AN: A lot has happened in the last 3 years, but i'm really happy to have time to write this again. And I am so very sorry to anyone who read this and had to see it was unfinished. But i'm very intent on seeing this out to the end no matter how long it takes!


Chapter 9

Memories


Since she was child Mai always seemed to feel as though she was in a rush. There was so much to fit into one tiny life. However, the possibilities had seemed endless—wishes of becoming a princess, a queen, a veterinarian, a world renowned ballerina, it was all just a matter of time.

Maybe if she had thought about it differently she would've been less scared to fall behind.

It didn't take long for that sinking realization to trickle in. There was too many limitations, too many expectations, and not nearly enough years to fit the experiences to be able to say she lived every possible good life.

And that realization only grew. Having to stop and wait, wait to be spoken to, or heard, to only move when someone tells you.

"Stand up straight—God Mai, your shoulders." Michi had said, "Pull them back, and stop pouting." It was this dinner in particular that she'd remember that this is where is started, that where no matter how much she returns to it in memory, she could not rewind and try again to see nothing.

People had flooded into the ballroom, another one of the city's mixers. It was a place where leaders of companies, states, and cities would gather showing off families and luxury cars.

"Mr. Omura, pleasure."

Mai remembers these greetings only in passing, a flash of hands and rings switching in and out like clockwork as she clings her father's other hand, had she thought of it then she might've kept time.

In a matter of hours they are pulled from one room to another, people make several announcements congratulating their own achievements while yawning at others. Somehow during this time her father disappeared, business conversations she thought. Mai and her mother stayed at their dinner table.

"I have to pee." Mai sighs.

"Mai, please. It'll be just a bit longer."

"I have to go!"

"Hush!" Michi hisses, "Don't embarrass us."

Mai left and Michi protested letting her child wander off quickly, swallowed by the sway and swell of the crowd. Even then Mai doesn't think she'd follow if she tried asking.

She pushed her way through, finding a large hallway giving way to many more smaller ballrooms, each doorway located in its own entrance. As she walked she noticed some of the archways created more hallways, none of which were the bathroom.

Even here people have strayed from the crowd, businessmen litter a few of the hallways and there's a woman on the phone in front of one of the doors. When she reached the end there's a sharp turn that Mai believed definitely had to be it this time. It wasn't. Instead, she finds her father with his hands tangled into a woman's dark hair, her dress pushed up just past her waist where Ukano's hand trails underneath. The woman was crying.

Mai said nothing. Instead, she pulled up her shoulders and straightened her back, turned on her heel and went back down the hall, trying to make a good first impression. When she returns to the ballroom she sits in her chair, hands in her lap and says nothing the rest of the night.

When she was thirteen she saw that woman again, and sixteen, nineteen and twenty. Somewhere in between came Tom-Tom, and each time Mai had to continue to say nothing—and each time her father seems to climb up his own societal ladder. Through those years she watched her mother deteriorate, she had grown more distant, and cold, as though she knew Mai had anything to do with it.

Ukano had returned from one of his longer nights, stumbling through the door nearly missing the key hooks, he fumbles with them far too long, ending up leaving the keys on the floor. On his way up the stairs he starts undoing his jacket, peeling it off and draping it over his forearm. His shirt is disheveled underneath, a mess of missed buttons and sweat.

"You're ruining her life." Mai says standing just between the threshold of the hall and her bedroom door.

"What are you talking about? You should be in bed."

"Mom's. That woman. I think her name was Aiko, if I remember right. How much time do you spend together anyway?"

Ukano turns quickly causing Mai to flinch. The floor creaks beneath the both of them echoing down the stairs.

"You won't say a word."

"Try me."

He's never paid enough attention to actually hit her, not until now. The only hint is the twinge of pain in her neck from the whiplash after the impact, jerking her head to the side, sending her hair flying in front of her face.

"You won't ruin everything i've built over this. For you, your brother. I did everyone here a favor."

"You were bored. Admit it. You did everything right but you got bored. Why is it you get to live two lives while the rest of us rot?" Mai gathers herself quickly, taking a few steps into the hall. The closer she gets the more he smells of alcohol.

"Go to bed."

"So we can all go back to pretending?"

Ukano couldn't recall it by the next morning but Mai remembers stumbling backward into her bedroom, trying to catch herself on the bed posts, she comes up just short, hitting her arm on the way down. The altercation is fleeting, but during the flurry of limbs and shuffling she could see the silhouette of her mother in the doorway, looking on.

Mai thinks about this now, propped up against the same bed frame, eyeing the doorway as she tries to find the exact angle as she recalls it—to remember where she was in that moment, and exactly what trajectory it was that sent them there.

She has written and rewritten this story countless times. While leafing through the pages she can instantly remember which frame of mind complimented which rendition. Some were darker than others where her father is a monster in the stairwell, and her mother an ominous shadow cast over the two of them—always watching.

No one talks about it. They let her dig through it, up to her elbows in extended development, trying to figure out the darks and lights.. They ignore her now, a mere blemish in their production. Her father apologized once, quickly and half heartedly, as though the faster he said it the faster they'd all forget. And they did.

In order to tell a recollection one must first remember the details.

Squeaks and thuds erupt in her bedroom as she gets to work pushing the bookshelf, bed, and vanity to the center of the room. Mai adjusts everything just as it was, the bed centered just past the doorway, bookshelf to the left, vanity in the corner. The more she moves things the more the damage comes into view.

They'd always set it aside, covered it, acted like that night wasn't as bad as it was, even she was guilty of not seeing it too. They'd taken her to he hospital on the excuse of a fall down the stairs. Viable, unlikely at her age.

She sets it aside even now.

It's been two months since she stood at the top of library, her face has grown sunken and gaunt, her cheekbones are springing more outward, showing off awkward angles. It's also been two months since she'd seen him.

On and off for weeks she's picked the phone up and down again, even after he stopped calling near the end of the first month.

But, she needs to get out again, the feeling of the bedposts and the white walls, and the pictures on repeat are beginning to settle in. Mai grabs her keys and beelines for the car.

It's a saturday, an easy time to go looking for loud music and numbness.

When she arrives it only six shots before she finds herself upstairs with Jet again. He's usually quick, keeping the lights off and hardly ever using the bed which she appreciates. But tonight she drags it out, taking her time with his zippers, biting hard in places she normally wouldn't. It is just enough encouragement for him to be rough, leaving them both in a mess of things knocked off nearby shelves, her collarbones and neck covered in bluish bruises.

"I haven't seen you in a while." Jet says, "Thought you forgot about me."

"Would you be upset if I had?"

"Not really."

"Good." Mai smirks, "Means you're playing by the rules." She pulls away from him, rummaging through the pile of clothes on the floor and tossing him his shirt. "Have you ever had a girlfriend anyway?"

"Once. Nice girl. You know, morals and stuff."

"Ah, morals. That'll get you." She rolls her eyes.

"What about you? Boyfriend?"

She buckles her bra then pulls her shirt over her head, pulling her hair through, letting it fall down her shoulders. "Complicated."

"Complicated—now that, that'll get you."

Once everyone leaves Mai makes a space on his couch, pushing aside the remains of beer bottles and solo cups, a few cigarette buds leave ashes on the cushions.

She messes with her phone again, opening the contact screen and scrolling all the way down and back up again. All it takes is steps, stopping on his name, and pushing a button.

"Complicated." Mai mutters, "Of course it is."

She does it in a rush, just like anything else, her heart beats unevenly in her chest. The phone rings twice sending her to voicemail.