It All Fell Apart
Chapter 2/?
Generational Patterns
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When all the colors fade
But this cleansing comes with the rain
The girl was asleep, her slow rhythmic breathing matched the evenness of the falling rain, and she was able to dream freely. Dream of vast expanses of land covered with darkness. And there was nothing there.
Lightening branched across the sky followed by the unmistakable roar of thunder and then the quick pattering of the rain, as sheets, sliding down the glass windows in a cascade, illuminating the girl's face if only for a moment.
The thunder was almost deafening, forcing her eyelids open to the storm. The morning had wasted away; she was surprised that she had managed to sleep this long.
She focused her eyes on the ceiling, staring upwards at the vastness. Her unusual-colored hair settled around her head, a cloud of distrust. The questions become worse, the answers unattainable. Staring up at the ceiling every night, waiting as the clock ticked impatiently for her to finally close her eyes just when she thought she had discovered herself, her true self, and not this empty shell that she appeared to other people. Maybe she hadn't, and was wrong all along.
And then she would imagine hearing a voice, something that disturbed her terribly. She could never figure out whom it belonged to, for it would disappear as soon as she would concentrate upon it.
She sat upright in bed, and looked around at the room. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. At that moment, she just wanted to be out of the room, out of the house, outside, anywhere to escape the feeling of being trapped indoors, something that would put an end to the pointless unanswerable questions and prolonged suffering.
Turning towards the window her amethyst eyes focused on the storm. The rain seemed comforting, almost. She had to get out of there.
"Ayame," Her mother was outside of the door, knocking on it. "Sleeping in again? Osamu and Kimiko are up already."
She rolled her eyes, sucking in a breath before replying. "Look, I'm going to go out for a walk or something."
"In this weather?"
"Yes, Okaasan," She replied airily. "It helps me think."
"Do whatever you want, then." There was a sudden harshness to the tone.
The sound of receding footsteps allowed her to exhale in relief. Shaking her head, she turned and spoke softly to the mirror. "When will they realize that all they'll ever achieve is to push me away completely?" 'Though,' her mind reasoned. 'That wouldn't be such a bad idea.'
She knew that she was finally leaving and felt relief as she finished gathering her things, then, thinking better of something, draped her wine-red cloak around her and pulled on her hood with her favorite emblem, a ruby she had found when she was six years old and hadn't gone without since. There it was again, that strange pull to get away. She was fully dressed now, and left the building, not noticing the gaze of her little brother watching, his small-hands pressed to the glass before she disappeared. The storm had ceased for the moment, even though the air was still damp and chill.
Tucking her cold hands into the folds of her cloak and keeping her head slightly bent she walked, splashing slightly in the puddles and not caring. For another moment, she lifted her head and glanced around, hoping that she wouldn't run into anybody. She wanted to be alone.
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A gentle patter of rain muffled the sounds of children's laughter as they played tag and pushed each other into puddles. A distant rumble of thunder could occasionally be heard. Even though it wasn't even sunset yet, the sky was dark and getting darker. The house itself was a dull grey, however the warmth and brightness of the children's paintings added to it gave it new life, and the lights were all brightly lit. Miyako hummed slightly to herself as she finished sweeping the floor.
"Another night alone," She mused, in a half-annoyed, half-embittered voice, putting away the broom and then rummaging through the cabinet for some other cleaning substance.
Her perfect house. Her perfect children. It all fit so…poetically. She raising a family of three children, with possibly another on the way…If this kept up she would be no better than her own mother.
"But I don't have a store to run," Miyako shook her head as she inadvertently knocked over the wood-furnishing polish in her frustration. "No, I have to sit here in my perfect little house and raise my children."
