Chapter 2: Disquiet at the Home-Front
A/N: I don't own Oregairu and Watchmen. Thanks 'narutoDkurosaki' for bringing up this confusion. Allow me to clear everyone's confusion:
I saw some similarities:
For example: Rorschach won't compromise even in the face of Armageddon and 8man refuses to change from societal peer pressure. Both are loners and a bit of a weirdo. And most importantly, Rorschach writes in a journal and 8man makes great monologues in his mind.
And voila! We have what we have. I hope this chapter will clear somethings up.
8man's Journal October 11, 2035
Can't remember when I fell asleep.
Don't know what made me wake up.
Sleep is a comfort I am unable to afford at my present condition, but I accept whatever droppings of sand that fills my eyes. Nightmares are a short price to pay and I acknowledge them, for I have given up on dreams a long while ago.
Dead fish eyes unwrap into sharp slits and my body rises from my bed on its own volition.
I am going through mundane everyday actions.
No thinking involved.
My 'insect' roommate is accustomed to waking up early and for that I am eternally grateful.
If I had to wake up and witness him, with his face, greeting me every morning, I would have suffocated myself in a pillow and have ended my misery a long time ago.
First thing in the morning a man like me should be allowed to observe a moment of silence.
I struggled in returning to this living world of sane thoughts and logical reasoning. I need to say farewell to my paranoia and insanity. I would be meeting them again shortly when I walk out to perform my daily, dirty duties in the name of proper police work. They would follow me wherever I go and stand by me with whomever I meet. Witnesses, suspects, victims, near and dear ones of those butchered and killed, find themselves in a room, alone with me. But I am never alone. I have my eyes looking into lunacy and discord, imbedded deep within the minds of everyone and this eye of mine see everything distinguishably.
Blinking twice in result of an unwelcomed disturbance makes my ears adjust to my present wakeful state. My ears pick up multiple, loud banging noises on the door of this room I have been forced to share with an 'insect' who has somehow managed to grasp a position into my workplace after successfully infiltrating my place of residence.
But he is careful in his approach and shows proper respect to my superiority and he always stays in constant fear of the influence I have over his budding romantic life.
"Onii-chan! Wake up! You are keeping everybody waiting."
"I'm coming. Give me a sec."
Komachi. My little sister.
She is no longer little anymore and has grown up to become a beautiful woman, who continues to push her dear, delirious onii-chan closer and closer to the breaking point of his sanity, by dating someone unworthy like Taishi Kawasaki, who I had the pleasure of mentally calling by many a demeaning names like 'insect' and 'bug'.
But nowadays I can't call him by those names in this home I have been reluctantly made to share with others, who still feel like strangers before my presence.
My fault.
Not theirs.
I get up from my bed and stand-up to my full height.
Discarding my sleep-wear in favour of something suitable for workplace but acceptable enough to be seated in a table and be allowed to enjoy a breakfast with others in this household is a chore. But those made to live here have an unspoken rule:
"No Pajamas on Breakfast Table."
This edict has been passed unanimously in this domicile after many needless, awkward moments involved with the simple task of eating breakfast among five people, brought together under one roof because of some financial issues and strenuous circumstances which happened quite a few years ago.
My efforts at buttoning and zipping my garments, to appear presentable before people I know and colleagues I don't bother knowing, have once again been intruded by timid taps across wood.
"Onii-chan is everything alright? Do you need any help finding something?"
"None at all. And stop calling me onii-chan"
"Onii-sama then"
"Better. And remember at work you call me Sergeant. Understood?"
"Yeah"
Taishi Kawasaki. A bug.
A caterpillar, who escaped its cocoon and became a butterfly. But I have my doubts. He has more likeness to a moth waiting to be burned by my flames of protection with which I constantly guard Komachi.
By fates cruelty, he has become my roommate at home and my subordinate at work. He has a bit of untapped potential and the makings of a decent police officer. But he is devoid of disillusionment and is afraid to believe in the worse which humanity has to offer. He keeps his hope alive in my sister and wishes to shower her with affection but I have restricted him from pursuing any aggressive course of action by threatening him with many a plausible and realistic consequences.
My efforts help my little sister remain chaste in this corrupt world we have been forced to live in.
I have disguised my intentions and motives beneath a sooty black suit thrown over a dull grey shirt. A pair of charcoal black trousers was easy to find but I am unable to find a pair of clean socks.
