- - - bah. I screwed up. I finally got around to actually looking up statute of limitations stuff, only to find out that in most states it's like 1-3 years for filing tort lawsuit for rape. If going through criminal justice is 20 years. Although I found this website for ohio where tort SoL for "intentional infliction of emotional distress" is 4 years. The hell? How is sexual assault SoL 1 year while that is 4? I don't get it, but then, I don't live in ohio anyway, thank god. But anyway, we will pretend that in the unnamed city in the unnamed state in this fic, SoL is at least 8 years, since this story takes place at least 6-7 years after the act itself. and the reason that this is being done as civil case, if I wasn't clear previously, is that in civil case one only needs a "preponderance of the evidence" of guilt to win, vs criminal in which must be beyond reasonable doubt. Also civil cases tend to get processed very very slowly, since courts are so backlogged these days, but for the sake of not having this fic go on for another 50 chapters, (50 chapters, my god, it's a fucking novel!) we will have to use creative license to get things moving on a much shorter timescale. Or we could just assume that if even my descriptions of hospital-life are totally wack (which they are) and that's something I actually know something about, then there is absolutely no reason that my descriptions of anything else, from the music industry to the vagaries of modern law should be anything other than purest fantasy (which they are). OK, rant aside, on with the story. - -cm - - -
The next few weeks were hectic. Like that was really any change from the usual. Tsukasa's money bought a lot of things, lawyers, publicity, clout. . . Tsukushi didn't quite dare to ask if he could afford to buy judges and juries, too. But the upshot was that Tsukasa (or rather his lawyers), managed to get Tsukushi's case scheduled quickly, and all she had to do was sign a whole bunch of papers, and repeat her story to a whole table of lawyers. Mostly, she wondered if this whole ordeal was really worth the stress and money. Some days she was so tempted to break into the hospital pharmacy and liberate all the Ativan she could find. Something to steady her frayed nerves and help her sleep at night. It was hard to work, hard to function with the case whirling around her head. It was hell, being a celebrity of the week when one had patients to see. How could anyone respect her professionally when it seemed like her entire sad, sordid, little life story was splashed incessantly across the tabloids. The snide columns on 'did he or didn't he?' What she had to gain by lying. Random idiots who stepped forward to offer this opinion or that, and stories, mostly false, on, "Oh, I knew her/him way back when, and let me tell you. . . "
To wit, it was simply awful, truly horrendous. And, at the end of every day, Tsukushi would stagger home, mindlessly stuff some food into her mouth, and collapse into bed. When she could, she'd avoid most of the F4, lest any of them spring more unpleasant surprises on her. She stopped reading the paper, or listening to the radio, afraid that she'd hear her name mentioned. She even refused to find out who these so-called character witnesses were that Tsukasa had supposedly drummed up. Hah! Witnesses! With her luck, she wouldn't be surprised if Tsukasa had drummed up some false-witnesses. Childhood friends who never existed, or some such thing.
And then there was Rui. Something had clearly upset him. She'd thought things might start to be okay after their date. She'd even dared to hope. But his mood had turned sour and distant, and she found herself slipping back into doctor-mode around him. Fussing, and fretting, wanting to yell at him, slap him, hold his hand, all at the same time. She was trying, she truly was. She'd eat dinner with him, she'd watch TV or a movie with him, she'd hold his hand and hug him. She'd even tried to kiss him again. But it was awkward. He held her hand tighter than he needed to, hugged her longer than felt right. Kissed her as though it was the last kiss they'd ever share. As if he was afraid that each moment she spent with him would be her last. She tried sleeping with him one night, but it felt wrong. They'd kissed and cuddled. But when he tried to press for more, she'd frozen up. She blamed the stress of this upcoming thing with Junpei, making her relive the pain of the past too much to accept a better present. Rui had blamed himself. She was too embarrassed to try again. There was something missing.
