Sawamoto and I, we were stuck together. We had no one else. Not a soul in the world knew who we really were. Not a soul could have told anyone that Sawamoto Masa was once Jounouchi Katsuya, a low down street rat, or that Himoto Akihiko was once Kaiba Seto, CEO, business man, orphan. No one knew a single things of us, and that was how it was meant to be. We were in hiding after all. Hiding from the Yakuza. We couldn't have risked taking anyone else with us. Not even our dear sisters. It was best that we remained few and difficult to find. Larger numbers were dangerous when it came to these things. Even if we did need to leave behind our loved ones. Even if we were putting them at their own risk. Even if the Yakuza may use them to weed us out of our hiding.
I voiced these issues to Sawamoto, having no one else to talk to about these things. Having had no one else to worry with. He was the only person I could truly talk to, the only person who knew of the life I once had. The only person who would ever truly know me for the rest of my life. I had to get used to being with Sawamoto, I had to get used to talking with him and only him. I had to get used to not having Mokuba around, to not having my baby sister to confide in. He was all that I had left. Sawamoto Masa. Jounouchi Katsuya. Someone I would have never been able to put any trust into, not in the past, not with how our relationship had been. Yet when two people witness the same murder together, when they flee for their lives together, they don't come out thinking poorly of one another, they can't. When they're forced to live together, in hiding, like this, they have to depend on eachother, they would have to live off of one another. There was no choice in the matter.
We had no choice.
Sawamoto would tell me not to worry. That our sisters would be fine. That it was best we didn't disturb their lives any more than we already had. That they deserved the comfortable lives they had been given growing up, that it wasn't our right to pull them from that and force them to live in poverty as we did now.
I could agree to that. My sister's life had been so nice before I left, she had everything she could have ever wanted, I didn't wish to take her from that. Isono would watch out for her, Isono would ensure that my sister lived a comfortable life.
My first day of work was hell. I faced discrimination, hate. I wads full Japanese. The middle aged white men I worked with did not enjoy the idea of a foreigner coming in to take their higher paying office jobs. Even if there was no one better qualified than I was. I wasn't someone they wanted in their workplace. Someone who didn't know the slightest thing about their culture, someone who didn't know a thing about their politics. Someone who couldn't have cared less about their dying country. I was a burden. Something that shouldn't have been there. Why would they want me there? They could hardly understand the words I said, even in their own language.
I worked as a translator for a rather large business, the name of which I couldn't recall. I worked under a woman, one who must have been considering retirement. She was old, but she was much more experienced in working in this position than I was. She was much better off where she was. I couldn't take orders from others. I couldn't stand the idea of listening to another human's orders. She seemed much better at listening to those above her. She was far more professional than I was. At least in this setting. I was used to being a boss, I was used to being in charge, I couldn't handle being in the position I was in.
When I did get back to our dingy apartment after work, I would come home to find that Sawamoto had gone shopping. He worked as a bagger, he got paid daily in tips. Thank god for that. He had gotten food, he was cooking with what we had been given to do so.
Without a single bother to change from my suit, I would lay myself down on the creaky couch. It would groan underneath my weight, moan at the pressure I had put on it. It wasn't exactly built to be used, it was merely for decoration it seemed. It couldn't handle any weight. It was a hideous thing, couldn't be used, it was better off in a dump than in our home. It was such a pain.
Sawamoto would turn to look at me. Unlike me, he was better suited for this life of poverty. I wouldn't be surprised if we were living better than he used to. We did have to sources of income, we did have a low rent and an abundance of spending money, at least, we would when I got my first paycheck. I would be paid quite a bit.
If we used what he was payed to get food and necessities as it seemed to be going, we could use my paycheck to get luxury items. Or better beds. Maybe a new couch. We could use my paycheck to get the rent and to fix this place up. That would be a good use of money. I'm sure that Sawamoto would agree with me on that. I'm sure he'd love the possibility of getting better furniture, I knew that I did.
He'd cross his arms over his chest, watch me for a good few moments before turning back to his the stove. All the while, I hadn't stopped looking back at him. His actions were rather curious, not that they meant all that much to me anyway. I didn't care for him, just as I didn't care for our situation. This was hell. I couldn't stand this, yet I would have to, for the rest of my life. I would be stuck with Sawamoto Masa, hiding behind the name Himoto Akihiko, pretending to be someone I wasn't. I hated everything about this, I hated everything that this was, but what was I to do? I couldn't take down the Yakuza group we had an issue with, that wasn't within my power, that wasn't something I could even dream of doing. I was stuck.
Forever here with Jounouchi Katsuya, a long hated foe.
At least he knew how to cook. If it were left up to me, I'd end up eating microwaved dishes for the remained of my life. At least he had something going for him. Something I could agree to.
Once dinner was prepared, Sawamoto would force me to sit up, take a seat, cross legged on the sofa. He'd offer a plate to me, a plate which I would not refuse. I didn't care much what was in it, he seemed to abide by my dietary needs, this was fine. I would eat what was given, without complaint, what room did I have to complain? I couldn't cook, and he had gone through the trouble to make a meal for the both of us.
We'd sit in silence, the only sound that hung over us was that of spoons scraping against the platic of out plates. A rather dreadful noise. It brought a hollow feeling of "no" to my ears. There was no other way to describe the sensation.
After dinner, we would retreat to our shared bedroom. Lights out immediately. Neither of us had thought to bring any form of entertainment, no books, no games, nothing. We had only a television, a DVD player, nothing more. No cable. We needed to get something more. We needed some form of entertainment.
I'd face the corner my bed was thrust into, eyes wide open as I stared at the surrounding black. I couldn't see a thing. However, the night went crazy with noises.
Our neighbours stomped around upstairs, the pipes creaked, people talked through paper thin walls, the faucet leaked. We needed to fix the faucet.
We needed to find a better home.
This was a horrible life.
