It was painful, but I rehashed some of the stuff that happened in "Wanderer" in this chapter for those of you who didn't read that story. For those of you who did, sorry in advance. You'll have to endure some summarization for a bit, but I swear the story moves on after that.
Chapter 4: Chopsticks and Trust
"We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone - but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy." –Walter Anderson
Hwoarang
"Well, where do you suppose we go first? The possibilities are endless when you're traveling nowhere," I ask Julia on the road.
"Hell if I know. Just drive," she replies from behind me.
Her steely demand irks me, but she probably isn't fully awake yet. Everyone has their pissy moods.
As a red light looms ahead I take the opportunity to look at her. Even though she is physically there behind me, arms clasped around my waist and single braid draped over a shoulder, her eyes reveal she is somewhere else. Staring blankly at the plains around us she sighs, eyes closing momentarily from the beaming sunlight. What is she thinking about?
A moment later she snaps out of her dream-like state and our gazes meet; I give her a reassuring smile. Unsurprisingly, I get a glare in response. It's actually starting to get a bit endearing.
"What are you looking at?" she snarls, "I said drive."
The smile falls from my face. Why the fuck is she so uptight? Before she really pisses me off, I better find out why there's such a long pole stuck in this woman's ass.
A car beeps from behind me and I'm forced to accelerate. Gritting my teeth, I know that I can't let her get away with it this time. I've tolerated her for long enough. After I pass the lights I screech to a halt on the side of the road, park my bike and turn around to face her.
"What are you doing?" she demands more than asks, "Why did we stop?"
"We? First and foremost, there's no 'we' here; you reinforced that last night, remember? I'm the one driving and paying for the gas. Just so you know I'm in control," I say, deciding to quit with cordiality.
Julia glares at me and avoids eye contact; she has quite a talent for doing that. She's also damn lucky that she's terribly cute and that I find her annoyingly interesting. Otherwise, had she been any other broad, I wouldn't have given her the time of day.
"So, you wanna tell me the real reason why you're being such a bitch?" I ask. There's no use in trying to be nice anymore. She obviously doesn't respond to that kind of thing.
"What?"
"Think about it, smarty: I pick you up from the rain, take you to shelter, buy you coffee, haul your ungrateful little butt around on my bike—"
"Excuse me I have been grateful. I recall thanking you earlier."
"Well a couple words ain't going to do it. I really hate it when people tell me what to do, especially strangers like you who think they're entitled to everything, and especially when I've done nothing to you."
"Well—" she begins, but I interrupt.
"And since you're a good-looking girl, I've tolerated you. I don't have to do all this shit for you, and if you don't shape up, I'm dumping your little ass back where I found you. Understand?" I growl.
Her eyes narrow like a wolf's, but I know she's considering what I've said, and I wait patiently for her answer. Sighing, she looks away again before replying.
"Fine…I'm—I'm sorry. I…I haven't been that kind to you. It's just that…" she trails off.
"What."
"I…I…"
"Spit it out, hon; I don't have time for this."
She flashes me a scathing look, but continues, "I don't take to people well. I don't…trust like I used to."
Wow, what a revelation. It's not like I hadn't figured that out already.
"Hell, who does anymore? I don't care if you don't trust me. I don't even trust you. I just expect a tiny bit of gratitude in return; makes sense doesn't it? If I do try to hurt you, just use those special knifing skills your tribe taught you or whatever. No one should be treated that way unless you have a good reason. Do you have a good reason to be a bitch?"
"Actually I do…"
"Excuse me?"
"No. I don't."
"Exactly. So will you fucking stop?"
"…"
"Will you stop?"
"Yes!"
We glare at each other for a moment, breathing heavily, and I notice that her fists are clenched so tightly her knuckles are completely white, as if she's tempted to punch me. Smirking, I turn my back on her. The anger lingers, dances on the tip of my tongue, ready to burst forth if Julia should cross the line again. But she's quiet this time. Shaking my head, I keep my eyes forward and my mouth shut, refusing to make conversation, and we sit there like that on the side of the road for several minutes, fuming and silent.
After awhile, Julia utters, "Hwoarang?"
"What."
"Thank you."
"Whatever you say," I reply irritably.
"I mean it. If it weren't for you, I'd still be stranded. I don't want you to think that this—that this is how I am," she says softly.
