha, I'm well aware of my faults," he took her insult as the tease she meant it to be. Then, he had a curious thought. "You refused, though. Why? Like, not even as a joke, you wouldn't?"
"I … " she herself could not find the answer. "I guess I stopped wanting to do that awhile ago."
"Why's that?" he asked, genuinely curious to the prompt behind her change.
"After getting help, I guess I didn't need to rely on harmful coping mechanisms anymore," she sighed, "and then I realized it just made me miss him more. I didn't … want anyone to hold me but him."
"Don't mean to bring back the arrogance, but guess I was right about you liking to take the high road," he said, nodding to himself, proud of his correct analysis.
"It just means I'm a good person," she threw out casually, almost mocking him, and he chuckled.
"Who's the arrogant one, now?" he took the phone out of his pocket, and asked, "If you're convinced I'm not a murderer, we should hang out sometime. Maybe on campus, even, since I work at the dining hall there."
"You work two jobs?" she was impressed. She reached into her jacket to take out her phone as well. When he reached out his hand, she unlocked her phone and handed it over.
"Yeah, my last year didn't go the way I planned. Besides, I'm an aspiring actor, what do you expect?" they both laughed, and he began tapping on both screens, inputting the necessary information. When he was done, he held the phone out to her.
"If you're free this weekend," she grabbed the phone, reading 'Syo Kurusu' at the top of the screen in her contacts list, and decided at this point it wouldn't hurt to be forward, "I can make some time."
"Yeah? Sure, I think I was going to visit campus this weekend anyway, pick up some stuff," he said, and she couldn't tell if he was agreeing out of convenience or if he was enthusiastic about meeting. She realized she didn't care.
"All right, so it's a date," she tried to seem indifferent and suppress her smile, despite feeling an emotion inside she had not experienced in a long time, and fortunately, he interpreted it as the same playful flirting they had been doing the whole night.
"I'm telling you," he returned the supposed joke, "I'm not that easy to win."
As she was about to make her own retort, a cute jingle loudly interrupted, and he immediately reached for his pocket, realizing his phone was ringing. He stood up and walked to the corner of the room, picking up the call. She turned away, once again avoiding the temptation to eavesdrop. When he was done, he seemed to have good news.
"Hey, one of the managers is actually coming by to drop off her keys," he seemed relieved, "She should be opening the back door about now."
They both turned to the other side of the room, attracted by the sound of a moving doorknob, and a short girl with short brown hair, and her golden eyes locked with his blue ones. Mara watched his expression become slightly stiff.
"Haruka," the way he said her name seemed strange, but she remained quiet.
"Syo-kun, are you all right?" the girl seemed concerned about the both of them, and the two nodded. Surprisingly, Syo kept silent for a moment, perhaps lost in a train of thought, and the girl simply held up a chain, dangling the hanging keys to get his attention. Syo snapped back into focus and placed his hand underneath and she dropped them into his palm. "I'm sorry I can't stay. I have to get back to campus."
"No, that's totally fine," his apologetic tone was back, "Thanks for coming all the way here."
She smiled at him and then quickly slipped back out the door. He followed her into the room and Mara could only wait as he worked his way through the panels to switch the power back on. When the lights filled the room again, she squinted her eyes to allow them to adjust. He ran back into the room to blow out the dozen candles that were still lit.
"Sorry you had to stay here so long," he apologized, "You should go home, get some sleep."
"Don't apologize," she said adamantly, "I came to indulge myself in a midnight snack and made a new friend. Thanks."
"Quick to make friends with potential celebrities. Smart," he joked, and the two shared another laugh. He led her out to the front of the store, where he made sure the doors would slide open. They both stepped outside, and for a few seconds, they said nothing.
"I meant it when I said I thought you were attractive," she blurted out, and when she noticed the blush forming on his cheeks, she took it as an opportunity to leave with an upper hand. "Good night, Syo."
He could only stare as she rushed off, pushing his hands through his hair again, embarrassed both by her comment, and by his lack of response. He pulled out his phone to send a text.