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Nightshade & Sakura | Chapter 8: Omikuji (おみくじ)
Beginning Notes from the Author
Hey, guys! I am about a month late on this update. One, this chapter may be emotionally triggering for some. I have tried my hardest to take my readers that have experienced abuse into account, and thus, I do not go into explicit detail on the abuse the characters have suffered. And again, as I spoke in my previous "addressing of issues" in the notes of the last chapter, we are all into different things. If this is too triggering for you, you have to make the choice to read or to stop. People have all sorts of triggers. It's a fact of life. Even the most trivial things for some can be triggers for others. There is no possible way for me, even if I handle these issues with care, to avoid all of your triggers. Writing is an emotional outlet for me, and I've made the choice to share it with you.
Thank you, and please enjoy.
Kylo
Kylo jolted awake, his heart racing. Meaty, rough hands on his shoulders. Golden glinting wedding band, fourth finger, digging into flesh.
He rubbed his eyes. 3 A.M. Rey. She was here. Asleep, her face neutral, dreaming. He touched her cheek. Did she have nightmares like he did? Had anyone hurt her?
Shower. He stood under the frozen water and scrubbed his skin until it was red and raw and puffy. The pain in his belly. It was back. A sort of dull aching sensation that lingered long after the meaty hand had left his shoulder.
He caught sight of her toiletries—the culprit of her floral smelling hair, some English brand travel-size bottles. After their talk yesterday, she'd had only enough energy to arrange a few of her things in the bathroom. She'd wanted to see the paintings, but when Kylo came back in from the patio after smoking a cigarette, he found her passed out on top of the bed—not even under the comforter.
What question would she ask tomorrow, and what memories would it bring? Kylo wondered, turning the shower now all the way up to scalding hot and letting it sear his skin. Han had suggested therapy, or asked about it, the night he died. Alexander himself had tried for years to get Kylo to go, but Kylo never went. He didn't need therapy. He'd dealt with the past in his own way. Eliminated the problems. Taken a new identity. One that was his and only his. When he couldn't sleep, he dealt with it. Painting, push-ups, running three miles, jacking off, finding a girl for the night. Talking about it had never gotten him anywhere. He'd tried to eight years ago, and it had ended with more pain.
Kylo thought about jacking off now—letting his hand glide over himself, take away some of the aching memory in his stomach. They say the body doesn't remember pain. But Kylo did. He could still remember those hands, the gliding, the pushing. Four years branded and stamped with it.
Towel wrapped around his waist and shivering, he walked back to the bedroom. He stayed only a moment, to grab a pair of clean clothes and watch her continuing to sleep peacefully.
Ginza was silent, the streets dead. Kylo wandered, puffing on a cigarette. He thought of Luke and his first wife, Ayane—adopting him at fourteen so he could live in Japan. His mother had stood in her designer blue dress and fed him that stereotypical bullshit of "a clean break." But what she'd really meant was, a clean break for her. A break from her son who'd stolen money from her safe, jewelry from her bathroom, and alcohol from the bolted liquor cooler (Kylo had figured out where they'd hidden the key). Her son who'd stayed out all night popping ecstasy pills with his friends, and occasionally selling marijuana on the streets. The latter had resulted in his shipment to Japan.
A U.S. representative couldn't have a son like him.
Cigarette finished, Kylo broke into a sprint—running so fast and for so long that by the time he stopped, darkness danced across his vision.
They didn't have hash browns.
Kylo stared at the ravished food display case and wondered. How the hell do you tell a pregnant lady craving only hash browns that you didn't get them because all the non-pregnant people had already snapped them up?
It was the third kombini he'd been to near his apartment—the breakfast rush had decimated each store's food stocks. Rey would've gone with him, but she'd felt sick and went back to bed.
But not without leaving a specific list—two hash browns, a box of crackers, ginger ale, and a chocolate chip scone. He'd been in the middle of making hash browns no less when she'd wrapped her arms around him. "I haven't craved anything this entire pregnancy. And I'm craving hash browns," she'd said, turning up her nose at his homemade ones sizzling in the skillet.
Kylo didn't want to think about when she left. Who would take care of her? What would she eat? Even her talking about it yesterday, seeing her eyes fill with tears at the thought of leaving had almost made him—
And that never happened. Not anymore. Not since…
He shook away the thought and moved on to the next kombini. He hadn't thought about that in years, not since dreaming of it last night, the phantasmal images inspired by her.
At least the next kombini had one hash brown left.
"Rey?" he called when he returned home, opening the door to his bedroom, the requested items in tow. But she was gone, the bed empty. "Rey?" he called again, his heart pounding
"In here!" came her voice. The spare bedroom. She's okay, he told himself. Everything is okay.
Kylo found her sitting on the floor, his paintings strewn about around her. "Hey, I thought you were going to look later. Feeling better?"
She nodded, but her attention wasn't on him. He watched as her fingers caressed the wooden frame of one of his favorite paintings. A painting of her, a few years after he'd left. For so long he'd kept it hidden in his closet in Chicago—propped up against the very back wall, buried beneath hanging pants and suit jackets.
"I see you found that one," he muttered, sitting down beside her on the floor.
Her face lit up—bright, full, a mirror of her in the painting. "Mm. It's beautiful. Why wasn't it out with the rest?"
Kylo stared at it. The style was a much too real one—Rey under rows and rows of cherry blossom trees, her grin the widest he'd ever seen. A world, a universe, of pink.
And she at the center.
"I painted it five years after I left. I woke up one day, and I realized…" He shook his head. "I forgot what your smile looked like. Not the fake one. The real one. When you told me to fuck off for teasing you, when I'd put in a CD you liked, when I took you to the park that day without them… just us. I thought about you turning eighteen and me not there to take you out to get shitfaced like I promised, and I dunno. That one came to me. I never forgot your smile again."
"Why you so obsessed with me?" she said in a sing-song voice. "Robbed the cradle, didn't you?"