"I know this isn't how you are, Julia; why do you think I'm putting up with your cranky shit? Hopefully later I'll get to know the real you, huh?" I reply.
Julia doesn't answer. No surprise. She and I have a long ways to go.
"Let's just be civil, alright? We're gonna be together for awhile." At least, I hope we will be.
"Yeah. Civil."
Julia
I sit behind Hwoarang, a stranger, a nobody for all I know…and I feel sorry for some reason. Ever since Michelle was taken from me, I don't care what people think of me anymore. Nothing matters except survival and vengeance. But now, beside this brash, impetuous, spirited man, I suddenly feel a shift in me. Suddenly, I feel as if I should care, as if my treatment of him was something I should worry about. No matter who I'd met on the road, I had never once shown them anything but cold pretense and temporary tolerance. They never struck me as special, only made me more wary; people aren't to be trusted after all, no matter how many smiles they give or how many kind words uttered. They all seem nice at first, but if you let them get too close…let's just say that, in the end, they always want something from you.
Hwoarang is no exception. The Korean's cute and charming, but he's like all the others; he wants a piece of my mind, maybe even a piece of my heart, and I'll be damned if I let him have any of it.
I trusted Jin and look where that took me. If I trust Hwoarang, where would that take me?
But how had I let myself apologize, let myself be carried away by his smile and his words? Wasn't I trying to keep him away, like all the others, like Jin?
Ah, Jin Kazama. The mere thought of his name sends chills up my back. He is the reason why I am on this road, the reason why I find myself clinging to this Korean vagabond. He is the reason why I have become this cold-hearted, edgy, broken shell of a woman.
Hwoarang wonders why I am on the road alone, why I desire escape above adventure; he's too curious for his own good. Unfortunately, he isn't the only one who has wanted a part of me; I have intrigued many on this journey, and that just makes me more cautious. To intrigue is to draw attention, and that's the last thing I need at the moment. There's nothing intriguing about tragedy and fear after all.
I sit behind this man, and I remember all that happened.
It didn't begin with me. To fully understand why, we must first look at Michelle's history, for my mother was the lucky one, the very first of my family to experience this legacy of darkness. During the second Iron Fist tournament, Heihachi Mishima's interest turned to my people's lands; he coveted my mother's medallion, which was supposedly the key to some great treasure, which was something so sacred that even the Navajo refused to speak of it. But Heihachi desired the medallion so much he ended up kidnapping my mother in hopes of forcing an answer from her. Having no choice but to rescue her, I joined the third Iron Fist tournament and was lucky enough to find her alive. After that, things quieted down a bit. I graduated from high school, got into college, and life seemed normal.
But of course, when you're dealing with the Mishima's, peace and normalcy never last for very long. Two years later, Heihachi's on the hunt for his own son, Kazuya—the one who killed my mother. Tainted, maddened with the demon blood racing through his veins, Kazuya was desperate to find a cure for the Gene. Believing that the antidote lied within the earth, he tore through the land, decimated Native American nations on his way, destroyed lives and left a trail of blood in his wake. My mother was one of those lives. When he'd trespassed into Navajo land, Michelle had resisted—and paid with her life. Had I been there, I would have been killed as well. Or maybe, together, my mother and I could have defeated Kazuya.
It is one of my greatest regrets, not being there with my mother in her last hours on this earth. But that's how it happened: Heihachi kidnapped Michelle, and, two years later, his son murdered her.
And how does Jin Kazama fit into this puzzle? How do I?
For me, time really has no relevance anymore. Past and present are one and the same, and the future is as ambiguous as the desert sky. But if I must put a timeline to this, then I would say that it began two months ago, more or less. I studied abroad in Mexico with my archeology class. We were there studying the ruins of the ancient Mayan and Aztec civilizations, and it was there in that beautiful, cursed place that I met Jin. I had had no idea why he was there but didn't care, for he intrigued me from the start. I was naïve, stupid and desperate for that attraction, and of course everything made perfect sense to me then.
I let myself be led astray. I dived straight into the waiting jaws of the coyote without a second thought. Love blinds, yes, but I had no idea that love could kill too.
But you couldn't really blame the guy: Jin was beautiful and dangerous, haunting and dark and surprisingly lovable, unlike any man I had ever encountered before. After awhile he told me he loved me and I believed it. I believed that I loved him too and worse, that I trusted him. I believed it so ardently that I drove everyone close to me away. My grades plummeted, my sense of reality diminished—and I lost my mother. From the beginning, Michelle had sensed that Jin could only bring trouble for he was connected to the Mishima family; she constantly warned me to be careful. But I didn't listen. I thought I knew Jin. I was twenty, independent, educated and in love, so nothing else mattered. It was my life.