My search came to a premature end by enthusiastic little knocks on timber.
"Good morning Haa-chan! I helped Ko-chan and Saa-chan make breakfast today. Everyone says it smells wonderful but I'm waiting to hear you opinion. Hurry! Hurry!"
And then, without waiting to hear me greeting her back, she breezed past down the hallway and I listened to her eager voice basking in compliments from others, already seated at their respective spots.
Keika Kawasaki.
She is the youngest inhabitant of this household and the only other person, besides Komachi, who I cherish, treasure and protect with utmost devotion and dedication, despite her not being related to me by blood. I am deeply honoured, to be trusted and tasked to carry out any 'onii-chan' duties for her and on her behalf.
Apart from Komachi, Keika is the only one who calls me by something closer to my given name. Every time I hear the words 'Haa-chan', my dead fish eyes tries to appear a fraction more living, less scaly and less fishy.
Fully dressed and prepared I appear to be ready.
But I am not. A few finishing touches are left.
My morning medication is taken at a smaller dosage than advised by my therapist. She says I need to take these thrice a day whenever I feel uneasy and experience anxiety. I never trusted her when I was in high school and I am sure not going to trust her now when I am an adult.
I take one.
Mostly before sitting down with people before whom I make an effort to look ordinary and happy, trying to make them believe there is nothing wrong in this city and if there is, everything will turn out alright at the end. I will make sure of it.
In other words, I feed them lies for breakfast.
Other than curry, this is one of my favourite contributions that I bring to the table.
After being medicated I reach below my bed and take out a small safe with a digital lock.
Before I could enter an eight digit code, I was interrupted momentarily by an ominously low voice. Her tone promised righteous violence and more than made up for her unwillingness to knock on this door separating me from everyone.
"Get off ya lazy butt and come out. You're making everyone late for work"
"S-s-orry"
"You better me."
Saki Kawasaki. She is the eldest surviving member of her family like I am to mine.
She keeps everyone fed and watered in this domestic environment and is the only person who can make me stutter and apologize without any apparent reason. We shared some unfortunate misfortunes during the course of our lives and both of us have continued to live and strive for our siblings.
She has proven to me she cares for Komachi and I have shown her that I will look after her remaining family members-even her 'bugging' little brother Taishi.
We all have our crosses to bear…
Remembering the exact date my mother committed suicide, I enter the numbers into the safe and take out my service issued firearm. I have been told having dates for passwords is a mistake but I keep changing them every other week.
People mostly use birthdays but I use dates of those personal events when I lost something to the tragedy that is my life.
Now I am equipped and armed but late.
Hastily I exit my room, fearful of a vicious judgment waiting for me, in the form of a mistaken delinquent who knows karate and is more than willing to break every single one of my bones, to teach me a valuable lesson, in learning to be punctual and arrive in a timely fashion to eat breakfast with others.
I shove a random blue tie down one of my suit pockets and leave to satisfy my hunger for homemade delicacies. I find no humour in walking around while wearing this fashion accessory which can be improvised into an impromptu hangman's noose but unfortunately this is a proper way for a member of a respectful police department to dress, during their hours of carrying out duties of serving and protecting those in need and harm.
What a likely excuse to show-off their wardrobe.
I don't bother nor care.
I would much appreciate wearing my pajamas to work.
At least they would make me comfortable.
/
Arrived at kitchen and sat myself down at this dining table meant for six but currently occupied with only five people. Everyone has been waiting for me quite patiently.
Felt important and guilty for my insensitivity. Tried looking apologetic but came off looking weird and pathetic.
Why do I try?
My plate is already full with rice and other nutritious supplements and I can see a bowl, brimming with miso-soup. I grab a pair of chopsticks and join others in chorus:
"Itadakimasu"
Gobbled food down my gullet and took in every taste, texture and spice. Each morsel I chew and swallow carries a unique characteristic which I have learned to identify and single out.
Kawasaki prepared rice and miso-soup, Komachi made tamagoyaki and Keika helped out a little with natto. As expected I made curry, at the ungodly hour of 3:07, in the morning after regaining conscience from a disturbing nightmare. My sister's boyfriend and Kawasaki's middle sibling, whose cooking skill is on par with Yuigahama bought takeout yesterday to make up for his failings, but I am not impressed.
He burns toast.
Who does that?