He glared at her.
"Oh come on, Ben." She hit his arm. "I'm joking."
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "I know, but it pisses me off."
"Why?" she asked.
"Is that your question today?"
"It's not a question about the past."
He stared out at the blank, white wall on the opposite side of the room. "Everything is a question about the past. It's all connected. Our opinions and decisions are influenced by it."
"That's…" She shook her head. "Will you just tell me why it pisses you off?"
"Because it's fucked up, Rey. To have that kind of relationship with a teenager."
"But you didn't think of me like that… did you?"
"Fuck no. The thought of anyone taking advantage of you or any fucking kid… It's sick." The pain was back. The hands. The ring. Breath in his ear.
"Then what are you worried about?"
"How everyone else sees it. You and me. I'm worried your family will give you shit when you tell them about us. And I know you will."
"Leia wasn't upset."
"Leia is Leia. She doesn't count. How do you think Mara will react? Or Luke? They'll wanna know about the times you stayed with me back then. They'll ask you… because you're a girl, and I was an older man. If they haven't already." Girls. They were the only ones that got asked questions like that. Who gave a fuck about boys?
"They won't do that. I mean, they asked if I had ever felt unsafe with you after you left, but… Our relationship was different back then. As Leia said, a connection. It wasn't sexual. She knows that. I know that. I was only joking about the painting. Really, it's quite lovely and extremely well-done."
"They asked if I hurt you?"
"Yeah. If you ever drove drunk with me in the car, if you ever hit me or—"
"I don't need to hear any more." His hands balled into fists. He swallowed, trying to keep it all back. He'd been fine with the past for years. Accepted it. Moved on.
"You shouldn't care what they think. I'm with you. We're having a baby together. They'll get over it."
It felt real—her saying it out loud. Their child. His girlfriend, the first he'd had in eight years. The thought of someone hurting her, taking away that innocence and extinguishing that smile. "Did anyone ever abuse you?" he blurted out before he could think better of it.
A wrinkle lined her brow. "What kind of abuse? I had a few foster parents smack me on the bum or make me crawl across spilled rice as punishment or—"
"Physical abuse is not what I meant," he said, knowing he should stop himself now.
"You mean… as in touching me or…?"
"Yes."
"No, of course not." She laughed nervously. "Maybe I was lucky? There were other girls I knew that had been abused, but most didn't talk about it." When he didn't reply, she laughed again and said, "Okay… well have you? I guess that's my question for the day."
"Hmm? No," he said, but fought to control the shaking in his voice.
Rey snuggled up to him. "Good. But why do you care about what they think about us?"
"Besides it being a conflict of interest between our companies? I don't, but it cheapens everything." He explored her eyes, his heart palpitating. When he thought of her, of what he felt for her, he couldn't breathe. "Back then it was like you were the only person who understood me. Yuki never got it—why I allowed you to stay or why I took you to places alone, just us." The words continued to flow out. "When I saw you in Tokyo… You'd changed. A woman. Your presentation… Fuck." He chuckled. "I was in trouble."
"Always thinking with your dick," she said with a smile.
He raised his eyebrows. "I do a lot more than thinking."
"You're hard again."
He couldn't help it; he began to kiss her, taste her, his hand instinctively feeling her up—across her well-rounded breasts and stomach. A good distraction from the turn their conversation had taken. Is that all his life had amounted to since that time when he was a child? Distractions?
"Why are these on?" he demanded tugging at her shirt and pants.
"To keep from turning you on."
Kylo slipped a hand under her bra, squeezing the soft flesh, his lips falling on her neck. "You think clothes will stop me?"
He unzipped his pants and rubbed against her.
"Ben. Paintings. No sex."
"Why not?" he asked. Breathe. Kiss. Breathe. He deepened his attack on her neck. "You're beautiful. I wanna fuck you."
"Mm…" she moaned. "I'm sore from yesterday. And I'm still not feeling well."
He stopped, but his lips lingered on her neck. "Still? Did you throw up again while I was gone?"
Rey shook her head. "No, thankfully. I'm much better than last weekend. I think the anxiety of telling you was getting to me."
"You can talk to me," he whispered, grabbing her chin. "Always."
"Mm. I can talk to you, but you can't talk to me."
His eyes stung, but he didn't cry. "I'm trying. I answered your question, didn't I?" But he hadn't, not really. "I'm trying," he repeated. But he wasn't, not really.
"I know." She nodded, running a finger along the wooden frame of the painting resting in her hands. "Can I take this one back with me to London?"
"It belongs to you," he said and wanted to add: It always belonged to you.
Everything, in reality, belonged to her. Kylo's apartment filled with her presence—paintings she'd picked, her drained mug of tea in the sink, hair products in the shower. The picture of their growing child inside of her, stuck to the fridge. His sheets smelled like her; he smelled like her.
Together, they hung the paintings throughout the small apartment, Rey taking breaks when she felt dizzy or sick. He couldn't stop touching her. The feel of her body against his, it was indescribable. It'd been different with Yuki. Not as urgent or passionate—why? He'd loved Yuki, spent two years with her. Thought about marrying her.
But Rey? Rey danced in the living room to heavy metal, waltzing like she was listening to classical. "Come on," she called, holding out her hands after they'd finished with the paintings. "Dance with me."
"You don't dance to this music, babe," he said, but took her hands anyway and let her lead him. "You seem happy."
"I am. Your apartment doesn't look like someone conducted an estate sale without you knowing."
"My apartment in Chicago was nothing like this. I just hadn't fully moved in yet here."
They swayed for a few moments; he twirled her around the room, fumbling.
She laughed. "You are a terrible dancer. I can teach you."
"So? Doesn't matter in Japan. Dancing isn't even done at weddings. And I do know how to dance, but you don't dance to heavy metal."
"Well I do, and you will too," she said, falling into his arms. "I need to sit down now, I think." She removed her hands from his and plopped onto the couch.
In her absence, his palm stung.
