Chapter 31 — Reiha

Mitsuri just stares me. Then, "What do you mean?"

I sigh. I never wanted to have to tell her this story. For the longest time, I thought I could just hide it. That it would never come back. But now, I can feel it tearing at the edges of my mind. I'm sure everyone's noticed . . . Gramps, Grams, Mitsuri . . . and soon, they'll start asking, start staring . . .

"It first happened last year," I start. Mitsuri's confusion shows on her face, but I hold up a hand to stop her questions. "Please, just hear me out. So, last year . . . around this same time . . . I was friends with this one boy. I knew he liked me, even though I didn't return the feelings. But I let us start dating because it felt good. It felt good to have someone tell me that they loved me, only me.

"But then . . . it started happening. For some reason, I lost my energy, and I didn't feel like doing anything. And I felt . . . worthless. But he — he stayed with me, even through that. He said he'd be able to help me, cure me. He was convinced his love would save me.

"It didn't. I got worse. And he left, even though he promised to stay. And after that, even though I didn't love him the way he thought he loved me . . . I felt heartbroken. I've dated boys before. Broken up with them. But nothing felt as bad as that time . . . and it just got worse and worse and worse. Finally, Mom took me to a doctor, and he —"

I start to choke. I didn't want to say it, to have Mitsuri look at me with those eyes. But I force my mouth to continue. "He said I had depression. Like the mental illness. And . . . apparently, it runs in the family. Has Mom ever told you the real reason she and Dad divorced?"

Mitsuri hesitates, then shakes her head.

"It's because he has the same thing I do. He passed it down to me. But . . . he couldn't handle it. He tried so many things — therapy, pills, electrotherapy. And Mom tried helping him — but after a while, she just couldn't deal with it anymore. She seemed convinced that he could change himself without relying on outside help, but when she saw that he wouldn't . . . she left. And I don't blame her."

I see a part of Mitsuri breaking as I tell her this. When Mom had first told me this story, in all my despair, I'd screamed at her for keeping it secret. I'd demanded she tell Mitsuri. Then I begged her not to.

And when Mom told me I'd be going back to Japan, for a moment, I was glad we'd never told Mitsuri. Because I was so scared, so scared that just like Mom, Mitsuri would abandon me, too.

But . . . it was wrong of us to keep this from Mitsuri. She didn't deserve that. Still, I watch her as part of her life is turned upside down — watch her shove her own shock down, only to replace it with a look of support.

For me.

"The doctor wanted to give me pills," I say, my voice choked up, "but Mom said I didn't need them. And I agreed with her at first. I thought I could get better on my own. And I was! The next few months were hard, but I was starting to feel like myself again! But then, she — I guess it wasn't good enough for her. Because after the one time I had a relapse, the next day, she told me she was shipping me across the sea . . ."

"Reiha —" Mitsuri begins to speak, but then she bites her lip, hesitant.

"And I guess she was right," I continue. "I have been doing better here. I've made friends. I joined two clubs. I like talking with you again. . . . But even then, it's not enough to stop — whatever it is that's inside me." I place a palm over my heart, wishing I could pinpoint the depression, like a cancerous tumor, and rip it out. "Even before my injury, I could feel it. Maybe it was the stress of trying to do too many things at once. Trying to act like I was happy when I wasn't. Trying to act. But then" — I motion angrily toward my foot — "this was just the last straw."

"Reiha —" Mitsuri tries again. "I — I don't know what you expected me to say, but I think you've got the wrong idea about yourself."

"What?" I lean back, surprised.

"You're acting like this — this mental illness somehow defines you. Like it ruins you. But isn't it just another part of you?"

"But it's not normal," I insist. "That's why it's called an illness! Because it means something's wrong with you!"

She sighs. "I know that's how it sounds. And I can't deny that it doesn't have detrimental effects to your mental health . . . but just because it sounds wrong doesn't mean it is. It's just another part of you that you have to work through. If it was a physical illness, would you be talking about it the same way? Of course not. But what people get confused about is that mental illnesses aren't all that different from physical ones. They're inside, they're harder to diagnose, yes, but just because they're part of you doesn't mean that they are you."

I want to yell at her, but instead, I can't speak at all.

Of course, I've heard all these things before. When I looked up "depression" online, there were countless posts saying "You can do it!" and "It's okay, it'll get better!" and "You are not your mental illness!" I never believed them.