From what I can see from this table his contribution today ended up with him chopping up vegetables to make a decent looking salad. But he had to make my life miserable during the course of the most important meal of the day by adding tomatoes into the mix.
I hate tomatoes…
I hate any person who wishes to feed me tomatoes. Ergo:
"I hate Taishi Kawasaki"
/
"Did you say something onii-sama?"
Believe me when I say this, anger and hate can make any cunning man loose his cool and blurt out things that are better off left unsaid. I might have inaudible mumbled my thinly veiled hatred towards Taishi Kawasaki in the form of speech and regrettably this little bug has used his invisible antennas which I call 'dumb luck' to hear what I have said over the table.
"Nothing. Shut up and eat your food."
"Watch it Hikigaya! Don't talk to my brother like that"
"S-s-orry Kawasaki. It came out wrong. What I meant to say was he shouldn't talk while eating. He might choke on his food and die."
"Onii-chan! Don't say stuff like that about Taishi-kun when we are eating."
"Yeah Haa-chan. Taa-chan will be alright. But here have a glass of water, just in case."
"Thanks Keika-chan, Komachi, Nee-san."
He only needed to than Keika-chan for placing a glass within his reach, but he thanks everyone and subtly making me aware that he is grateful that the women of this household protect him from my evil clutches.
Once again this impudent bug has turned himself into a victim and me into a villain. He has perfected this art after practicing for many years and I reluctantly admit he has deeply impressed me by his guile and conceit.
His pretence is quite evident and he takes extra effort to make me aware of it.
He has learned.
/
Impressing me enough, to change my perception of him, in order for me to let him woo my sister is a common enough approach, which sounds needlessly complicated. Everyone does it. During his earlier trials, which happened roughly eight to ten years ago, he went about pretending to be extra pleasant and polite.
Told him to shove it.
Straight in his face.
Saw first glimpse of this bug trying to unwrap from its cocoon.
He has seen things, experienced pain and undergone suffering.
He is not in middle-school anymore, neither in high school nor college. He has grown up and keeping up with a façade of those bygone years is futile before someone like me. I had known him for a while and it makes me want to shoot myself to admit it but beside myself he is the only one Komachi has grown attached to. He shows genuine affection towards my sister and I have made it certain through thorough interrogations, involving him sweating bullets compared to me unloading bullets, in a wall inches away from his hideous face, at a police shooting range.
I would have never shot him.
Intentionally.
And he knew this and called my bluff.
Admitted he was afraid of me, but knew I won't be shedding his blood anytime soon, for if I did Komachi would never forgive me and that would truly lead me to take my own life.
He should have stopped their but he went on and on and whatever he said in that moment of truth holds ground even today. After he said his piece I did the one thing he never expected.
I smiled.
Gave him permission to call me 'onii-sama' and told him to be patient.
Told him I was in control and he was a puppet.
Told him, even though it's highly unlikely, but if someday out of stress, Komachi commits a crime and ends up killing someone, I would tamper with evidence and keep Komachi out of prison while turning him into the culprit.
My exact words were: "You will never be anything to her other than a sacrificial lamb"
His exact reply was: "So be it."
Taishi tried to help me but I was suspended for a week for charging a firearm, destroying police property and causing needless endangerment to a fellow police personnel.
I was not surprised. I went a bit far. But it was a small price.
I hate to admit it but Komachi and Taishi share several similarities like me and Kawasaki and one day, when both of them have healed from these numerous tragedies which have befallen us they might have a future together.
Knowing I had a firm hold on such a prominent character involved with Komachi made me relax my worries, back then. It also helped that Taishi kept his mouth shut and lied about the reason behind my suspension to both Komachi and Kawasaki.
This was his first lesson. But he needed to be made aware of a small distinction.
I encourage lying, omitting facts and saying half-truths only to keep our closed ones safe and establish a defence of plausible deniability in case we ever end up in prison and stand trial where our sisters could be implicated and be alleged of being our co-conspirators.
Highly unlikely but conceivable.
But under no circumstances will I tolerate him cheating on my sister and betraying his sisters feelings by coming up with clever excuses and playing dumb.
He got the message but I ended up choosing the wrong word and I hated myself. I ended up writing my own name in the list I have, of people I won't ever forgive.
Back then my name came up on this list 573 times.
After the mental interruption Taishi constantly subjected me with, his standing on this list surpassed mine and he began competing for the top ten spots.