And one day Tsukushi woke up finding herself looking forward to her daily fight with Tsukasa (the one over nothing in particular, that seemed to happen most every day, no matter how she tried to avoid the glowering man). Somehow, she always felt better after yelling her lungs out at him (though if you had asked her while one of these fights was occurring, she would have said she hated every second, that he made her want to cry, made her so mad that she wanted to claw the eyes from his smug face.) The truth was, now that Akira and Soujiro were so often out of town, and Rui in such a bad mood, her fights with Tsukasa were her only mode of stress relief, the only way she could relieve the tension of a life gone mad. Tsukasa knew it, in his sneaky instinctual way, knew it because he enjoyed the fights as well, and went out of his way to provoke the spitfire doctor. She may have been clueless, but Rui wasn't, and the tension between him and Tsukasa ratcheted even higher.
But then finally, it was time. Time for her court appearance. All the preliminary shit was done. All the motions and the legal wrangling, the jury selection and Tsukushi didn't know what all else. She'd set aside her precious vacation time for this, and it didn't make her happy.
Early the morning of the opening day of the trial, Tsukushi found herself sneaking up to her only hiding place, up on top of the roof, before even the crack of dawn. She had to be quiet, when scrabbling up the roof, as all the F4 were home, had ceased temporarily their schemes on the behalf of their band to come stand behind her. She would have felt an increase in morale from this, maybe, if she hadn't been so tightly wound, so tense—feeling as if her whole body, heart, and soul were one big unhealed wound, an itchy scab of life, seething with the pus of unhappiness. Ugh.
She wasn't quiet enough though, and not long after she'd curled up to watch the sunrise over the hazy city, she heard the window below open up, saw Soujiro's sleep-tousled head pop out, the rest of him follow, as he climbed up to join her. Almost as though he'd been waiting for her, expecting her to come here. Damnit, she really had no privacy.
"Heya, doc." He greeted, settling down comfortably next to her. "Ready for the big day?"
"No." she scowled. "All I can think of, is how much I hate this, How much it hurts, and for what? I'm going to have to walk into that courtroom and confront Jun again, in front of everyone. And he's going to lie, and I'm going to look like a fool. The papers will be full of it, criticizing and castigating, and nothing is going to change. He's not going to stop hounding me, just because I went public. And it's never going to end. All that will change, is that I'm going to be humiliated in public. And every one will know. When it's over, will I even be able to go back to my job? I'll be marked. My patients won't respect me, my colleagues will laugh behind my back. All these years of education wasted. All this time, because goddamned Tsukasa Doumyouji thought he could help. Help! This isn't help, this is hell!" And then to her utter mortification and chagrin, she began to cry. This did not bode well for her ability to put on a public appearance in court.
Soujiro stared at her for one long moment. Gently, he put an arm around the sobbing doctor and made quiet little shh-ing noises, until she started to calm down. Damnit, he didn't know what he could say to make her feel better, when privately he thought that she might be right. So he didn't say anything, just held her more tightly, and let her cry on his shoulder while he watched the sun rise, tinting the city in shades of rust and blood through the smoggy haze. Not a great omen, that.
"Thanks." Tsukushi finally raised her blushing face, "I didn't mean to fall apart on you like that."
"'S'okay." Soujiro shrugged, as it if didn't really matter, "What I'm here for. Just remember, when you're up there on the stand, that we're all going to be right there with you. We've got your back."
"Thanks." Tsukushi murmured again, but her attempt at a smile fell flat. What good would it do for them to support her, anyway? They hadn't been there, way back when, and their presence would clearly lend itself to the air of conspiracy around the whole affair. Maybe she should just back out. Say she no longer wanted to pursue this case? But no, she was Dr. Tsukushi Makino, and she didn't give up, no matter what the odds. This had been started, and she would have to see it through, whatever her feelings on the matter.
"Remember," Soujiro murmured, "If you lose, which you won't, Tsukasa will personally crush Jun's balls." He illustrated the concept with a viciously clenched fist, "Either way, we'll make sure, he never shows his face again. And everything else, it'll work itself out. If you lose your job, we'll hire you. Hell, Tsukasa can afford it, and we need all the help we can get." He was trying to make her laugh, but he failed. She just sat there and sniffled, her bloodshot eyes reflecting the morning sun.
