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Chapter Four: Sozo (Creation of the Mind) |
She's been here for six months, now. Yet I still can't get her out of my mind.
It's as though I've constructed a false Morikawa-san, and projected her onto the real one. I've never experienced an infatuation for so long... usually, a date or two is enough to cure me. Yet Morikawa-san is remote, unattainable-- which doubles the fascination factor.
I run a risk of endangering my position within the bank if I pursue her. There are strict rules within here.
Rules, ha! I spent the first half of my life happily disregarding them. My childhood wasn't the most ordinary. It was safe to say, my growing up was under circumstances best described as extremely unique. My role models were assassins who had a capacity for being gentle and cruel; for rescuing me from suicide and then trying to kill me themselves.
Perhaps I'm afraid of rejection. If Morikawa-san possesses half the intelligence I give her credit for, surely she would have noticed my feelings by now. Some things don't need to be spelled out in giant characters. If she had noticed, surely she would have given me a subtle encouragement, or a subtle discouragement.
That would have been all that was needed, and I would have reacted accordingly.
But Morikawa-san *isn't* stupid. She's a bright young woman who sees more than she lets on, and hears more than she tells you. She has a good head on her shoulders, and a lovely body beneath her shoulders. And a lovely body beneath her shoulders-- did I mention that?
Surely she knows how I feel.
Is she toying with me, then? Is this some sort of complex game, a thousand times more intricate than any Rubix cube? I know she's not seeing anyone-- that's been established in casual conversation, and office rumors would have updated me if she chose not to. What is her game?
And more importantly, what's the prize?
The warm feeling again. I close my eyes. She has such a lovely scent-- I can smell faint traces of her perfume in my office, even after she leaves. Sort of a vanilla flavor... it reminds me of kitchens and baking and a mother I lost too soon.
But forget that part. What do I do about the present issue?
Six months! Six long months. I've seen her face in my dreams; I've thought about her in my waking moments; I've survived boring dates with other women by entertaining myself with fantasies about Morikawa-san.
That can't be healthy. But how do I purge her from my mind?
That girl is dangerous. I wonder if she knows it. Perhaps she *does* know it, and revels silently to herself about how fun it is to torment a man. Just with her mere presence-- so close, yet a canyon of distance between us.
I'm brought out of my reveries by a soft, cheerful alto voice. "Your face is like a thundercloud," Morikawa-san lightly told me, standing in my doorway with a sheaf of papers in her hand. She crossed the short distance to my desk, and deposited the report into my file box. "Perhaps you're contemplating a merger? I pity the poor business you people are taking over next."
"Ha," I answered shortly, jolted awake. The fantasy Morikawa-san was my own creation. I was *not* to confuse her with the real one. I mentally berated myself for losing sight of reality. I discovered that I had taken my Rubix cube from my desk and was absently shuffling the tiny colored squares around.
"Don't work too late," smiled Morikawa-san. "It's past your dinnertime."
"What about the others?" I asked, trying to get a glimpse into the world of cubicles which existed on the other side of my open door.
"They left hours ago," answered Morikawa. With a delicately manicured fingertip, she indicated the report just submitted. "But that's important, and I knew you wanted it before I left tonight. But *I'm* going home to *my* dinner, and I suggest *you* go home to *yours*."