I planned to murder him many times back then but for my mental tortures only I was to be blamed, for back then Komachi and Taishi had nothing but a friendly relationship.
They were close.
Anyone forced to live in the same house, to mourn and cry, about losing their parents to similar tragedies, at quick successions would seek a shoulder to cry on.
Not of an older brother.
Not of an older sister.
Definitely, not of a little sister.
But of a friend.
I never understood what was wrong about a little sister, crying on his older brother's shoulder, telling him to, to tell her that everything will be alright.
I was good at lying back then and I am better at lying now but unfortunately Komachi sought Taishi.
As a friend.
Nothing more.
Kawasaki faced the same reproach from her younger brother. Felt angry enough to hit him, for ignoring his own sister and seeking comfort in mine. I feared this bug was trying to steal nectar from a flower. But I was mistaken
Romance was killed in tragedy's play.
Eventually Kawasaki was saved by her little sister Keika.
She consoled her, wiped her tears, held her and looked after her like an older sister should. I saw them crying together many a time but I never intruded in their private moment.
Not my place.
Once I tried approaching Komachi, in a not so rather subtle fashion, to shed some light on this discrimination, which I feared was tearing away our bonds of blood and she smiled before explaining in those words which I remember till this day:
"Silly onii-chan. Me, losing my parents means you lost your parents too. We both should be grieving but if I come to you, you will try to act all strong and stiff and won't cry before me, fearing it will only make me feel a lot worse. I am respecting your need to find space and come to terms with what has happened. There is no point living in denial. You will be my top priority onii-chan. Always. But at this moment you don't need your Komachi. You need a friend like I have Taishi. Like you can have with Kawasaki-san"
I watched her grow at that private moment we shared between a brother and a sister.
She has learned a life lesson through pain and I have learned a different lesson through hurt. She will always be my sister and whenever she wants she can have me for an older brother.
But she gets to have her say and I have to listen.
I took her advice through one ear and threw it out the other.
We were all crying.
But only some of us were wiping our eye completely dry.
Tear drops remained fogging our vision.
And then there was me, rubbing my eyes, till they were red and raw.
Turning my dead fish eyes into what they have become today- repulsively reptilian.
I never formed a bond of friendship with Saki Kawasaki. Felt I would be forcing her to leave Keika and Taishi. I was selfish but never would I dream of ruining relations between siblings.
We were the eldest of our families, left behind by our parents, with an unspoken duty to look after our younger siblings at the cost of any price. Our respective lives were put on hold.
As expected of an elder brother and eldest sister.
I am ashamed to admit, I cried very less.
I was a monster of logic.
A genie trapped in a bottle.
A closet masochist.
I sought comfort in nightmares, felling I deserved them and purged myself of a useless ambition:
I would never again dream of becoming a house husband.
/
I left my bygone suffering alone in favour of my present suffering, embodied in the humanoid form of a bug.
Taishi Kawasaki plays a victim and turns me into a villain during breakfast.
Nothing new.
I respect woman and hold them at a high pedestal. I fear them, for they can easily get away with murdering me by calling it a practical joke, taken a bit too far.
I talk from personal experience.
Komachi switches sugar with salt in food items provided to me whenever I make her angry. I know the taste of coffee served with seven tea-spoons of salt after one particular misunderstanding.
Saki Kawasaki is a sadist in this regard.
She once gave me a small serving of one of her favourite dishes with an added five tablespoons of chilli powder. That particular incident provided me with a major breakthrough where I reasoned, that a person of interest was tortured, by being forced to swallow grams of chilli powder and have it blown into their eyes later on.
Keika also joins in on their fun, by having me drink a stupendously hot cup of tea which burned off my cat like sensitive tongue.
I realise by dating Komachi, Taishi holds all the warriors needed to win a war against me.
But he has played with this hand a lot, making me far more capable of changing the tide against him. I lack social and communication skills, but I more than make up for it with clever thinking and manipulation.
I take advantage of this insect's shortcomings and proceed to cut his wings.
"This rice and miso-soup is very tasty. Restaurant quality, really. You have done it again Saki-san"
"T-th-thank you for stating the obvious"
She stutters in her insult and her cheeks turn red. She gets unsettled whenever I engage her in a conversation, where we pretend to me on a first name basis. I often think she will hit me with a karate chop, but here I am, still sitting, unmoving and enjoying breakfast, planning to overthrow Kawasaki Taishi.