"Come on." Soujiro urged, "Let's go inside. You need coffee. And you should try on the outfit Akira bought for you for today."
"What?" Tsukushi screeched. Damn, she should have known. "I have clothes." And who knows what the hell the two fool boys would have picked out. Especially given how their other shopping expeditions on her behalf had gone.
"Yeah but, for court you need something. . . special."
"Yeah, I've seen your idea of 'special'" Tsukushi sighed, as they climbed back down into the house.
"No no!" Soujiro laughed, and led the way back to her room, "Not like that. For court, you need to look elegant, refined . . ."
"Classy." Akira interrupted, seemingly popping out of nowhere. Nobody ever seemed to mind their own business around this house.
"And my normal clothes?" Tsukushi bridled indignantly.
"Are frumpy." Akira pronounced, holding out his selection.
"Frumpy?" Tsukushi fumed, "Respectable, more like."
"No." Akira gestured again, "This suit is respectable."
"And these are for underneath!" Grinning, Soujiro held out some lace nothings.
"The hell you say?" Tsukushi's face was now bright red.
"See, Life is about image." Akira began to lecture, refusing to budge as Tsukushi tried to herd him from her room, "As rock stars, we know all about image, which is why you need us to advise you. For this event, this venue, as it were, you need to project a certain image."
"You want to look respectable."
"Like someone telling the truth."
"You want to look attractive."
"Like someone that could have attracted a hot guy like Jun."
"You don't want to look frumpy."
"Frumpy spells frigid, No one feels sorry for you then."
"They see frumpy, they see ice bitch, they say you deserved it."
"You want to look innocent."
"But strong"
"No one likes a victim"
"But why the thong?"
"Because how you feel underneath affects the way you present on the outside," Akira explained patiently.
"Yeah, why do you think Tsukasa goes commando at every concert?"
"He's gotta let it all hang out!"
"I don't want to know!" Tsukushi finally grabbed the heap of clothes foisted upon her, if for no other reason than to give her an excuse to turn and hide her helplessly blushing face as her brain froze at the unwonted visual that sprang to mind at Soujiro and Akira's words. "Now get out and make me some coffee! Please."
"Yes Ma'am!" Akira flicked a mock salute, while Soujiro just gave Tsukushi an encouraging wink and left the room. Rather than find herself losing another fight, Tsukushi just sighed and put on the clothes the boys had bought for her. Honestly, sometimes she had to wonder if they might not be secretly gay, what with their fascination with fashion and all. Whatever, the suit fit eerily well, the cut flattering her slender hips and waist, making her silhouette appear more feminine than it was, but still giving the appearance of professional grace. She shrugged. She still felt the same on the inside. Tired, full of bile and acid, discouraged and lonely. Heart beating like dread knocking on the door.
Two hours later, however, she found herself outside the city courthouse, valiantly holding in the cringe she felt at the sight of the mob-scene that awaited her. She'd come alone, the F4 thinking it in her best image to not be seen as being "with them" in public. Instead, she'd driven in, alone, parked quite some way away, and walked up, almost unnoticed in the gathering throng of paparazzi. Almost that is, until she got closer to the door, closer to the press of people, and inadvertently bumped into a camera-man. Who turned to curse her out, recognized her face from the files that had been going around, and alerted the rest of his team. And that was that. It could have turned into a media frenzy, it should have done so. The press corps had been sorely disappointed that so little was really known about the woman bringing charges against the famous Junpei Oribe, disappointed that even knowing Tsukushi's identity, so few reliable people had stepped forward to inform the world of who she was, and how she knew Jun. Even more disappointed that the woman herself, before now, had made no personal appearances, no press releases or commentary. Nothing. There was speculation and rampant gossip aplenty sure, but that couldn't take the place of facts, of the woman herself. And now here she was, shorter than they'd expected, but more poised (confusing the rigid spine of defiance as that of graceful poise). Walking through the crowd as if she belonged here, as if she was at home in this place, not like that Junpei, whose limo had weaved through the crowd, to deposit him, with his brace of security guards and his phalanx of lawyers at the foot of the courthouse steps. He'd run in, shielding his face from the cameras and the waving microphones, in the media-shy manner of all celebrities under fire. Dr. Makino, in contrast, hardly seemed to notice the cameras, walked with her head held high, eyes fixed on her goal. She could hardly have done anything more to guarantee herself a good initial impression in the media. In her ignorance of proper etiquette of the suddenly famous, she even apologized, red-faced, to those she brushed against on her way inside. She felt embarrassed ad humiliated. She thought she looked a fool. But she made it inside at last, biting her lip almost until it bled to keep from crying.