Well, I finally started listening once Kazuya killed Mom, and my cousin, Gabriel, too, when he'd attempted to save Michelle. I started listening when Jin betrayed me and allied himself with Heihachi in his selfish search for an antidote for the Gene. He became no better than Kazuya. I only listened when it was far too late, when I had already lost everything. The only things I had left were my people and my land, but even then I refused to associate with them, fearful that Jin's curse would take them too. So, I did the only thing I knew that could guarantee their safety: I ran.
To flee the reservation had been shameful, one of the greatest betrayals I could commit against my people, but I really had no choice. Worse, I missed my mother's funeral, and that was simply unforgivable.
Then, with no school, no home, no mother, no love, I became a wanderer. Comfort and familiarity shifted to a stage of raw survival. And so, like my people had done for generations and generations before me, I adapted to change. Native Americans have always possessed an uncanny talent for survival regardless of how traumatizing the circumstances. Alone, I thrived, but I became someone different. Not new, just different. I think that, latent in me, there has always been this colder, darker Julia waiting to emerge when the time was right; there is darkness in us all. And here she is now before the earth, and I feel ashamed and useless and beaten, but I still fight for life.
I really don't deserve to be alive. To me, I had already died back in Mexico. Spiritually and emotionally, I was nothing. Alive but not living. Trust me, there's a difference.
After Michelle's death, I fled Mexico, deserted Jin. There was no future for me with him. He never did find that cure that his beloved father had murdered for; in the end, Jin surrendered to the Gene. I run now, not from Jin Kazama, but from the demon that has usurped his spirit. I run now to redeem myself, to find that light that would set my mother's spirit free. I run, but know that I will never run fast enough to escape the memories. What's done is done. I can't change the past. I can only hope, beg, for forgiveness, for a merciful future.
Sighing, the wind caresses my face, and I lean more heavily onto Hwoarang as he drives, the muscles of his back rippling beneath my touch. I won't ever tell him this, but it feels incredibly nice to depend on someone for a change.
"So you really have no idea where you want to go?" he asks.
"I really don't," I reply.
"We've been driving for half an hour."
"Well, you decide then."
"Hmm…"
It is nearing three o'clock and my stomach rumbles. All I'd had that day was a cup of coffee, which had tasted like dirt and water. But Hwoarang, I admit, had been sweet and had tried to get me something, so I'd been grateful.
"You hungry?" he asks.
"Yeah, a little," I admit.
"Well, jeez all you had to do was say so! What do'ya like? Asian, American, Italian, what do you want?
"Doesn't really matter, as long as it's filling!" I shout above the roar of the motorcycle.
"What?!" he screams, cocking his ear in my direction.
"As. Long. As. It's. Filling!"
"What!?"
"You're an asshole!" I scream right into his ear, my lips brushing the lobe.
He turns and smiles at me, and my stomach clenches at the expression.
"Next time use some tongue!"
"Fuck you!"
"Ha, ha, ha! You like Thai food?"
"Sure."
"We'll look for Thai then!"
For almost another half-hour Hwoarang drives all over town looking for a Thai restaurant, and after awhile I tell him to just stop at the local Burger King. We'd passed about five already, and my stomach is just about hollow.
But he refuses and insists, "The lady desires Thai, so I shall give her Thai."
He really is charming, unfortunately.
Eventually, we come across a small Thai restaurant, Red Orchid, and go inside. The little restaurant smells delicious and my stomach rumbles loudly. A short, crumpled little woman shows us to our table and plops down some shabby looking menus onto the booth.
When our food arrives, it comes only with chopsticks; the only spoon was for the bowl of rice. I watch as Hwoarang licks his lips, seizes his chopsticks, and starts attacking his plate, food disappearing at warp speed into his mouth. In desolation, I look down, slightly perplexed, at mine. Yeah I'm three quarters Chinese, (Chinese father, Navajo-Chinese mother) but I'd always identified more with my Navajo heritage. My skills with the utensils aren't nonexistent; I'm decent at chopsticks, but they pale in comparison to the Korean's. Slowly, I begin to pick at my food.