Feels good to know I can make her stutter like she does to me.
At least occasionally.
Now I wait for others to join in a domino effect which will lead to Kawasaki Taishi being buried by three terrifying woman. I wait and carefully chew my food. This early in the day not everyone are using their brain at its optimal capacity.
/
While I wait and patiently reduce the amount of food on my plate, I go through a mental count of the number of times I have called Kawasaki Saki by her given name.
Most of the time I got by, without causing unnecessary confusion, by varying my voice and differing my tone and attitude towards those I choose to engage in conversation. I had no problems with the youngest, for I was comfortable calling her Keika-chan upon her own insistence.
A Small reprieve.
My main difficulty was with Kawasaki Taishi and Kawasaki Saki.
Argued against using their first names straight up when it was finalised we had no choice but to move in and live together. Taishi and Komachi were friends from their middle school days and had no difficulty using their first names on a daily basis.
I and Saki studied in Sobu High.
I was forced to join the service club by Hiratsuka sensei and Saki availed the services provided by that ill fated club a few times. She was brought to my attention indirectly at first. Komachi introduced Taishi, who in turn was seeking our club to help his older sister, who by then, I didn't know was in fact Kawasaki Saki, who had earlier, on that very same day, given be a glimpse of what she preferred to wear underneath her skirt. I helped Saki and satisfied with what I did and how I did it she became an irregular client of our club.
But after high school I never thought of her again and neither did I see her nor did she wish to see me.
Our siblings kept touch but that was it.
Thus it was understandable for us not wanting to be on a first name basis. Saki was flustered and I came up with an easy solution. Now that I think about it, what is said wasn't the brightest thing to say to an overprotective older sister who fawned over her fully grown brother and still saw him like a kid.
My exact words were: "How about I call you brother 'a bug'?"
She let her actions do the talking and I found myself thrown across the room, nursing a bruised shoulder and barely escaping with my life from the clutches of a well known bro-con.
After I was certain of my safety I addressed this issue once again.
It was a well known fact that my self esteem was very low. Only a few people called me by my name in a proper fashion. 'Hikki', 'Hikio', 'Hikitani' came to mind but Saki decided to go original. When I brooded she called me 'emo' and when I decide to laze about she called me 'bum'.
I responded more to people resorting to name calling than someone calling me by name.
/
"Wait a minute you creep! How did you know I made rice and miso-soup? Do you spy on me when I cook?"
Speaking of calling me names, Kawasaki Saki pushes the first domino.
"Not at all Saki-san. I just know what your food tastes like."
She is getting really red.
"W-wh-why do you keep calling me by my first name. I thought you didn't like getting all touchy-feely, you Hachiman."
As expected she goes with the eye for an eye approach.
Using my given name like an insult doesn't make it one, no matter how you say it.
She must have learned of this one from Komachi.
Regardless, she has given me a perfect opportunity to examine where the dominos are headed to fall. I test these troubled waters and undertake a small risk
"Sorry Kawasaki-san. But I wanted to make it absolutely clear that I'm complementing Kawasaki Saki and not Kawasaki Taishi. You are a culinary genius. Your brother, not so much."
I wanted to say her brother couldn't cook to save his own skin but I stopped myself at the last moment, thinking I was better off not taking any more unnecessary chances.
In anxiety I bring my chopsticks to my mouth only to finds no morsel trapped between their woody confines. I am messing around with the wrong woman here, in trying to make her criticize a brother, whom she would forgive even if confessed to being a mass murderer.
"I will let this one pass. Taishi, I hate to say this but you need to learn some basic recipes. I will teach you myself and you can ask Keika-chan for help."
I have done the impossible and changed the course of human history.
I fear Armageddon from the outbreak of World War III, cloudy weather with a chance of rice balls and reports of flying pigs disturbing air traffic control today when I head out for work.
What a small price to pay for such delight.
"I don't want to worry you Nee-san. Komachi can teach me."
Instead of giving up, surrendering and worshiping my greatness, this bug is trying to work on a different angle to turn his curse into a blessing.
Close but not.
"Your nee-san cooks better than Kom-"
.I cut myself off before I could express my thoughts in those particular words.
Kawasaki Taishi smiles.
I groan.
Running my exact words, once again, in my mind, taking in surrounding context and present company I shudder fully grasping my extent of betrayal.