And then her lawyers were there. The men and women in suits that Tsukasa had found for her, and they were talking and directing her, but she didn't hear their words. She felt numb, recognizing the symptoms of derealization in herself, but no longer capable of caring. The blood in her ears, the pounding of her heart, the tightness in her chest. The familiar feelings of rising panic.
Around her, the chamber was filling. She couldn't even bring herself to wonder who the audience was, couldn't force herself to look back and see if the F4 were present, as promised, or even to search out what unlikely individuals had been called as witnesses.
A lawyer was talking. Pacing. Gesturing. Was it one of hers or one of his? She had no idea.
Tsukushi let herself tune out, as the opening argument was made. At the defendant's table, Junpei was slouched, looking unrepentant and bored. Hiding his thoughts behind heavy-lidded eyes. Occasionally he glanced her way, and then the hunger was more apparent. The predatory gleam, as if this challenge was merely one more hurdle he had to leap in pursuit of his goals. He still didn't believe he was guilty. She'd been his girlfriend, damnit. She'd no right to deny him so long as she'd done. No right to turn on him. Funny how he still wanted her, could still, after all these years, remember the feel of her mouth on his, the first innocent kisses of hers that he'd stolen. Her wide brown eyes looking up at him so trustingly. It had all been going so well. If only she hadn't been such a prude.
If only she hadn't made him love her—that happily innocent and friendly girl. The girl who represented everything good that he was not, everything good that he had never had.
If only she hadn't made him love her, than he wouldn't have twisted her, and hurt her, and made her more like him.
His lawyers hadn't liked his version of the truth. They'd told him to stick to the script when called to the stand.
They hadn't understood.
The jury sitting there, pretending to be impartial, they didn't understand.
Nor did the judge, the audience . . . none of them did.
He bet that Tsukushi understood. She could have told him why he'd done it. She always did understand everyone else better than she understood herself. He'd even believe that Tsukasa understood; they always had been more alike than either would like to admit. If things had been different, they could have been the same. It was only luck that Tsukasa had turned out one way and Junpei another. Only luck.
Jun turned and looked back, locking eyes with the leader of the F4. Steely hatred glaring back. Their rivalry apparent; they knew what this was really about. They both wanted her heart, and they were selfish enough to want to destroy the other for it. Junpei had tried flowers and gifts to win her back, he'd tried calling, and waiting, he'd had her friend Yuki carry messages. He'd followed her, and watched her, but it hadn't been enough. And now Tsukasa was trying to destroy him. If he could do the same, would she come back to him then? If he removed the meddlesome musician—then could he regain everything that he'd lost; his career, his pride, his Tsukushi? It was a possibility, and Junpei sat back to contemplate just how he would get out of this mess.
The day wore on, the first witnesses called. Vaguely Tsukushi wondered when she would have to take the stand. She closed her ears to the droning voices, let her mind wander far away in the private places of her mind. The order of testimony made no sense to her, but she supposed the lawyers must have a plan. First came a long list of people she didn't know, character witnesses against Jun, she supposed, setting him up as the type of person who could do such a thing. She wondered where Tsukasa had found them, but honestly, she felt so numb inside she couldn't be bothered to care. So numb, she no longer even felt the burning heat of Junpei's eyes on her. Numb was a good place to be, and Tsukushi wondered why she couldn't feel like this more often.