But having Mitsuri saying those exact same things, right before me . . . somehow, that's different.

I swallow. "Doesn't it change how you think of me?"

"Of course it does," she says. "It makes me realize how strong you really are. And it makes me sad to know that . . . I couldn't be there for you when you needed it most. But to me, you're still the most headstrong and confident and amazing sister I know."

I let out a choked laugh. "I'm the only sister you know."

She smiles. "Even so." Then, she hesitates before speaking again. "You know . . . Akashi-kun . . . while it's not exactly the same, he's dealt with some problems of his own."

I stare. Akashi . . . has a mental illness? He's always so refined that I can hardly believe it. Yet when I think about it . . . those times when he seemed so distant . . . I bite my lip.

"A mental illness is a part of you," Mitsuri says, "but unlike a character flaw, it isn't you. It's not . . . unless you let it be."

She looks me straight in the eyes, and I suddenly feel ashamed. I had been so scared that she would be shocked, that she would judge . . . but really, it had been me doing all the judging. I was the one who didn't have enough faith in Mitsuri; I was the one who had let the depression define me and excuse me. I can't discard it just like that, but I can acknowledge it. That doesn't mean I accept it, but it will allow me to keep being the person I am without feeling like I need to change.

Before I can think of what I'm doing, I lean forward and wrap my arms around her. She stiffens for a moment, but then envelops me. Tears start to leak out of my eyes, but I don't try to keep them contained this time.

"I'm not better yet," I say. "And I don't know how long it will take for me to get back to normal — but I'm going to try. I swear."

She brushes her fingers through my hair. "I know. That's all I could ask from you."

Later, after being fed warm miso soup and onigiri, Mitsuri watches me as I punch in Ogiwara's contact information.

"You don't have to hover, you know," I grumble. My body feels lighter since I spilled my secret, and I wonder if holding that in all that time had only contributed to my depression.

"If I don't, you might never talk to him," she says in that imperious voice of hers.

"It's just . . . I hate texting. I'd rather see him face-to-face."

"Yes, well, you can't do that right now, can you? And I'm not doing it for you."

"How kind of you." I glance down at the empty body of the message. "What should I say?"

Mitsuri's always been the better one with words, so I automatically reach out to her. Once, I'd told her she should write greeting cards for a living.

"You really want to use my words, not yours?" Her gaze pierces me.

"Well . . . it's just, when I'm around Shige . . . I have a hard time being serious."

It seems like I'm emptying out all of my confessions lately.

Her brow rises. "Do you like him?"

I grimace. "I'm not sure yet."

"What do you mean?"

"He's . . . nice to be around. I like spending time with him. That much I know. But does that necessarily mean I like him?"

"It's okay to be friends," she says. "But if you have feelings for him . . . do you know if he likes you, too?"

Just one secret after the other. "He actually confessed to me a while back," I admit (confess?).

"Really?" Her eyes widen, but then she purses her lips. "But if you don't like him back . . ."

"Exactly. I still don't know what it is that I'm feeling . . . so I'd rather not give him hope. Not until I know, for sure."

"I guess that makes sense . . ."

I seize the elephant dangling in the room. "What about you and Akashi?"

She immediately blushes. "Well . . . um . . . I do like him . . . and I think he likes me back."

I smile. It's only when I catch Mitsuri off-guard that she'll lose her usual eloquence. "Are you dating yet?"

"No, nothing like that . . . I don't think we're ready to put a name to it yet, but . . ." She glances up at me, a shy expression on her face. "It's nice, liking someone."

I pause. Nice? To have a crush? I've never thought of it that way. I always thought the "nice" part was being in the relationship, not that pining part. I guess that's because I've never really considered myself "in love" before. Sure, there are guys I've admired and thought that maybe I was interested in, but I never got far enough to classify it as the youthful love so many teenagers desire to experience.

My own feelings have often been mere impulses, not hours spent longing after the touch of someone's hands or dreams of kissing. Not the existence of stomach butterflies or heated cheeks. No awkward stutterings or furtive glances or stolen, illicit moments.

Those things straight out of a shōjo manga . . . I haven't experienced those with Ogiwara, so would that mean I'm not in love with him?

"How . . ." I start. "How do you feel when you're with Akashi?"