"What a rude thing to say gomi-chan. Are you trying to make your dear little Komachi cry?"
"Of course not. I know what everyone's food tastes like, except you boyfr…except Taishi's. I love your tamagoyaki."
I manage to placate Komachi but Keika-chan starts tearing up.
"Eh! Haa-chan what about me? Don't you like my food?"
"How can I not like it Keika-chan. Your natto is perfect."
"You are just saying random things onii-chan. Are you trying to insult all the hard work we put into making these dishes by throwing around clichéd compliments? Do you think we are stupid?"
Komachi you are not helping your onii-chan. Not one bit. But I understand your hurt feelings.
When I was undergoing training, I was told that my weapon of choice needs to be an extension of myself for them to be truly efficient on the field.
Same principle applies to cooking.
Food is a projection, an extension of those toiling in the kitchen, trying to nourish, nurture and feed, those who leave them behind with a promise to return after a gruelling day of work. This becomes a sensitive issue, especially for those who cook at home, then take off their aprons and head out to their respective places of work and business without getting any form of proper gratitude on a frequent basis.
Like these three seething women.
Food is a powerful weapon.
A bad case of food-poisoning can be deadly, but it lacks any form of elegance and could be argued to be nothing more than a coincidence. Neither do grinding poisonous capsules nor sprinkling venomous fluids into continental and western delicacies, to throw off suspicion, sound interesting and original.
According to an old proverb, the quickest way to a man's heart is through their stomach and here it doesn't mean cutting someone open in half, straight down from their fattened heart to their obese belly. Just making it abundantly clear. I had to investigate a neurotic chef once who took this proverb quite literally and I ended up working for a whole month on a dismemberment case, which felt like some sick scavenger hunt to find jaggedly cut body parts of various food critics.
A disturbing I don't wish to repeat.
But I digress and come back explaining how food could be treated like a weapon.
Cooking can manipulate a hungry heart and false affection can be planted in a packed stomach. However that which is made can be unmade and then remade in someone else's image.
Confusing but true.
A lot of heart goes into making homemade food and reluctantly, many a heartstrings find themselves attached to those who are made to eat such domestic cooking. These strings are like those of a musical instrument which can be played to hypnotize an audience and put them under a spell, containing nothing but praise and admiration.
Only a rotten person like me knows how to play this stringed instrument and I have written many a symphony to siphon off other people and their influences from my target audience.
Taishi can do nothing but watch and marvel.
I begin on a high note.
"Komachi think of a dying man-"
"-no thanks onii-chan"
"-like I was saying Komachi, think of a dying man, he is lying on his death bed and all the doctors have given up on him. He has maybe an hour to live at most. Faced with his death, he requests for a last meal. Nobody wants to die on an empty stomach. What you cook my dear sister is good enough to be his last meal Komachi. Now he can die peacefully.
Now, now, Keika-chan don't you worry. This man goes upto heaven and there he enjoys a feast made for the God's. This natto you made is fit to be a main course in a banquet held on paradise. The man must be having a treat enjoying such good food on his first day in heaven"
I take a breath and reach for a glass of cold water.
Talking will never be my forte.
"But what about Saa-chan? Her cooking is good too."
But I already complimented her by saying her food is restaurant quality.
However I know that if I mention this, everything will backfire and we will be back to where it all started once again.
Can't have that.
"I'm coming to your Saa-chan in a bit. Wait for it. So where was I? Ah yes! Man goes to heaven, spends some quality time there, but like everything his happiness ends and he is reincarnated and sent back to earth. But don't feel sorry for him. He gets to live in Chiba again. That can't be all bad. Anyway, to celebrate his return back to the land of the living, he decides to eat at a high class restaurant."
"And Saa-chan welcomes him with her tasty food. And he lives happily ever after. Right Haa-chan."
"Absolutely."
"Nice story onii-chan. What do you think Kawasaki onee-san?"
"It's alright for someone like him"
I have satisfied all three of them by some random story. What an incredible feat. I shall remember this day. As expected my curry gets no compliment but I am satisfied watching it vanish from their respective plates.
"Um onii-sama I have a question?"
I look at Kawasaki Taishi. For a moment I had forgotten he was here. No wonder I was enjoying myself a little.
"What question?"
"How did the man died?"
How nice of you to step on a land mine.
"He was the first person brave enough to eat Kawasaki Taishi's cooking."