Finally the court was adjourned for the day, Tsukushi couldn't figure out why. She still hadn't testified. By the time she'd snuck out, narrowly avoiding an encounter with Jun (hastily blocked by his lawyers), navigated through the media mob, and driven home, her walls of unfeeling were beginning to crumble. By the time she'd stumbled up the stairs and into her room to change into her rattiest and most comfortable clothes, her beautiful numbness had completely dissolved, leaving her awash in a backlash of misery. She was twitching at every noise, unable to get the image of Jun's hungry eyes out of her mind. She could still hear the voices of the lawyers droning on, the interruptions of the lawyers and the judge. She hated it, every second of this wasted day. Killing her with things she didn't want to remember much less dwell on for that long. This wasn't catharsis, this was torture.
Tsukushi sat on her bed and began to shake. She didn't dare watch TV for fear she'd see herself, hear the things they were saying about her. She didn't have the appetite to eat. It was too early to sleep. She could go for a run, maybe. But she was certain everyone was watching her, would be talking about her behind her back. So this was what paranoid felt like. Tsukushi wondered if she were having a schizophrenic break. An episode of brief psychotic disorder? Best not to think about it.
Tsukushi curled tightly up on her bed trying not to think of anything, and desperately trying to convince herself that everything was ok—that in a few days or weeks all this would be put behind her for good, and that things would get better. But she knew better, nothing ever really goes away, and the past always remains to haunt us. She was still curled up shaking, when the F4 finally came home, when her door opened and Soujiro snuck in.
"Hey doc? Doc? Are you okay?" Gingerly, he sat down next to her, noting sadly, that she was back to flinching at his presence, as if that one day in court had undone all the weeks and months that she'd spent getting used to having friends. Male friends who wanted to be near her, wanted to touch her. "Umm. . . I guess you're not?" the understatement of the year, "It went well today. The Jury looks sympathetic. . . umm. . ." but she just looked away. She didn't want to hear about. "Ah. . . you have to testify tomorrow. . . Damnit Tsukushi, will you please just look at me? She refused. She'd cried on him once today. She didn't want him to see the tears in her eyes again. Soujiro tried again, changing the topic to get her attention. "Listen Tsukushi, you've got a bunch of phone messages. Someone's been calling the house all day. No idea how they got the number. It's unlisted. They're very persistent. . . There's like 10 messages on the machine. . . some guy, says his name is Susumu?. . . ."
"My brother." Tsukushi spoke distantly, without looking up.
"You have a brother?" Soujiro had never heard her mention her family. But then he didn't speak much of his either. " Did you give him our phone number? He left a number. You want to call him back? He sounded worried."
"No." Tsukushi sighed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken to him in person, done anything more than send mostly meaningless emails once every few months. She hadn't spoken to her parents in even longer. Hadn't been able to face them in so long. She hadn't grown into the person they'd hoped she would, she hadn't been able to face their love, their nagging, their anything, when most days she couldn't even honestly face herself. With an effort she roused herself from her memories to reply to Soujiro's question, "He's, what? A sophomore in college, studying CS. He's turning into quite the little hacker, I guess." She shrugged and lapsed into silence again.
"So, you going to call him back?" Soujiro prodded.
"No." Still she refused to meet his eyes, and suddenly Soujiro was angry.
"No? Just like that? When was the last time you spoke to your family? It's obvious that he cares. I would give almost anything to have my little brother call me, and here you are turning your brother down. Don't do that."
"What happened to your family?" Tsukushi spoke quietly, sounding even more subdued than before. She just didn't want to deal with her family. If they'd seen the news, and how could they not—why else would Susumu be calling Now?—they must be horrified, shocked at the things she'd never told them. How could she face them now, when her entire personal life was being stripped naked in front of the public eye?
"They disowned me, when I joined the band." Soujiro was now even more subdued than Tsukushi. "I haven't spoken to them in years, not since my little brother was 12. . . They always know my phone, number. I make sure of that. But no one ever calls." Sometimes he missed them so much, missed seeing his little brother grow up, the fights he'd had with his elder brother, even the endless arguments and screaming matches he'd used to have with his parents.