Tuesday afternoon bled into Tuesday night. He cooked her dinner, mindful of her aversions and developing cravings—baked chicken breast and miso soup. The color returned to her face; she was keeping food down and laughing at his horrible jokes again. Entwining their hands and breathing in his kisses.
At night, he made love to her, held her, thought about whispering his feelings against her hair, telling her everything about the past—disregarding the question system he'd established. But that thought lingered only for a moment, quickly replaced with the phantom pain he continued to push down.
Finished and spent, he cleaned her up and kissed her stomach. She dozed in his arms, and he shortly after with the scent of her hair filling his nose.
But by 2 A.M., he was awake, breathing hard again. The shadows of the past had never haunted him this much. Not for a long time. He stood under the shower, ran four miles, and painted. A violent, abstract painting, a face rising from blues and blacks.
"Are you okay?" Rey asked over a breakfast of kombini hash browns, miso soup, and Lady Grey tea.
Her hand ran over his painted-stained fingers, looping them together. Kylo barely touched his breakfast.
"Are you not sleeping?" she continued, reaching to cup his face.
He fell into her warm skin and kissed her knuckles. "I told you. I don't sleep."
They sat in the early morning silence, listening to the sounds of cars and construction. It seemed to Kylo that Japan was always under constant construction—perfecting the unperfectable. Was that what he'd done for eight years?
"I have a surprise for you," he said, picking up her empty bowl and placing it in the sink.
"Oh?"
"If you're feeling up to it. You didn't leave the apartment yesterday."
"The rest has been nice," she said. "Where are we going?"
Kylo didn't answer her question; he watched her dress and apply her makeup, silent as she glided through the routine.
"Where are we going?" she asked again when they made it downstairs.
He handed her a stack of crisp 10,000 yen notes. "Anywhere you want. I want you to find something nice to wear tonight. Formal."
"I have the dress I wore at the wedding."
"Something new, designer. We're in Ginza. Prada. Versace. A brand you've never worn before."
She tried, going into each designer store and quickly exiting. By the fourth one, she said, "Ben, really, I like the dress I wore at the wedding. These are all beautiful, but too expensive. You've spent enough on me."
"I told you. Don't worry about the money. I've been saving for years."
"But I do. I won't be able to wear any dress I buy in a few months. And you're spending way too much on me."
"Making up for lost time."
The sun shone in her eyes, illuminating strands of brown. "You don't need to make up for anything." She stood on her toes and kissed him, lingering briefly against his lips. "I like vintage clothes though. Can we go somewhere like that?"
"Have you ever been to Harajuku?" he asked.
"Isn't that the district with the weird clothes?"
Kylo smiled. "Something like that."
"Where've you taken me?" Rey asked when they stood before the digital sign for Takeshita Street. "I've only seen this on TV." She walked ahead of him, letting go of his arm. The streets were jammed thick with people; the smell of fresh crepes permeated the air, a scent like sickly-sweet perfume and fresh bread. The last time he'd been here was with Yuki, a month before it'd all fallen apart. Yuki used to occasionally dress up in the gothic lolita fashion like a few of the girls in the crowd now—Doc Martens, big hair bows, and platform heels, depending on the type of Lolita.
Rey walked beside him, looking in every direction. Her fingers fidgeted at his side until he brought them to his lips. Her smile—he could have never imagined she would smile at him like this. Nine years ago, when he'd first met her, he never expected their relationship to develop into this. She'd been a pseudo-kid sister to him, not someone he'd ever thought about having sex with. She wasn't a kid anymore, and they were having their own. Together. It'd only been two days since she told him, and it felt like a lifetime.
Kylo led her past crepe stands, cafes, and clothing shops to one of the many vintage stores in Harajuku. But not without Rey demanding they get crepes and visit a cat cafe after shopping.
"The cats are tourist traps, but if you want to see them, we can. But you have a cat already, don't you?"
"I'm afraid I'll have to rehome Bee-Bee soon. Being pregnant, I can't clean his litter box anymore. I'm sure Mara has suspected something, but I've feigned forgetfulness."
Kylo pondered that as they walked into the shop. She rummaged through the jammed-packed racks, breathing in the smell of the old clothing. She found a few dresses and made a show of trying to hide them from him—crumbling them up and sticking them behind her back. "You aren't telling me where we're going, so you've lost clothes-judging privileges. You can wait outside, thank you very much. And get me a strawberry crepe. Your kid wants something sweet."
He chuckled and threw up his hands. "Sure, blame it on the kid. Can you speak enough Japanese to ask for a dressing room?"
"Watch me."
He looked her up and down, wishing they were at home so he could fuck her. That aggression—he liked that aggressive part about her, even as it made his jaw clench.
When he came back with her crepe, she was standing outside the shop, a smile on her face.
"Success?" he asked.
She smiled wider. "You'll see."
But he didn't. Before they could leave the house, she wrapped in one of his long coats to hide her dress, she was sick again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated, rushing to the bathroom and shutting the door.
He waited outside in his jacket and tie, gently knocking on the wood every minute or two and asking if she was okay. When she emerged, she was pale like on Sunday at the wedding and stripped down to her underwear. She fell into his chest and buried her nose into him. "You had reservations again, didn't you?" she asked.
"It's not a big deal, babe. I can reschedule. You should lie down." He led her to the bedroom, gently undoing the intricate twist she had her hair up in and helping her take off her bra. "Sick and still don't want me to see the dress, huh?"
"It was supposed to be a surprise… It's in the bathroom," she said. "Please don't look."
"I won't, but I want you to see a doctor here in Tokyo."
"I already have my doctor in London."
It was too early, wasn't it? To be thinking of a permanent solution—her living with him? That would require marriage. Golden glinting wedding ring. Wedding ring. Wedding ring. Wedding ring. Golden glinting. Fourth finger. He swallowed and tucked her in.
"You're right, you do. But maybe a change in nausea meds?"
Rey nodded. "Can you get me some water?"