She blinks. "How do I feel? What do you mean?"

"Well . . . like, does your stomach flip when you're around him? Do you constantly fantasize about his body?"

Her cheeks turn red, which informs that some of the latter has occurred, if not constantly. "Um . . . not so much of that," she says. "More like . . . it's just comfortable being with him. I don't worry about anything else other than the present, other than the moment we're facing. It's like . . . being with him makes me feel like I can do anything."

I look down at my hands, then at my foot, still bundled in a cast and propped upon three pillows. Mitsuri's words echo in my head, and she looks expectantly toward me for an answer. But when I speak again, it's more to myself than anything.

"Yes," I whisper. "That's exactly it."

The next evening, Ogiwara brings strawberry shortcake. Just like when Akashi was here, Grams is fawning all over him all while shooting me what she believes to be covert looks. Thank goodness Gramps is still watching TV in his room. I don't know how I'd deal with both of them at once.

"Hey," I say weakly. My foot's once again propped onto Mitsuri's chair, which leaves the rest of the table a little cramped.

"Hi, Reiha," he says. If he's surprised I finally invited him over, he doesn't show it. "How are you doing?"

I shrug. "How does it look?"

He squints.

I've been feeling a little better since talking with Mitsuri last night. This morning, when I opened my eyes, I didn't want to immediately go back to sleep either. Seeing Ogiwara now, too . . . seems to help.

Grams looks on fondly, then says, "Dinner should be ready in five. I'll go get Mitsuri and your grandfather."

Which leaves me and Ogiwara alone.

"How . . . how have you been doing?" I ask.

It's his turn to shrug. "It's been boring without you."

My eyes widen in surprise. "I didn't know I was that entertaining."

"Well, you know —" He stumbles over his words, his cheeks pink. "You're always so lively. It's not the same without you."

Before, I would've wished his words didn't affect me. But now . . . it's easier to admit the way he makes me feel.

Is this what I searching for? Someone to just . . . miss me?

When Mitsuri first went back home from America, I almost couldn't function. I missed her so much . . . only to see, the next time we were together, that she hardly seemed worse for the wear. She chattered about Grams and Gramps, about how much she loved her school . . . and she didn't even look me in the eye.

Of course, I know some of that's my fault, too. I was the first person to stop emailing her, and I didn't try to reach out to her like I should've. But after that, I never got close enough with a person to miss them or them to miss me. Not even my mom. I guess, in the end, that backfired on me, because she sent me away without a second thought.

Sometimes, I wonder if she misses me and regrets her decision. But lately . . . I've been thinking less and less about her and the life I led in America.

Because here, standing before me, is someone who does. Miss me.

"Reiha? Are you okay?" The concern is obvious in his voice. Instead of being annoyed with it like I usually might, though, I'm almost . . . grateful for it.

"It's nothing."

I turn my head, so I can wipe away a tear. I don't want to cry. Not right now. Because I'm too happy for tears.

After dinner, Grams allows Ogiwara into my room. Perhaps she'd sensed his innocence. It's not too hard to tell, after all.

He supports me all the way from the kitchen, which is something I'd normally be teasing him about, but I can't find the heart to do so tonight. I remember him carrying me all the way to the nurse at school, murmuring comforting words the whole way. I focus on his warm arm around my side . . . and maybe lean in a little closer than necessary.

"You can sit on the bed with me," I say.

Okay, maybe I'll still tease him a bit.

I can tell, even without looking, that his cheeks have reddened. "A-are you sure?" he says.

"Of course," I say, flopping onto the bed, then lifting my leg onto its mountain of pillows.

He hesitates, but slides onto the edge of the mattress.

"You're going to fall off."

"I am not."

I poke him in the side, and he starts to tip before quickly regaining his balance. He scowls. "I will fall if you push me!"

I laugh, and it feels good, like I haven't laughed in a long time, even if it's only been a few days. "I'm glad to see you again," I say, more serious this time.

He studies my expression. "You seem different tonight," he says.

"Yeah . . ." I take in a deep breath, then I begin to speak. Better to get it over with.

I tell him what I'd told Mitsuri last night. Why I'd really come to Japan. My dad . . . and me. I stop, and wait, because depending on his response, I may not tell him my last secret.