She almost missed her own childhood. Growing up with her two sisters and brother, let alone being the youngest, had been miserably dull, and she had often felt shafted, but she thought that she had gotten past that. And even watching her children have fun together, she wondered why she couldn't have had a family like this. A family so perfect that it made any person want to scream. Any normal person, Miyako thought, scathingly. Perhaps because she had the perfect husband and believed that she was far from perfect didn't help. What had made him fall for her anyway? It all seemed so puzzling, as if life went by in a blur…
"Okay, so I'm a perfectionist." Miyako found it easiest to vent when no one else was home. And getting her private time alone became easier as the children got older and busied themselves outside. And she wondered what it would be like, if she were the one running the store and not her sister, or if she had married Shuu Kido instead of her sister marrying him.
She smirked at this point. Momoe would never have met him if it weren't for her, and although it cost her a friendship with Jun, she was very happy.
But no. Miyako had not married Shuu. She wasn't even remotely envious of her sister, just thought it highly amusing. Groaning, she looked at the clock. It was getting late. And of course he wasn't home. It almost felt as if he were avoiding her.
"Mom!" She heard one of her children yell out; her son, with his lavender locks, and he came running in, his bright blue raincoat dripping water onto the just-mopped floor. "Mom, Ayame-chan is off walking again and she won't let me follow her."
Miyako slapped her hand to her forehead. "Oy vey." Here it came again, the children being whiny little brats about every little thing concerning one another. She was once that way too.
"Mom, I want Papa. Will he be home today?" Her son continued, looking up at her with sparkling amethyst eyes that made her fall in love with her husband all over again every time that she saw them.
"He won't be home for another couple of hours. But he is definitely coming home today," Miyako gave him a friendly push. "Go back outside, Sam. Unless you want to help me clean, which I doubt. You have another sister, remember? Play with her."
As soon as he had gone, Miyako clenched her hands into fists. "He better be home today. I should make the little brats clean this place. When I was a child, I did the chores. As an adult, I'm supposed to relax and let the kids do the work."
She finished polishing up the furniture, still musing to herself, as talking aloud made her feel comfortable. "This family thing. Maybe it would have been a better idea to play around in college and not set my sight on one guy, but it all worked out for me in the end, didn't it."
She could hear the sounds of the children's laugher behind her as it wafted in, and the creaking of the door.
She then noticed that her husband's eyes had dark circles under them, his clothes were drenched, and overall he did not look his usual self.
But what did his usual self-look like anymore? Perhaps it was nothing, he had been at work, something which could prove to be harrowing, and it all would be fine again. She'd tease him with the thought of a candlelit dinner, perhaps go or a nice long soak, and entice him in the bedroom. It always worked.
Of course, there wasn't time anymore for such intricate planning. Dinner would be normal, for the five of them. Or six. Or whatever number it turned into. Her eyes hovered on her husband as he went upstairs, to probably change. He had the expression of a lost man.
It was true, Miyako hadn't seen him for a few days, and had gone through the range of emotions: fear, bitterness, despair, disgust, annoyance, and then, indifference. Did she even care?
Yes. And now she would kill him.
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"What do you mean, that Oikawa was your father?" Iori's voice echoed in his mind, his green eyes almost haunting him as he walked back home.
"It was something I had found out some time ago, but never accepted. Something still seems wrong about it.."
He was unfocused. He had spent time with an old companion, and then had gone home again. He didn't know WHY he came home. It wouldn't be running away again. Perhaps it was running for something else. Even as he had seen the expression on Miyako's face when he walked through the door. She was angry, so angry, and maybe she had the right to be.
And he had saw his daughter disappearing into the night.
Even now, Ken noticed what likeness there was between him and his eldest daughter: detachment. He didn't know her, like he didn't know himself. He had watched her grow, and his other children, but that connection wasn't there.
I'm incapable; he realized, massaging his temples. Why am I only finding out now?
Ken sat down, almost uncomfortably on the couch. What he needed was a good long soak to try and figure himself out. Why the seeds of discomfort had been placed in the first place. 'Or is my subconscious trying to tell me something that I don't know?' He thought. You never can go so long with an actual peace. That doesn't exist, no matter how long you want to try to prevent a war from erupting. It always happens.