All dominos have fallen and what greets my ear is loud laughter rising in a chorus. Komachi is grasping her chest and tears are glistening in her eyes from laughing in such an unwomanly fashion. Keika-chan is bouncing around in her chair clutching her stomach with one hand and banging the table with her other one.
Even Kawasaki Saki is not spared from this hilarious moment. She is civil but her eyes are dancing with mirth and she is smiling brightly unable to hide her emotions. Her shoulders are shaking from trying to suppress, this fine funny moment but her body is betraying her.
We only have a few moments like these and it is good for morale.
"It's not that funny!"
"What are you saying Taishi-kun. It's the best joke I ever heard from my onii-chan."
"Komachi-chan you're hurting your boyfriend's feelings, you know?"
There goes his girlfriend.
"Ko-chan is right. Taa-chan can kill someone with his cooking."
"You too Keika-chan. I never thought you would be this cruel"
Their goes his little sister.
"Ignore them Taishi and sorry for laughing at ya. But this creep outdid himself. I love ya little brother but I won't be eating your cooking anytime soon unless you improve yourself. Sorry"
"Not you too nee-san. You were my last hope."
And their goes his older sister.
Kawasaki Taishi is defeated and left completely alone in the battle field. I have taken away his top three warriors.
Now he has to face me alone.
He knows that I know that he knows he doesn't have a chance of winning this.
Confusing way to phrase things but let's see how he kills himself.
"Onii-sama you haven't touched your salad"
Dirty trick
Thought I had it.
Game. Set. Match.
…damn.
Wrong phraseology.
Getting uncomfortable, having trouble breathing, symptoms of a panic attack are cropping up. Need to settle down, need to stop glancing at the empty seat on this table seldom occupied by my only friend from high school whenever he returns to Chiba.
He won't be sitting there again.
Need to punish myself, allow pain to take over my brain.
Dropped chopsticks and popped toxic tomato into my mouth using fingers. Unable to chew, poison is potent, face getting scrunched up. Swallowed my haggard features down my throat with a glass of cold water. Drank till glass was empty then slammed it down on table.
"Onii-chan are you alright?"
They don't know.
Can't let them know.
Judging by these various dishes they prepared for breakfast, which I am no longer enjoying right now, their buoyant manners, their tendency to laugh at my attempts in humour, Taishi hasn't spilled the beans.
Yet.
I would like to keep it that way.
Us failed brothers have a golden rule, to keep this place we live in and call a home cleansed from the muck and mire we wander into when we head outside.
We never discuss business at home.
I stopped Taishi from talking about it even with me.
At home, we work alone on separate case files, never bothering with the other. If he needs my help, he knows where my desk is at the police headquarters. He can consult with me there, but never here.
I lost to my thoughts because of this morning banter. The dominos I planned to topple upon Taishi tumbled over me. I am repeating myself, rambling and rambling. My walls of sanity show cracks. I see barbed wire, cutting myself when I try to climb into this prison sanatorium, constructed deep within a maze of my brain. After breaking into this mad house, I escape with two convicts who have been serving a life sentence. These two best friends of mine, who call themselves paranoia and fear, rejoice when they reunite with me. I promised I would meet them again during our scheduled visiting hours, earlier this morning when I woke up from sleep, but I couldn't wait so long.
I lost a good friend.
Arguably, my only friend.
And now I rekindle my friendship with these two mad-dogs of insanity.
/
"Onii-sama have some of my salad."
This bug is trying to think for himself. He can't. He has spotted my discomfort. Everyone on this table has. I should pop another pill in my mouth but I can't. I promised myself they wouldn't see me taking medication. They know I suffer, they know I see a therapist, and they know I take pills prescribed by said therapist but seeing me take them before their own eyes can be unsettling.
They can see I am damaged, but they can never see my scar tissues.
I won't let them.
I have destroyed the previous harmony frolicking over our breakfast table and I keep looking at that unoccupied chair using my peripheral vision.
I am making everyone unsettled.
I'm sorry.
If I hadn't participated in this morning banter we would still be enjoying breakfast. I would be silent, making a comment now and then, but mostly listening, to others informing me about their present worries and source of happiness.
I have tainted them all.
My eyes can see everything unfold but can do nothing.
All this banter, this back and forth, like a sick game played in my mind, a sick game of tennis…
…Stab my tongue! Stab it! Stab it!
I break my chopsticks in half.