He took care of her the rest of the night, holding her hair when she felt the urge to vomit. By 8:30, she was dozing in his arms, the TV on some Japanese game show. Suddenly, she whispered, "I didn't get to ask my question today."
His heart pounded. He'd hoped she would forget about it. "Ask away."
"I need to know." She was wide awake now, hand propping up her head. Her eyebrows were furrowed, eyes reflecting back a strangeness, like she was remembering pain or the faint shape of it. Pain from the past. How she'd looked when he first saw her in Tokyo, but without the shock. And then she whispered the words he'd known were coming for two days, "Why did you leave?
"Maybe you should rest tonight?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"Ben… I know it's painful. I know it's not a question you want to answer, but you told me I could talk to you. What happened… with everything? With the English Republic? With Han?"
"Why I left and what happened with Han? Those are two questions. One a day."
"Then answer whichever one you want." When he didn't respond, she continued, "Please?"
"The key questions, right? What you always wanted to know. Why can't you be happy that I'm here now? That I want to be with you. That I-I-I…" He swallowed. "That I love you."
Her eyes filled with tears. "You love me?"
"You really think I'd be here if I didn't? You scare the shit out of me." He placed his hands on her stomach. "This scares the shit out of me. And the past? I wish I could erase it. What happened, I wish it didn't exist."
"When you said I wasn't alone…" The tears spilled onto her cheeks. She paused, breathed. "Neither are you."
He kissed her, relishing the softness of her lips, the taste of her tears on his tongue. He held her as tightly as humanly possible. She seemed to fit, to mold and meld with his body. He breathed in her kisses, their foreheads together.
"I know it's painful. I know what I'm asking you, but I want to feel close to you. I don't want to have this between us going forward. Please."
"Okay," he said. "Come out with me to the balcony? I need some air."
She nodded, and he helped her out of bed. When they both were decently dressed, she in her only pair of pajama pants and one of his old t-shirts—the Slayer logo fading and dull—they moved to the balcony.
The lights were like fading emergency signals, the air humid and warm. Abruptly Kylo remembered a night on his balcony in Kyoto, Rey beside him, her hair damp from the shower, laughing at some joke he couldn't even remember. Yet he recalled that sound. He always could.
He wanted a cigarette, wanted to feel the smoke as it glided into his lungs and released—a painkiller dulling his senses into numbness. But he didn't light up. He took her into his arms, wondering at the feel of her stomach underneath his fingertips. It wasn't only about him now. None of it was. Neither of you. Neither are you. Neither are you.
They stood in silence for a while, Rey gripping the railing, he onto her from behind.
His voice cut through the stillness. "I left because I had to," he said. "I worked for the English Republic. I built it. Secured us meetings with boards across Japan. Tokyo. Kyoto. Sapporo. I was good at it. In two years, the company grew tremendously, but I felt like it wasn't me. There were things… things that I was dealing with back then. Coming to terms with. There was an investor in the company I didn't like, but Luke said we needed him. That the company wouldn't grow. We wouldn't be able to take sufficient salaries or train our teachers without his funds. I met Alexander who was then the ambassador for First English. He wanted a partnership between the English Republic and First English. It was an opportunity. We wouldn't need that particular investor anymore. Luke and Leia didn't like the idea of merging companies one day, not even the idea of working together as partners. But I knew we could grow the company faster if we did. Leia was handling the recruiting in the U.K. and America. Going to colleges and getting people interested in Japanese culture and coming to Japan. So I referred some of them to First English in exchange for contacts with the boards we hadn't been able to get an audience with yet. They found out about it. And then there was Yuki and I. She was pushing me to get married so her parents would accept our relationship more. They didn't like her staying the night with me all the time. I guess, dealing with the stress, I made a really stupid mistake. It was about three months after your visit to Japan. I got a D.U.I."
Rey tensed underneath him. "A D.U.I.? Did anyone get hurt?"
"No, but Japan has a zero tolerance policy, and I was arrested."
She tensed further, but didn't say anything.
"I asked Luke if he would help me keep it quiet and try to get the case dismissed. Usually there isn't a problem as long as it isn't leaked to the media. Luke and Leia wanted me to enter a rehab facility in the U.K." Kylo remembered that call home—first talking to Luke, then to Leia. Han had been away, as usual. You need to get help. Get help, they'd both said. Like he wasn't their family, a criminal.
A monster.
Kylo continued, "I refused. Without agreeing to go, they wouldn't actively try to keep the information out of the media's hands or work to get it dismissed. But they weren't only concerned about the D.U.I… Yuki and I got into a… physical fight the same night, and Yuki called Leia. That's why I left the apartment."
"Did you… did you hurt her?" Rey's voice cracked.
"Yes," he said without hesitating. "I pushed her. She fell into my table and cut her hand. She was shocked not mad, and the cut wasn't deep. She begged me not to go, that she was alright, but I left anyway, and everything I'd worked for had the potential to be destroyed, because they wouldn't help." Kylo wouldn't tell her about what else Luke knew, what else he'd covered and swept underneath threats of the company coming undone. It didn't matter now. "That was the end of it. Alexander had contacts within the government and offered to pay off the right people if I joined First English. It was a good offer. I took it and the accusation was thrown out. I haven't looked back."
Yes, you have, his mind screamed. Liar. That's what you're good at. Leaving. Lying.
Rey breathed in and out, her stomach rising underneath Kylo's fingertips. He braced himself for her accusations, for her to confirm what his family had that night, what his mother had since sending him off to Japan.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, she was there—standing on her toes, her breath in his face. "I love you too," she said simply.
"Why? I told you I got D.U.I. and hurt my ex-girlfriend."
She tilted her head to the side. "Do you remember how I used to aggravate you and pull on your ears? Or how I would bite you really hard when you made me mad?"
"Dumbo I think you called me, and I think I still have a scar on my shoulder with your teeth marks. But that's not the same."
