14.
"Shizuru-sama, your tea."
The steam wafts from the steaming liquid into the frigid air of the central room in the Fujino residence. The ice that has begun to settle on my forehead from the coolness of my father's gaze melts a bit as the tea's warmth encircles my head. At my slightly relieved but always ambiguous smile, the servant rises from her knees, an apprehensive look on her face, and scurries from the room. My father's resilient gaze increases in strength and a surge of ice washes over me.
"It is a sacred ritual, enjoying one's tea."
My father's voice is aloof, calm, but undeniably cold. So unlike hers. So much like mine.
"As is obeying your father's wishes."
Though he sounds detached, his anger pierces, but not as deeply as he'd like, or thinks he has achieved.
"Shizuru, do you understand the implications of your actions? The consequences? Do you know what havoc you are wreaking upon the family name? You are a disgrace, Shizuru, a disgrace."
"I thought I was your greatest daughter."
"Do not mock me, Shizuru. Disobedience is demonic, and it has invaded your soul. I will not stand for this."
"Then don't."
The wrath of my father shines clearly in his crimson eyes as he brings is fist down onto the ground in a controlled jab. Tea from his cup spills into a pool of translucent green on the intricately weaved bamboo floor. All his traditionalism, flowing away from him, slipping between grasping fingers as he tries to stop the tea from ebbing to me.
"You cannot do this, Shizuru."
"I've already signed the papers."
"I can revoke your signature and –"
"The hospital requires a person of 18 years of age to make the final decision. An irrevocable decision. You can do nothing, Father."
"I will do something." he replies icily. The tea licks at my kimono, "You cannot abandon this place as though we have no meaning, Shizuru. We –"
"This isn't about the good of the family anymore, is it."
" – are your family. You are the prized daughter of –"
"It's about your own good. The company's."
"--the Fujino clan, the Fujino empire. We are different, you are different. We are above –"
"I should have guessed."
"—the filth that you associate with. The filth, --"
"Is my death nothing but press? Shall it be nothing more than for the 'good cause', your 'good cause'?"
"—that filth known as Kuga Natsuki."
I inherited my eyes from him, the colour, the texture, the depth. I also inherited the ability to hide and impress from him, a trait that keeps him at the top of the business world and I at the top of the Student Council. His traditionalism, he bred into me, branded me with, at a young age as he had servants fix my sandy tan hair into the common Japanese arrangement. That was all I had from my deceased mother: the colour of my hair. She died under the iron grip of my father's rigid faith in the old ways and left me to deal with him. I became a tyrant with a sweet face, prowling behind a façade.
"You will not address Kuga Natsuki in such a manner, Father."
He hesitates, sensing something lurking behind the curtain of tan shielding my eyes from his as I raise my head to look at him demurely. Demurely.
"Kuga Natsuki is my friend. I've never stood for insults being thrown at my friends, and I will not stand for it now."
His gaze holds mine for longer than I would have expected. For all those years he had spent ruling over others, crushing them beneath the pad of his golden Fujino thumb, he'd never encountered a worthy opponent, one who could hold their own against his unfathomable, uncomfortably empty red eyes. Eyes just like mine.
I smile.
"Uneasy, Father?"
He swallows, the lump in his throat rising and falling in well hidden but jerky motions.
"Look at me, Father," I breathe, "this is the monster you've created, modelled after and taught by you. Are you impressed?"
He remains silent, averting his suppressed nervous gaze instead to the tea that he'd spilled, the tea that's soaked into my kimono.
"Or are you happy, Father, that I'm dying a slow and painful death? The only one who has ever been able to stare down the infamous Fujino," I laugh, "won't be there to threaten the throne any longer."
"It's not like that..."
"Don't try to explain yourself to me. She loved you, though only Kami knows why, and you killed her."
"I've seen you with that Kuga girl." he starts, his newly found sense of anger spawned from my accusation fuelling him in a deadly calm way.
"Have you ever paused to consider the consequences?" I ask, evenly.
"Have you?" he replies, just as evenly.
I laugh, a disconcerting sound that makes him flinch, though he hides it well.
"Do I need to?" I question, "I'm not going to be here to have to deal with the consequences."
"As the heir to the Fujino empire, you have responsibilities, Shizuru." he says acidly.
I laugh again, this time, with an edge.
"I'm DYING, Father. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe tomorrow, I won't be there, to laugh, to cry, to waste my breath arguing with you, to be with the ones I love, the ones I care about? And all you have to say is that I have responsibilities."
He deflates, sagging under the weight of my words. The seething anger in his eyes winks out, replaced by an infinite sadness.
"Perhaps... it has," he says, his voice breaking slightly, "and perhaps this arguing is the only way I can communicate with my daughter, because I don't know any other way."
I look at him, look at him for real, for the first time, and I see a tired old man. Black hair streaked with white, red eyes filled with pain, skin wrinkled from the long years of protecting his family's legacy.
"I loved your mother, Shizuru, just as much as I love you. How I wish you had gotten her eyes instead of mine. Instead of these accursed Fujino eyes!"
He runs a hand over them, closing them from the world.
"You would have seen things so much better, Shizuru. You would have found the world beautiful, and not a war torn land. Your mother loved unconditionally because she was pure; there was no Fujino blood to taint her optimistic outlook on the world. If only you had that too..."
"I'm... learning, Father."
"Really?" he murmurs, staring at his hands as he clenches and unclenches them in turn on his lap, "From who?"
"Natsuki."
He flinches at the name.
"That... Kuga girl."
"Yes. Kuga Natsuki."
"She comes so late, and yet, I'm still losing you to her."
"Father..."
He stands, his knees cracking. The edges of his sleeves are soaked with spilled tea.
"Perhaps this is the only way."
He walks to the door and slides it open. As he steps out, he turns to me and smiles. A smile different from mine, so different from mine. A smile like my mother's.
"I have a meeting, Shizuru. The servants will take care of you. Goodbye."
He disappears down the hallway, out of sight. Long minutes pass. My kimono is soaked at the knees.
"Shizuru-sama?"
I look up.
"Yes?"
The servant bows her head down, scared.
"There-there was someone here, a blue-haired girl, while you and Fujino-sama were... talking. She said she came here looking for you. She left midway through your discussion."
Natsuki.
"Thank you for telling me. You may return to your work."
"Yes, Shizuru-sama."
How much had she heard? Just how much did Natsuki know, now? Even in my final stretch, the world still dealt me such bitter cards.
I smile.
No matter. It will all be over soon.