The next morning, he found Vivian at the door, not proud and composed as he expected, but a mess of tears.
"I need to talk to you," she said.
She paused in the kitchen, and wiped her tears on her sleeve. It didn't stem the flow. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "Walking out last night wasn't the answer."
Vivian came close and cupped his face. This wasn't what Lin had anticipated. It was not how their last serious argument had panned out. He wondered, suddenly, if she had dreamed last night.
He lowered his gaze. It felt wrong to meet her eyes.
Vivian let go and collapsed into a kitchen chair. As she ran her fingers through her untidy hair, she said, "I guess I expected you to take your words back. That was stupid of me."
He nodded. His body ached with the falsehoods he was piling on his shoulders, and his heart shuddered against the cage he secured it in. It didn't matter anymore what he wanted. Her well being was what mattered.
"I guess it is not fixable this time," he said, and smiled wanly. He hoped it looked authentic, because it felt like thin plastic film was across his face, holding everything in place.
He sat down across from her, and she slid her house key across the table. The keychain was a brass padlock with its own heart-shaped key. It gleamed from the light overhead, taunting him. She had left the keychain on since he had given it to her.
As he reached for the key, the shiki in its human garb was there, standing at the table between them. He slapped it away from Lin's outstretched fingers. The brass clinked onto the floor.
Lin blinked, and the keys were still on the table, for the shiki could not yet manipulate the physical realm.
Vivian twitched, as if she had heard the sound too. She looked up, and seemed to stare right at the shiki's face. Then her eyes shifted away to Lin. They were unfocused and hurt.
It's alright if you leave, Lin thought.
She got up and started down to the short hallway to the front door. The shiki started after her.
Lin caught its wrist. The shiki snarled as it jerked and twisted. When the shiki had almost escaped Lin leapt up and pinned its arms, and was tossed off with another growl.
Lin still held its wrist, and was forcibly dragged down the hall.
He could feel the pain in his arms, and he had to question if his body was actually still just sitting at the table.
When he heard the front door open, then shut, he grabbed at the shiki's legs and upended the demon. He soon had an arm around the shiki's neck and his legs around its waist as it struggled.
Lin could feel love and fury, rage and desire churning through the being, and in turn, himself. It seemed like it wanted to speak, to make Lin understand, but Lin shut it out. Communicating with a shiki outside of a command was a dangerous dead end. When it seemed to know that Lin was not going to give it an audience, it attempted to rake its fingernails – which were now claws – over Lin's face.
Every person had their own way to cut a spiritual cord. If the cord was thick from a good relationship that had gone sour, it could rebound on you if cut suddenly, causing physical pain. In the past, Lin had allowed during meditation a candle flame to gently eat away at cords that no longer served him. It let the strands go one by one, and when there was only one left it just fell away.
If there was the first plane of existence – where Lin's body still sat, watching the door with a brooding despair – and the second plane was where this fight was taking place, yet another level came into prospective – where the shiki and he stood, calmly.
The shiki embraced Lin.
Don't do it, it whispered into his ear, and Lin could feel its sharp teeth at his neck.
Lin imagined a machete and hacked at the cord which bound him and the third shiki together.
The shiki gasped and choked, though if it was from the cord being cut or from the arm that was blocking his windpipe, it was uncertain. The shiki should never have had the physical presence to feel the pain the lack of breath was causing.
The first hit didn't sever the cord.
The second strike did.
The shiki melted from his hands, and reassembled into a vague shape behind Lin. Lin turned without getting up, watching the shiki fade as it walked, or rather stumbled away.
The remaining two shiki were silent. They did not have a concept of camaraderie.
Lin, still sitting on the kitchen floor, closed his eyes. Weariness settled into his body from the violent removal. He tried to visualize Vivian happy and moved on from their relationship. The images wouldn't come.
There was a flicker of hope that she would come back in, say one more time that they could make this work. He had no right for that thought, since he had already rebuffed the offer. He had done so for her safety and freedom, but that wasn't something she was aware of. He had come to terms that he had never shared enough with her. Yes, his craft was a secretive work, but if he had allowed her to support him at times, maybe he would not be on the floor after the breakup, wishing there was a way to fix it.
He felt their spiritual cord snap. He had not prepared for it, so the sudden hollow ache in his heart hit him hard.
He knew tears were in his eyes, but he didn't allow them to spill over. The cord had been tainted by the wants of the shiki, so the fact it had been broken wasn't wrong. They could easily forge a new one, if he got up, followed her, and apologized. For everything.
In front of her aunt and cousins, who would see a broken man incapable of living without a woman.
In front of his remaining shiki, who might just be paying more attention than he gave credit to.
In front of the memory of his father, who had said to never grovel for a woman. Don't give her that power over you.
The phone rang. It took all of Lin's remaining energy to get up.
"My cousins will pick up my possessions tomorrow," Vivian said. There was no pain in her voice. She sounded happier than she had been in months. If it was an act or the truth, he had no right to ask.
"I won't be home," he said. His voice was smooth and steady. "I will leave the door unlocked."
He knew he had given free rein to protective men who viewed Vivian as a sister, but at that moment, he didn't care if they emptied the whole apartment. He had nothing to lose.
There was no more conversation. They simply said good bye.
He returned to the bedroom. To shatter the mirror was tempting but not worth giving an explanation to the landlord.
He stopped and examined his face, with its reddened, shining eye. He wondered if the other was capable of tears. The question should have been absurd, but he suddenly couldn't remember the last time he had shed tears.
He wiped his hand across his face and smiled in the mirror. The expression was not believable, so he let it slip.
"I won't miss her," he told the reflection.
What a liar.
"No woman is worth chasing after."
Oh, and a coward as well.