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't be," he replied. "I deserved it. I liked to aggravate you too."
"All those times I was good to you, and you to me. All the times I made you smile or helped you cook dinner. The times you took me for ice cream, how you would call me and ask about how I was adjusting with your family when no one else did. We were both good to each other. Should I disregard the 90% good for the 10% shit or even the 70% good for the 30% shit? Call you an alcoholic or an abuser for one night of lapse in judgment? What do you want me to say?"
"I hadn't thought about it like that." He paused. "But you hated me. In Tokyo."
"I did. Because I didn't understand where you were coming from. You left without saying anything. What was I supposed to think? Though, admit it, you were an arsehole in the beginning."
"Fair enough." He laughed. "That's some deep shit. You sure you're only twenty-one?"
"Why does age matter? You're older than me, so what?"
He knew now what his question was going to be for the day. "Have you done anything in a relationship you regret?"
"Of course. Do you remember when I told you about my second relationship?"
He nodded.
"I don't know if it was because I went completely insane, but... The more he cheated on me, the more unempathetic he was… I pushed him once or twice or hit him when we'd have a row. Nothing that left a mark, but wrong nonetheless. He never touched me."
"Han and Leia would get into it sometimes. Mostly when he'd drink," Kylo found himself saying. "Can I ask a favor?"
"Anything," she said.
"I don't wanna answer the question about what happened with my father. Not yet. I didn't hurt him though, if you're wondering. I'll tell you someday, I promise. Okay?"
"Okay." Rey turned her attention back to the city, gripping the handrail again. "Japan is always so quiet," she said, her voice far away. "I think I understand why now."
Time passed. At some points suspended, their highlights sticking out in Kylo's mind like multi-colored page markers in a kanji book. Spring was fading. The humidity and heat in the air marked the turn to summer, purple wisteria petals withering against green grass, floating in puddles of light rain. On Thursday, the next day, Rey sat next to him, downing an ice cream cone. She was better than last night, and before he took her to the doctor, they wandered around the imperial palace gardens.
"Isn't it a little early for ice cream?" he asked her when she pulled the premade cone from the freezer and paid the cashier.
"Tell your kid that," she said, tearing off the plastic top and plopping the entire top of the cone into her mouth.
Rey relaxed into him on the bench and placed her head on his shoulder. Kylo wondered at that—the way she'd turned her body to face him or how she melted into him, closer and closer. Different after last night.
He eyed her ice cream. "You gonna give me a bite of that?"
She paused, looking back and forth between him and the treat.
"Sure." She smashed it lightly into his face, the cold freezing his lips. "There. That's for making me go to the doctor. Now sod off."
"Saw that one coming," he said, wiping off the mess.
"What was your first time like?"
He blinked. "What?"
"Your first time having… you know," she said in a lowered voice. "I told you about mine. What was yours like?"
"We're in public," he whispered, looking around. "There are people who can speak English here."
"Then you better be quiet. I'm curious."
"Pregnancy hormones?"
"It's not bloody pregnancy hormones," she snapped. "Why do men always blame everything on hormones? I just want to know."
He played with her fingers. "After the doctor, I'll tell you."
Kylo took her to an English-speaking doctor Yumiko recommended who prescribed her a new anti-nausea medication, and when they were back at his apartment, laying down in his bed, he spoke. Soft. Gentle. In remembrance. "You wanna know about my first time?"
She rolled her eyes and kissed his nose. "Finally."
Kylo didn't like to remember the first time he experimented with sex. The confusion, the distortion of what he truly liked. "My first sexual encounter was with a guy," he said.
"A guy?" She laughed. "Oh God, you're serious. You? With a guy?"
"It didn't go well," he admitted.
"Did you think you were gay?"
"For a while, I thought I might be bisexual. But then I experimented with women. And yeah… definitely straight. I don't know what you call sex or a first time." The first time having sex on his on his own accord or…?
"All? What was it like?"
"I didn't get far. I had to stop in the middle of it. Wasn't turned on. Fucked up, right?" He remembered thinking he had a flaw in his code—when he watched violent gay porn and dreamed of acting out some of it. He'd asked his friend, who had also been questioning, to experiment with him. But while his friend had actually discovered he was gay from that encounter, Kylo shuddered when he remembered.
"I mean, you like who you like. You can't help that. Liking men or women isn't wrong. It doesn't say anything about you. It just seemed like you were only interested in women."
"I am. I don't like men," he said, point blank, feeling her up. "I was confused."
"I guess so. It seems strange for you though—experimenting with men when you're so adamant about being straight."
He grabbed her breasts, feeling himself react to her as he always did. "I don't really know, Rey. I was confused. My parents were always fighting." But that wasn't it; that wasn't it at all. She didn't question him further.
Later, after a light dinner, when they lay awake in the dark room both unable to sleep this time, he asked, "What do you remember about your parents?"
She rested her head against his chest. "Not much. Shadows here and there. A woman. A man." She furrowed her eyebrows. "I was so young. I'm sorry. I don't remember much."
"It's okay."
"I remember painting a wall. I took off all my clothes because I think I didn't want to get them dirty. Mara has the picture. It's one of the few things I have from before."
"Is that how our kid will be?"
"I don't know. Maybe. If she takes after me."
"Still think it's a girl?"
"I have a feeling, and I want a girl." She played with a piece of his hair. "A girl with your hair. You with a daughter. She'd be wrapped around your finger."
He smiled at that, kissing her face. "No boys then?"
"Well we can't choose, can we? I just think a boy would be harder."
A boy. Kylo didn't like to think about it. A girl would be easier; she wouldn't be like him.
"Is there anything else you remember? Do you know what happened to your parents?"
Rey shrugged. "I don't know the hows or whys. I do remember a woman and a man, but only a shadow of the man. It could've been anyone. I don't know."
"I find it hard to believe that they up and left you at a fire station. Without consequence."