"I'm sorry. . . I didn't know." Finally, Tsukushi sat up, looked at Soujiro sympathetically. There was always room in her heart to care about others before herself.
"Yeah well." Soujiro tried to shrug it off, "So, call your brother. If he's willing to go through the effort to find you like that, he'll understand whatever you have to say. Here." He offered Tsukushi his phone. Slowly, thoughtfully, she took it, dialed the hastily scrawled number, took a deep and shuddering breath and hit send. One ring. . . two. . . her chest felt tight and she couldn't breathe. But it was just her brother. Just her brother. . . three rings. . . and he picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hiya kid." Tsukushi couldn't quite hide the stammer in her voice.
"Tsukushi!" Even sitting back as he was, Soujiro could hear the shout from the phone. And then the floodgates opened. "Sis, what the hell is going on? Mom and dad are going out of their minds with worry. You never call. You moved and didn't tell us! Hell, you changed your phone number. You never visit! And then, you know mom and dad hate TV, but it's even in the papers now. I don't read the paper either, but my roommate does. . . It just took him a few weeks to wonder if the Makino mentioned was related to me, and bloody hell, sis, I almost didn't know when I read it myself! Why didn't you ever tell us? Is that why you never come home any more?" Like many teenagers, Susumu hardly felt the need to stop for air, and kept on talking, completely oblivious to the growing panic of his sister on the other end of the line. But Soujiro noticed, as how could he not, and stepped in, removing the phone from Tsukushi's numb fingers.
"Hey kid." Soujiro spoke sternly. Jolting Susumu out of his train of thought. "Stop yelling. I can hear you from across the room, and you're freaking your sister out. Don't make me regret making her call you. Give her a chance to speak, will you?"
"Who the hell are you!" was Susumu's outraged reply, but too late as Soujiro had already passed the phone back to the now wanly smiling Tsukushi.
"Susumu. . .." Tsukushi trailed off, regrouped her scattered thoughts, "Things have been. . . difficult. You know how poorly dad has been doing the past few years. I didn't want to worry anyone. He's got enough stress what with the company lay-offs and everything." Susumu just let out a disbelieving snort at his sister's excuses. "I had hoped that things would never get this far. That you guys would never have to know." Shit, she was starting to cry again.
"But Sis. . ." Susumu protested, "We're your family. You do realize that no matter what, we're always behind you, right? I don't care what the TV says. You're my sister. But don't shut us out. We love you. And we miss you, mom especially. We know you haven't been the same since college—but Sis, maybe if you'd told us. We could have done something. . . But to find out about your life through the TV? It's just not right."
"I'm sorry." Tsukushi sniffled. But still, she really didn't want to talk about it.
"Anyway," Susumu could hear her sniffles, and it just felt oh-so-very-wrong for his sister—his big sister who had always been the strong one when he was growing up—to be crying in front of him, that he had to do something to lighten the mood. "Anyway, I just had to call to see how you were, if you needed anything, and to tell you to please call mom and dad, before they go insane. You don't have to tell them anything you don't want. But please, Tsukushi, just call . . . And, hey, wait a sec. Just who is that guy who stole the phone? Is he your boyfriend or something?"
"No!" Tsukushi spluttered, "No no no, that was Soujiro, he's Not my boyfriend." She watched Soujiro's eyes widen, as he started to laugh at that idea.
"Wait. . ." Susumu started suspiciously. "I read something about you and the F4. This wouldn't be The Soujiro Nishikado, would it?"
"Yeah. . . it would be."
"Damn!" Susumu cursed in near-awe, "My girlfriend used to have the biggest crush ever on him! Well, I suppose you could do worse. At least he looks relatively normal, not like that creepy Rui Hanazawa guy, or that scary looking Tsukasa thug."
"Umm. . . Susumu. We're not. . ."
"But the stories! My girlfriend says he's like the biggest playboy ever. . .here she wants to talk to you."
"No, no, no. Susumu. Don't!" Tsukushi warned.
"But sis!"