His mother was in a nursing home. After his father's death she fell apart entirely. Ken blamed himself for that, but he couldn't help feeling angered and justified at the time. And now it was a dull lust in his veins. He needed the truth, some sense of peace, to cover the guilt.
And yet, it all felt so wrong..
"What do you mean, that Oikawa was my father? Have you entirely lost your mind, woman?"
That would have explained it perfectly for him. His mother was having a nervous breakdown and all of the hysteria surrounding the death of her husband added to her mental instability.
"Let me explain, Ken. I've raised you and loved you. You have got to let me explain.." She sighed, her breathing becoming almost ragged.
"I'm waiting." He couldn't explain this sudden anger that was surging through his veins. He deserved the truth, though, didn't he? After all that he went through, to find out his life was a lie? It had never felt true, and yet, he was what he always was: an outsider.
"When you were just a tiny baby.. Well, you arrived, quite out of the blue. My younger sister, Ayame.. she had disappeared, apparently. She had been dead to the family for years."
Ken bit his lip. "What does this have to do with anything? You said that Sam was your nephew."
"He was." His mother closed her eyes. "From your father-the Ichijouji side. But we knew his parents well, and there was always proof.. of that. You didn't let me explain that you were my nephew as well.." She drew in a deep breath before continuing. "Well, it so happened.. that, well, one day Oikawa just showed up at our house. I remembered him, barely. He worked with my husband-and my sister was good friends with him, when they were younger. She used to like Masaharu Ishida..I never really liked my sister. But that's putting it lightly.." The eyes opened again, the soft brown trying to seek solace in his cold amethyst ones. "She was too different. Quiet. Ambitious. Whenever she did say something to me, it wasn't very nice. Then again, I didn't treat her well enough as it was.."
"So you're my.. aunt?" Ken blinked, not even digesting all of the information that she was presenting to him. If he let her keep talking, no likely she would babble on about other trivial things. First he was consumed with the thought of being a total stranger's product.. and somehow, this thought wasn't too welcoming ether.
"That's right. Oikawa showed up with the baby one day, told me that it was Ayame's. This I could tell right away. You have her eyes.." She sighed. "So almost immediately I knew, and though he wouldn't tell me, I assumed that he was the father.. I wasn't very nice to him either."
"Funny." Ken said, clenching his fists. "You always had that habit of putting on that annoying falsetto nice voice of yours."
"I got it from my mother. She was pleased that I turned out like her. Just the way you turned out like Ayame. The SAME way. So cold, smart, ambitious, quiet and negative. I didn't want you to grow up—like that. I didn't know whether to take you at first. My sister was a stranger so I treated you as if you were a stranger's child. That was until I grew to love you, as I did Osamu. As much as I hoped that you two were my real children. I couldn't lose that then."
Ken closed his eyes for a moment, determined not to start thinking about his real mother until he found out if there were any truth to his father. "If you lied to me then, how am I supposed to believe you now?"
"Ken.. don't make this difficult.."
"What did Oikawa say?"
His mother turned away from him, sighing. "He said that I had to take you for your own protection."
"Protection?"
"That's right. I often wondered if I would ever see my sister again, coming here to take you away from me. Or if he would come back, and want you back. Even your father didn't know that truth about him. But he was there, at Osamu's funeral.. But my sister never came, so we raised you. Osamu never knew the truth; if he did, he never let on. He believed that he was our son as much as we need for him to be; just as much as you were his brother that arrived one day, so special."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this." Ken said, his tone saturated with incredulity. At this point, he didn't know what to accept as true. The woman before him, this can-do-no-wrong-woman, had just admitted that his entire life had been nothing but a lie. And he thought of them as a family, and how it never seemed to work. Flashes of birthday's gone by quickly dissolved before his eyes as he sought to find something real to hold on to.
"You asked." His mother replied, sighing deeply.