"It wasn't without consequence. When they finally identified my birth mum, they found her dead. Her name was Hayley. Hayley Lee. It was a drug overdose they said. There was no father on the birth certificate, but I do remember a man. Somehow. He didn't have any hair. It might've been a boyfriend, not necessarily my father."
"I'm sorry, Rey."
"Oh, it's alright," she said, kissing him.
He could press her for more information—ask her to recall the little she remembered, but it would be self-indulgent.
Kylo, more than anyone, knew there were some things better left buried.
Friday came. Her last full day. Tomorrow she'd leave. For only the second time that week, Kylo woke up with her, his arm wrapped around her stomach.
After breakfast, they dressed together, and he took her to the park near his apartment. "Tomorrow, you fly out of Narita at ten in the morning," he said. "So we need to get up earlie—"
"Could we not talk about tomorrow?" She stopped walking and plopped onto a bench. Her face was unreadable, eyes focused straight ahead. "I know what time I need to get up. I don't want to spend any of our last full day together talking about tomorrow."
He sat down next to her and brought her fingers to his lips. "Then tonight? I rescheduled our reservations."
"That sounds nice. If I don't get sick again."
"San dome no shoujiki. Third time's the charm as the cliche goes."
"The Japanese have it too? Well let's hope it's luckier than the English version."
Kylo kept her busier than any other day. He spent the day showing her around Tokyo—first Sensoji Temple, the smoke from the purifying caldron thick and musty. He'd only been a few times before, but like her, he still wondered at its beauty, the ancientness around them.
Suddenly, she touched his arm. "What's that?"
"Omikuji. Fortune papers. You draw a number written on a bamboo stick from that." He pointed to one of the metal hexagon boxes on the counter. "Then you find the box with your number and retrieve your fortune. It's a scam. An easy one-hundred yen for them."
"I'm Kylo Yakuza Ren," she mocked in his American accent. "Been on the streets since '99. I don't do fortunes. They're such a scam."
He glared at her, but she continued to smile.
"Stop being so cynical. It looks fun." She pulled him along toward building.
After he deposited the money in the collector's slot, he showed her how to shake the box for her number. She gave it a couple good jerks and the bamboo stick popped out at the bottom.
"What's it say?" she asked.
"Sixty-three." He briefly explained the kanji to her, pointing to each character and saying its pronunciation. Together they found the matching box, and she pulled it open, retrieving one of the pieces of paper inside.
The kanji, "Kyo 凶," stared back at them. Kylo was silent.
"What does it mean?" Rey asked.
"Bad fortune, a curse. Flip it over. There might be English on the back."
And there was. Quickly, Rey read out loud, "It is hard to unravel a tangled thread. Oppressed with sorrow, you can't tell whether it is right or not. You find yourself in hard, awkward circumstance like being caught in a fishing net. Even though you may have a lot of trouble and sorrow, everything will be alright if you are patient and have faith in Buddhism." She stopped and pointed to the sentences with asterisks next them. "Are these all the possible bad scenarios?"
He nodded, reading to himself. *Your wish will not come true. *The sick person is hopeless. *The lost article will not be found. *The person you are waiting for will not come. *Building a new house and removal are both bad. *It is bad to make a trip. *Neither marriage nor employment is bad.
"The English is a bit wrong, isn't it?" Rey observed.
"Japanese is very different from English. They try their best."
"I wonder if I should cancel my flight, huh?
"It's a stupid fortune. It doesn't mean anything. It's rare to get a good one."
A few moments passed in silence before Kylo pointed to a section of horizontal metal poles and said, "Okay, now you have to tie it to there so it doesn't follow you home as the superstition goes."
He showed her how to fold and tie the curse. "Too bad we don't believe in Buddhism," he said, fiddling with the paper. "Maybe everything won't be alright for nonbelievers."
"I think Buddhism is actually quite fascinating," she said and explained her interest in more detail. He found out that it intrigued her as much as it did him even if they both didn't believe—how it spoke to her in ways that other religions didn't.
But even with all the beauty of Tokyo and talks of religion the omikuji had evoked, a part of him wished they'd stayed in Kyoto. Going to the market, walking down Philosopher's Path, eating matcha parfaits and sitting in a cafe.
"It's not red," Rey said, staring up at the entrance to Yoyogi Park—a giant unpainted wooden Torii gate.
"Some of them aren't," Kylo replied, leading her through. "We can go to Kamakura if you want. It's like a little Kyoto."
"But would it be the same?"
He shook his head. "Nowhere in Japan is like Kyoto. But maybe we can make the best of it? Next time you come, we'll spend a week in Kyoto. I promise."
Rey was silent, eyes downcast. "Okay."
Kylo found himself looking down at his watch more, each step resounding in his mind like the finality of a ring from an altar bell. They'd said goodbye numerous times already. It should've felt easy, but with her, it never was.
At lunch in a small cafe, he sat down next to her and not across, his hand glued to her thigh. The new medication seemed to be working—or maybe she was growing out of the nausea. Next week, she'd be twelve weeks. Almost out of the first trimester and three months pregnant.
From not wanting kids to being unable to stop touching her stomach. In only three months. From not having anyone in eight years to dating again. In three months.
Crimson red lace. Kylo stopped. Rey walked out from the bathroom and regarded him with rigid posture.
"Gave up on the coat?" he asked, his eyes wandering up her body—up the delicate floral lace to the smallest part of her waist cinched by the material.
"It's too hot."
He embraced her, staring down at her face.
"You seem to like this dress," she observed.
He pulled back a little and studied the fabric again; it clung to her curves and flared near her hips. "The color is nice on you."
"Your favorite. I remembered. And I see you're wearing a yellow shirt."
He pressed his lips to her hair. "You," he whispered, not quite sure what he meant to say.
"Me," she replied with a laugh, burying her face into his chest. They stayed like that for a while before he tried to pull back to look at her face. She didn't budge.
"Rey? What's the matter?"
He realized then that she was crying, low whimpers muffled against his chest. "Rey?" he repeated, still trying to pry her off. "You not feeling good? We can stay in."