Soujiro, who had been eavesdropping unashamedly had begun to laugh at Susumu's assumptions, gave into temptation at last and stole the phone once more. "Hey kid? I didn't sleep with your girl by accident did I?"
"What the hell! No."
"Oh good. But hey, I got a few words of advice for you. If you know what's good for you, you won't go bad mouthing Rui or Tsukasa to your sister, or someday you're going to wake up to find the news has a nasty surprise fro you."
"The hell? Put my sister back on. I want to know what the hell is going on. Why is she all mixed up with you freaks?"
"Uh uh uh." Soujiro shook his head. "Look kid, I know you want to interrogate your sister, but trust me on this. Now is not a good time. She's kinda stressed right now, if you hadn't noticed. And you're not really helping. If you keep up like this, I'm not going to be able to persuade her to call another time, you see? So here's what we're going to do. You're on your cell phone, yes? So you got the number she called from? Great. Now, this is my cell number. You call your parents and you give them this number and you tell them that if they want to speak to the doc, they call me, and I'll track your sister down and make sure she speaks to them, ok? But only as long as they refrain from stressing her out, ok? She's not that much fun to live with when she's flipping out. . . Ow! Hey!" Tsukushi had hit him in indignation at the liberties he was taking. "And she's violent too! Hey quit it!" Tsukushi renewed her assault, trying to regain control o the telephone, while Soujiro fended her off, "Ok, kid. You got all that. Good. Now don't worry. Tsukushi's in good hands." Or so he would like to think. Decisively, he ended the call, leaving a bemused Susumu to sit in his dorm room, staring at the phone, trying to make sense of what was really going on in his sister's life. Rape trials, rock stars, it was all beyond him. He just wanted his sister to be happy again. Like she hadn't been in almost longer than he could remember. But at least that Soujiro guy seemed to care, even if he was bossy. Susumu wondered what the rest of the band was like, and what the true story was behind his sister's involvement with them. More intrigued now, he moved to his computer to search out the gossip and speculation. Who were these guys, really, and what could they do for his sister? Could they make her smile again, the way she had when he was young?
In her room, Tsukushi had given up on regaining the phone, mainly because Soujiro had retaliated for her assault by tickling her until she was paralyzed, her chest heaving with suppressed laughter, her eyes sparkling the way they were meant to be. "See now, that wasn't so bad." Soujiro spoke, satisfied that she wouldn't be smacking him upside the head anytime soon, "He seems like a nice kid."
"Yeah. He is." Tsukushi agreed absently, "I didn't know he had a girlfriend, though. They grow up so fast."
"Yeah." Soujiro flopped down beside her, "they always do. That's why you've got to enjoy life while you can."
"Yeah?" Tsukushi raised an eyebrow, "I think I once said that to you."
"Indeed. And I'm taking it. It's good advice. You should listen to yourself more often."
"Really?" She couldn't help but ask, "Are you enjoying life yet?" The words unsaid, or are you still unable to put the memory of Sara to rest?
"Working on it." Soujiro replied enigmatically, lacing his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling. "I'm working on it."
TBC.
--- hm. So the plan is to punt over the nitty gritty details of the trial in the next chapter and focus more on what really matters (whatever my little brain says that it.) and, as some readers correctly guessed, there will be guest star appearances by characters not other wise mentioned in order to beat sense into those who most need it. Maybe, if time, there will be TxT interactions, or TxR. But its so hard sometimes to fight my 'natural instincts' yeah you knowwhat that is, TxS. Which meant that this chapter was Heavily edited post first draft to tone TxS back down to purely platonic levels. Sigh. Stupid plot hates that forward motion. And for those who wonder who the 'victor' will be, R or T, step a back a moment, and think about my non-linear logic, and what other options this psycho author might explore, eh? So much drama. Anyway, next update might be awhile. Psych rotation over, my next is out of state, and place I'm staying is not so conducive to writing, plus I've no idea the workload of family med. But we'll see. Stress gives me racing thoughts and ideas for chapters but steals the time and focus to write. Maybe if I had a tape recorder I could dictate chapters during my morning commute? Hmmm. .. until next time - - - cm - - -