"What about the birth records? They name you and Dad as my.. as my parents." Ken swallowed. That much had been true, he once thought, and it had always said that. Ichijouji Saburu and Ichijouji Akayo. He even looked up Osamu's records after initially finding out, and HIS true parents names were on there.
"That's because there weren't any birth records for you. Oikawa seemed rather secretive, and thought it imperative that the world thought you were ours. HE said that Ayame went to HIM in order for him to find a place for you. There was urgency in his tone. You were never supposed to find out.."
After which, she had another fit of hysteria and he was thrown out before he could find out any more, and didn't breach the subject again.
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"Ayame! Do the dishes," Miyako screeched as her eldest daughter came lastly into the house, her long indigo-colored hair matted and dripping, her clothes drenched and plastered to her body. There was a likeness so much to her father that Miyako half wanted to strangle the girl. "I thought higher of you. Playing outside in the rain. If you're all sick, don't come crying to me."
"No one was playing anything. It was his own fault, for following me." Was all the girl would reply before she stomped along upstairs into her room. Fuming, Miyako turned around.
"All right. All right. Ken. Help me here."
Her husband said nothing. His eyes had been on his eldest daughter for the moment she had entered before staring again into nothingness. In fact, Miyako noticed, he had barely said two words to her since returning home. Miyako wanted to ask him more about what he had said earlier, but in between finally letting some of her resentment towards her children bubble to the surface plus separating them from their fights was enough. After all, since she wouldn't be alone in bed tonight, it could wait. "I'll take care of them myself." She scowled.
Ken Ichijouji watched his wife erupt, not knowing how or wanting to respond. Perhaps it was his fault, for letting his life get like this. Her life. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but soon after he was sure he was well, after he would be able to walk away from this life freely without the pulling chains of guilt. 'Iori was right; I have to talk to that woman who called herself my mother again. I need to know the truth. She was hiding something else; I know it.'
But why would it be of so much importance to him NOW? Besides developing an identity. That's what Iori had said: You've lost your identity and right now, you've just decided that you wanted one. No one said you had to like the answers.
Probably why he became a lawyer. Always dealing with questions. Perhaps it wasn't too late to go elsewhere for the answers.
His six-year-old son, with the hair so much like his mother's, and the face so like his own, was watching him as he rose from the couch and went upstairs. Ken didn't realize that he was being followed until he reached his room and turned and saw the boy.
"Otousan," He whimpered, "Why haven't you been here?"
"I'm sorry, Osamu, but I'm just not in the mood right now."
"You're going to go away again, aren't you? I want to go with you. I want to be like you."
Ken sighed at this, remembering how he was at that age. "No, Osamu, you don't want to be like me."
"But Otousan…Mama just complains because we are useless children. We need you. I need you."
"You'll just have to understand that your mother is under a lot of stress." Ken said after a moment, regretting that he hadn't spent enough time with his children. It's just like my so-called parents all over again. I can't be like them. I swore I wouldn't be.
"Why, Otousan? Why doesn't she love us?"
Ken recoiled. 'It's me who doesn't love you.' "Of course she loves you. She's just…not used to this. She came from a big family and didn't expect to have one of her own. She wanted to be free to have her own life, her own career, and I just wanted a family. We haven't been able to give to one another what we need." He didn't know why he was explaining this to a six-year-old boy. There was no way the boy could possibly understand.
"We can be a family. Just us…" The child sniffed, and allowed his father to take him into his arms. "She doesn't need us, Otousan…she doesn't want us."
"She does, Osamu. She does." But by these last words he wondered whom he was trying more to convince, his son or himself.
Miyako was listening outside the door, but she did not go in. Instead, she looked from her bedroom door to the closed one that her two daughters shared, and shaking her head went downstairs and grabbed her jacket from the closet and stormed out into the rain.
Her eldest daughter watched her from the window as she left the house, her violet eyes forming small slits as she slowly turned away.
"You'll never understand, Mother.."
To Be Continued?
Who knows why my muse suddenly picked this up..?