"It's not that," she said, finally pulling back. Her mascara was running down her face, nose red. "Sorry. Let me fix my makeup and then we can go."
He didn't know what to do or what to say the whole way in the taxi to the restaurant. She didn't want to talk about tomorrow, and he knew it wasn't wise if she was already getting upset.
He tried not to think of it, making sure to pull out her chair for her and place her purse in the holder underneath the table. However, she was quiet and her eyes wouldn't meet his.
"I've never had udon," she admitted, staring at the menu. "Or authentic udon, I suppose."
"The curry udon is the best. It's what I'm getting."
She nodded. "I'll have that too, I think. And a melon soda."
Once they ordered, they both looked out at the city below them, he watching her from the corner of his eye, but she continued to avoid his gaze. "This is a really nice restaurant," she said. "Spectacular view. Thank you."
"It'll only be for five weeks," he blurted out.
"I know. I don't know what's wrong with me. I was so determined to do this—the pregnancy alone if you decided you didn't want it. And now…" Her face scrunched up; she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess."
He reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulling out a red box. "I have something for you."
"Hmm?"
He slid the box across the table. "Open it."
Rey picked it up and carefully pried open the lid. Her lips curled into a wide smile. "Ben… It's beautiful."
Kylo stood and walked to her, placing the necklace around her neck. Against her skin, the silver shone radiant, each petal on the lotus pendant luminous. "I had it made about a month ago," he said. "I was going to give it to you on Saturday at dinner."
She looked down at it, fingers fiddling with the metal. "Thank you."
"I meant to ask you formally," he said once he sat down and brought her hand to his lips. "Will you be my girlfriend?"
Her eyes filled with tears again. "So you were going to ask me nicely."
"I know I suck at all this." He gestured to her hand against his lips. "But yeah. I was. You didn't give me the chance."
She sobbed quietly into her napkin. He knew it was a combination of hormones, the idea of being separated, and going through the pregnancy alone for the next five weeks, but thinking about the logic didn't stop his heart from lurching.
He kissed her fingers. "Is that a yes?"
"Of course. Absolutely. Yes, yes, yes."
"Good. Now you have to stop crying before everyone thinks I'm breaking up with you."
She laughed. "I hate you."
After that, Kylo distracted her with kanji, talks of astronomy, politics, and places he'd visited. The workings of the world he didn't yet understand. She provided new insights like she'd done when she was a teenager, always a step ahead of him. He found himself staring silently at her, a finger pressed to his lips.
"There is something different about you. Otherworldly," he muttered.
"Well maybe I am. Maybe we are. Maybe we are billions of years old. Rebirth, soulmates, and all that jazz. Maybe it exists. What do I know?"
Silently, he pulled out a pen, wrote the kanji for "Rei" (霊), and passed it to her.
"What's this?" she asked picking it up.
"Your name in Japanese." He took the paper from her and wrote it in roman characters underneath. "It can have other kanji associated with it, but this one means 'spirit' or 'ghost.'"
It seemed to work—distracting her with topics or food. She didn't cry again.
When they got home, he helped her out of her dress. He'd suggested they go out, but she was too tired. He knew the real reason, however. It was in every step they'd taken back to his apartment, in every word spoken. Everything numbered.
She curled into his chest on the bed, and the tears came again. "Rey," he whispered. "You're killing me. You gotta stop. It's not tomorrow yet."
She sobbed more.
"Why don't we go out? What do you say?"
She shook her head and clung tighter to him. Was this how she'd reacted when he left her before? He pressed his lips to hers, letting them linger, lost in her eyes. Again and again, without intent or desire. She continued to cry, and looking at her, in those brief moments when he pulled away from her mouth, an aching settled into his body.
It was her this time that tugged off his boxers. Her that guided him inside her. Her that grabbed his hips and forced him to thrust harder.
"Your body is amazing," he whispered, savoring the feel of her with each thrust. "Do you know that?"
The tears started again.
"Hey, hey, look at me," he said, and she did, her eyes bleary. "It won't be for long. I'll be there for your appointment. I promise."
She pulled him closer and buried her face into his shoulder. "It's half that. I'm worried you'll have second thoughts about us. That you'll… you'll leave again." She broke down, soaking his chest.
"Hey, hey, look at me." He grabbed her face and stared into her eyes. "You."
"Me."
"You," he repeated, trying to force the words out. Two days ago, he'd done it, impulsively, but now, nothing came.
"Are you…?" She sat up, murky light falling on her chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset too." She swiped at his eyes and kissed him, hard. "We're a mess."
When he didn't reply, she grabbed his hips again, encouraging him to resume. The dance was different, their tears mixing and falling onto the sheets, onto each other. Her moans, her breath in his ear, the sound filled with pleasure. He wouldn't hear it for five weeks, wouldn't be able to feel how she tightened around him. With each pass of his fingers between her legs, she became tighter, wetter—her teary eyes glued to his. Her breath hitched; her mouth hung open. The light, the hazel in her eyes, strands of yellow and brown. Her skin, her hips, her, her, her. She was… The tension released, their moans blended together. He pulled her tighter, thrusted harder, the euphoria falling over his mind like summer rain. All he could see was her. Her laughing. Her smiling. Her, her, her.
Coming down from the high, she settled against his chest, fingers running circles across his sticky skin. "You know, you're quite good at this," she said.
"Sex? Been doing it for a long time."
"I worry if that's all our relationship is. If this is all we're good at." She took a breath. "What was the worst thing that happened to you as a child?"
Kylo froze. "That's a random dark question. Why?"
"Please answer it. Honestly."
The pressure on his shoulder. Golden glinting wedding ring, fourth finger. Pain in his belly. He'd pushed it down for the past two days, slept, did well. But now it flew to the forefront of his mind. He couldn't tell her because she wouldn't understand. No one had. A different thing. Yes, a different thing. He needed a different story—any story. He told her of a few instances, how Han would sometimes yell at him when he was drunk, how he had few friends growing up, the way kids would make fun of him, pulling out their ears to mimic him. And finally, how a kid once pushed him down and caused him to break his arm.