His eyes have widened during my story, but once he sees I'm finished, he opens his mouth. "You could've told me!" he says. "All that time . . . I had no idea what you were really going through. If I'd known, I could've —"

That's what everyone thinks. If I'd known, I could've . . . and they're not entirely wrong, either. But sometimes, the feelings inside of me are just going to exist, whether or not someone is beside me.

Would I have not gotten depressed if I'd told Mitsuri and Ogiwara earlier? Would they have helped move me out of that rut? Or would I have fallen into an even deeper hole, making them worry about me even more?

I can't know.

But he knows now, and even though I still can't stop the feelings of shame inside of me, it feels good to tell Ogiwara. Now, he can decide for himself if he wants to stay.

"You know . . ." His voice is softer now. "I have an uncle who has depression. It's not something I'm totally ignorant about . . . maybe if you let me in now, I could help you."

Let him in now?

"You're not . . ." I pause. "It doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it bother me?"

"Well, isn't mental illness pretty stigmatized here?"

"That doesn't mean I'm like that." He looks almost offended.

I let out my breath. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just . . . even in America, it's still viewed as something . . . wrong. I'm trying to accept it, but it's still hard."

"I don't blame you," he says. "But all you need to know is that . . . I don't think of you that way. Your sister doesn't. And I'm sure many, many other people feel the same way."

He always speaks with such confidence, like there's no way anyone could ever prove him wrong. I wish I could have his and Mitsuri's surety in their feelings, that sort of conviction.

I give him a wan smile. "Well, I hope you haven't had enough surprises for tonight."

He actually leans forward. So innocent. "You can tell me anything you want."

Well, I wasn't actually planning on telling him anything.

Maybe my next actions aren't a good choice. Maybe, someday, I'll end up regretting them, regretting starting something that might just end like the last time. But, somehow, with Ogiwara . . . I don't think that'll happen.

So, I move closer and press my lips onto his.

"Reiha —" He moves back, eyes large.

"I like you," I say.

"I —"

"Did you not like that?" I pucker out my lower lip, and his cheeks flame.

"N-no, it's not like that —" He rocks back and forth and chews on his lip, which only focuses my attention more on his mouth. "I just wasn't expecting —"

"Okay," I say. "Do I need to tell you next time?"

"Um —"

"I'm going to kiss you." And I do.

This time, he lets out a soft groan that is unexpectedly . . . sensual. The bed creaks as he shifts, angling his body toward mine, and seeming to have given up his hesitation, he opens his lips for me.

He's good.

I'd thought that since he's had no experience, his skills would've been a little wanting (not that I would've minded; that would just mean I'd have plenty to teach him), but I guess some naturals do exist in the world. Or . . . maybe he's not as innocent as I'd thought.

A few moments later, we separate, both breathless. My cheeks have developed a shade similar to his own now.

"I never thought —"

He still seems to lack the ability to complete his sentences.

"That I'd return your feelings?" I finish for him.

"Well, yeah —"

"But now I do. So do you want to ask me out?"

"Um, okay — uh . . . R-Reiha . . . I-I still like you . . . obviously . . . so do you maybe wanna go out with me?"

It's cute seeing him struggle to say those words. "You already confessed to me a long time ago," I say, lightly prodding his chest. "Why are you having so much trouble right now?"

"I — I can't really think right now," he admits, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh." I lean closer to him, a grin on my face. "Then that's okay. We don't have to think right now at all."

A/N: Hi, everyone! Sorry for the wait. So, a couple things about how the story's turned out lately. First off, I've had depression myself, so I am writing Reiha's situation from a bit of experience. That being said, mental illness is a tricky, tricky subject, and it's often very different for people. It's hard to say whether a depiction of depression is "correct" or not because there are so many ways people can experience it. I think this is one of the main reasons people still don't get mental illnesses; it's not like a physical thing where many of the symptoms and treatments are the same. Instead, it varies from person to person and is often hard to "label." What Reiha's going through is just one interpretation. Sometimes talking to people helps; sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes medicine and therapy is the right choice (and a choice I always encourage everyone to try several times), and sometimes it's not. I've tried being sensitive about the subject, but again, I don't think mental illness is something that should be shied away from either. Anyway, the point of this story is not to preach to you guys about it; it's just another side of Reiha's character and story. How she deals with it isn't necessarily my own opinions about that matter.

So, that aside, thanks for reading!

~ J. Dominique