"Aren't you hungry?" Hwoarang asks with his mouth full.
Ignoring him, I readjust my fingers on the two wooden utensils, but fail miserably when I attempt to pick up a piece of beef. He stares, confused at first, then bursts out laughing.
"Shut up," I mutter. In desperation, I start reaching for my food with my fingers, when Hwoarang stops me.
"Dear lord, Julia, quit that! Are you telling me you'd die of starvation just 'cause you can't use two wooden sticks to eat?" he laughs.
"Shut up! Just teach me will you?" I say as angrily as I can manage, but fail at suppressing the smile.
Hwoarang's laughter diminishes to a smile as he patiently teaches me how to set my fingers, how to pick up food, and all the while I don't pay quite as much attention as I should have. His strong hands guiding mine are distracting and set my skin on fire. Damn it. Am I that weak? Will I allow all attractive men to warp me like this?
"You got it?" he asks, "Try it now."
I do, and manage to pick up a clump of rice before dropping it.
"Good start, but drop it into your mouth this time," he grins.
"Ha, ha," I reply sarcastically, and then pick up the rice ball again. This time I put it in my mouth with ease, and Hwoarang makes a big show of clapping his hands.
"Hey, you did it!" he exclaims, "This rare moment calls for celebration!"
I roll my eyes as he chugs down the rest of his Coke, but he doesn't seem to care. Rather, he just continues to laugh, dishing more rice onto my plate for more practice.
Dinnertime draws near, yet Hwoarang and I are not nearly finished with our lunch. His jokes seem never to cease and send me into fits of laughter. I haven't laughed that hard in months, and it feels strange to allow myself such release. Out of the corner of my eye, sometimes I would catch the Korean staring at me quietly; he too thinks my laughter is odd.
Three hours later we leave Red Orchid and head for the road again; despite our previously shared laughter, everything becomes cold and formal once more. We walk stiffly side by side and don't say a word. Neither of us knows what to say about our first day together.
As we make our way to his bike, I keep stealing furtive glances at him. He's handsome, to put it simply, with a well-defined profile, dark almond eyes and full lips that jut out slightly in a permanent pout, softening his stronger features. His fiery hair keeps getting into his eyes and Hwoarang constantly sweeps them out of the way with his fingers, or with a slight toss of his head. Everything about him is so intriguing, so tempting, so…
My face suddenly feels hot and I look in the opposite direction. Too fast, Julia, too fast. You've just met him remember? And no trust, no goddamn trust.
"Well, gotta find a place to sleep again," Hwoarang states softly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Yeah," I reply.
When we get to his motorcycle, Hwoarang says, "Lunch was fun, Jules. See, I knew I'd get to know you a little better. I knew you weren't as mean as you pretend to be."
"Pretend?"
"Yes, pretend. You don't think I honestly buy that cold shoulder bitch charade, do ya? I've been with a lot of girls before, so I would know."
"Uh…ok…" Great, a player. I should have known.
He shrugs, and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, without regret, I admit I've been with a lot of girls. I'm just too beautiful, ya know? The ladies gotta have it. I mean, just look at this sexy-ass red hair, these muscular legs and these abs. Irresistible, baby, simply irresistible."
Hell yes. But, snorting, I shake my head, "Well, not to me. You're just an arrogant, conceited prick."
At this Hwoarang laughs. "I already told you you're a bad liar. Nobody can resist this shit," he teases, running a leather-gloved hand through his crimson locks as he licks his lips.
"I'm not lying." But I am, I really, really am. I am so attracted to him it's making me sick.
"Sure, sure. But I'll tell you one thing…"
His tone of voice changes suddenly, and he stares up into the night sky. When he speaks, he is sincere.
"…I'm glad you decided to stay with me instead of run away."
I turn to look at him, and he's smiling at me, dark wolf eyes gazing at me fearlessly; he's so damn bold and open with his emotions, while I fight to keep mine under control. I don't know what to make of it. He smiles, and I feel something collapse inside of me. It's a different smile this time, one that holds promises of something more, something secret and wild yet tender and gentle at the same time; I look away. Desire boils in the pit of my stomach, but my mind re-forges that fortress around my heart, and the desire wilts.
Suppress, suppress, always suppress. Suppression equals survival. Right?
Hwoarang then straddles his bike and motions for me to do the same. With his words echoing in my mind, I wonder at the odd feelings in my heart.