"That's horrible," she said. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Why'd you ask?"
"Well." She swallowed. "Do you remember how you asked me about being sexually abused? I lied to you. So I wonder if this is all we're good at—having sex."
"What happened?"
"I think one of my foster brothers tried to… you know. I was eight; he was fourteen. He started touching me at night sometimes through my clothes. He'd come into my room and tell me if I screamed that I would be in trouble. One night I woke up to him on top of me. This time was different. He pinned me to the bed and tried to take off my clothes. We fought; I got away and ran to the living room. I guess my foster mother heard us struggle. The last thing I remember is her running in. Shards of glass were embedded in my hands and arms. The pain was excruciating. I must've fell into the glass display case they had in the living room. I was moved to a new family after that." She let out a nervous laugh. "I haven't told anyone this. I'm sorry I lied to you. For years I thought it was my fault. Silly, I know, but it was the worst thing that ever happened to me."
Kylo stared blankly at her, the throbbing in his chest back tenfold. If he told her, if he released the memories, could she understand? Would she believe him? And if she did, would she use it against him?
"I'm sorry, Rey," he said instead. "That's… he was a sick fuck."
No, he couldn't tell her—not tonight. Maybe one day, another day. But for now, he knew—she could possibly be the only person to ever understand him.
Maybe.
On the last morning, they hardly spoke. Kylo watched Rey go through the motions of packing, helping her when she asked, his mouth set in a firm line. He cooked her breakfast, made sure she ate most of it and took her nausea medication, but both spoke only out of necessity.
Rey was still silent on the way to the airport, her dry face pressed against the window. No music this morning. He knew it. She knew it. Better to delay it for as long as possible, to not speak and let the stillness fall over them.
He parked the car, grabbed her suitcase. Together they walked to her check-in point, she looking at her feet.
"Thank you for everything," she said numbly in a low voice. Her eyes snapped to his.
All at once, they came together—fervently—their lips colliding, ignoring everyone else around them. "Five weeks," he whispered between kisses. "Five weeks—that's it." He cradled her face, thumbs caressing her cheeks. "I'm not going to change my mind about us. Do you understand?"
Rey nodded, the held-back tears finally released.
"Do you think I want you to go?" He looked down at her, his eyes blurry. "You've got my kid, remember? You have…" He shook his head. Everything, he wanted to say.
She nodded again, bringing his hand to her lips.
"You're not alone," he whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. "You're never alone."
"Neither are you." She cried into his shirt, make-up and tears staining the fabric. He caressed her cheeks and reassured her over and over—he wasn't going anywhere, apart or not. He told her about all the things they'd do in London, the restaurants they'd eat at, the parks they'd go to, repeating it until her tears dried and her lips transformed into a smile.
But then, eventually, his arms held nothing at all.
Kylo tossed his keys on the entryway table, walked to the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He leaned against the counter, sipping away. The apartment was quiet, empty, the only sound the slight whir of the air con. He went to pour himself another, but caught sight of the ultrasound picture and froze. The baby, growing inside of her for the next five weeks without him there. The grainy lines he'd ran his hands over for the past week, each memorized.
He paced the apartment, room to room. The paintings she'd picked stared back at him. She'd chosen mostly ones with flowers—cherry blossoms and lotuses, their petals delicate, brush strokes airy. The ones he'd painted when he thought of her.
He moved to the bedroom. There was something on the nightstand—a picture, some of the edges torn. He moved closer, picked it up. It was a picture from that spring. She'd had it all this time. Her teenage form stared back at him, dirty brown hair whipped into tangles, hands clinging to his arm. Endless pink enveloped them—rows and rows of cherry blossoms, their branches teeming with flowers in full bloom. Yet the beauty was ignored, their gazes fixed on each other.
There was something taped to the back of the picture. A note. A picture for a picture, it read in her neat print. I don't need it anymore. His shoulders felt lighter—and heavier at the same time. The hand replaced with a new weight, a new thought. A permanence he hadn't considered before.
Kylo smiled and looked down. He'd forgotten to take his shoes off.
Author's Notes
Thank you again for reading and sticking with me. I hope the chapter wasn't too much. I am back after almost a two month hiatus away from most social media platforms, and I hope that I don't disappear again. However, if I'm delayed in replying back to your comment, please don't take it personal. Sometimes I hermit away and don't talk to anyone-not even my friends in real life. I'm working on getting better at this, but it's been an uphill battle.
Special thank you to Bex (as always) who spends so much time brainstorming with me, going back and forth on plot, and wading through my rough drafts. It's really amazing when you find someone you just *click* with and someone you hardly ever have to explain yourself to. So Bex, I've professed my love for you multiple times, but you really are like my second boyfriend! Haha, even my actual boyfriend is jealous of you are times. ;) Next thank you goes to my boyfriend (who is also named Ben funnily enough) who also betas, brainstorms with me, and has to listen to me rant and rave about Reylo. I think we make a great trio, y'all-Bee, Ben, and Bex. XD
Finally, thank you to May who took the time to do a final read through for me. You are awesome, and I appreciate you.
Information on personality types can be found here at this website: Human Metrics. I don't use 16 personalities that much because it's resulted in so many mistypes (my boyfriend got ISFP, but he's actually very much an INTJ in terms of description, and he received that result when he took the test on human metrics). So if you're curious, feel free to check this out. I love typing people and discussing theories on personalities. (I am a mix between ENFP and INFP and I agree with parts of both personality descriptions; I'm not completely either one).
Finally, music! I just keep adding to my NAS playlist on Youtube. I really enjoyed listening to EarlyRise's cover of "Narcissistic Cannibal" when writing this chapter.
I think that's it! Thank you for reading, and I hope you are all doing well.