Instantly my plate is lobbed with a large dropping of salad.
I hear gasps and shrieks from the women on the table.
"Sorry onii-sama. I'm so sorry."
Bug is trying to replicate my art of committing social suicide.
He should know I alone have perfected this sacrificial ritual and have patented it with a non-existent ego and low self respect.
But I humour him.
"You should be."
I say nothing more.
This is not a voice I use at home.
I watch Kawasaki Saki hesitating to say something. She opens her mouth but Kawasaki Taishi stops her with a shake of his head. I push myself away from these people forced to live with me. Once again I relapse into addressing everyone with their official title. This is how things are meant to be.
Looking at this green leafy heap and identifying red rings of distaste, I carefully begin to disinfect my plate from this sad excuse of a salad.
I take them apart page by page but I don't remember opening my mental journal. This is bad. Entries like this are futile. I will record them and then tear off the pages. These notes will not be a part of my psyche. I won't let them be kept there in luxury, by having them locked up in the library of my sanatorium. My entries are beginning to disturb me like this present one right:
"Predicted my future.
I will be wasting roughly four minutes and thirty seconds on removing this grotesque piece of inedible garbage.
Detestable food item.
Bleeds red when chopped and stabbed. These rings look like a noose calling me to hang myself but I'm not tempted. Hanging is messy and painful. I have a gun. It will be quick. But not now. I wait, dissecting and removing these blotches of red from my state of mental imbalance.
Detestable food item.
Most think they are vegetables. Few know these are actually fruits. Misunderstood. Sad attempt by society to misinform and keep common people out of the loop, for they know we trust blindly, accept thinks at face value and can be made to eat up things we truly can't comprehend.
Detestable food item.
Called my many names-pseudonyms and aliases. Pronounced differently. Some say 'to-may-to' while others say 'to-mah-to' but is always written as 'tomato'. Shows propensity to hide in plain sight, mix with green and is constantly under suspicion for acting, changing names and identities."
Detestable food item.
Smells funny.
Has a criminal record. I can remember five different crimes committed by this convicted felon. Originally from Peru. Made people afraid by simply being related to belladonna, an infamous poisonous killer, who was active since ancient times. Ran off to Europe to escape arrest in mid 1500's and later in the 1890s was a co-conspirator in tax fraud committed in US soil by parading around and telling everyone, it's a vegetable instead of a fruit. Governments around the world planned to build a prison for this dangerous criminal in outer-space but studies have revealed their seedlings can grow even in the vacuum of space. At present, this dangerous criminal runs an entire mob family of roughly 10000 family members. They have smaller gangs, causing chaos with their horrible fashion sense, who dress-up in hideous outfits including pink, purple, black, yellow and white. My efforts at knowing my enemy bore fruit and one day this criminal would be brought to justice for cheating on my welfare.
Till then I can wait and remove it from my plate.
Soon I will be heading out. Behind this locked door which exits into the outside world, away from the sanctuary provided by this safe house. Outside, a beautiful city squeals in morning delight-Chiba. When I head out, I will change into my avatar and fool those retards. I will hide my perverse stench and lack of a conscience behind a tailored suit.
I shall exercise my duties to their fullest intent.
Currently I need to hurry
Swallow my food without chewing properly and refraining from losing myself in their heavenly taste.
I ignore how others are looking at me in this table.
I ignore the empty seat.
Here on this table, two failed brothers devoured their breakfast.
Our sisters are demeaned by society behind our backs and are called
Christmas cake and New Years Noodle
We ate silently these,
Detestable food item.
/
A/N: Thanks everyone for reviewing, following and adding this to your favourites. Hope you enjoyed reading this new chapter. All that happens take place in the oregairu world and will continue to happen there. Characters of watchmen, even beloved Rorschach won't be making an appearance. Only characters involved with Oregairu will contribute to this story. I was heavily influenced by Rorschach's journal and I want to repeat this over and over again in case anyone missed some obvious references from this chapter.
That bit about tomatoes is from google, which I wrote by taking some creative liberties and twisting them into something 8man will say. On a side note. I hate tomatoes myself.
Will update soon.
Please review.
Also,
Should I be making my chapters this big?
Should I be writing author's note at the top or the bottom.
Please let me know.
Till then:
P.S: Those who know what the next entry in this journal will be should know in next chapter key names will be dropped.
Here's to betraying your dreams