When I woke up, I was in my bed. I had on fresh, clean pajamas and my hair smelled like coconut. I never used coconut shampoo before, but I'd bought a bottle on sale and had just shoved it under the sink, forgetting about it.
I don't know why I remembered that little fact, but it made sure that none of what had happened last night was a dream. How I wished it was. I wished that it had never happened. No one had seen me in such a weak state in years and I was afraid of the repercussions.
I timidly went out into the hallway and made my way to the kitchen. Somehow I knew Aya would be there. Low and behold, there he was, sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and eating a bowl of cereal with water.
"Um, good morning," I whispered. He didn't reply. He didn't even look at me. "Aya? Well, uh, about last night…"
"Fuck off, Ken," Aya growled, still with out looking at me. To say I was surprised was an understatement. Aya only sounded that angry when we discussed Takatori and even then, he never cussed like than.
"Aya, I-"
"I said fuck off, Ken. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it."
"But Aya-"
"Just shut up. If you're trying to explain last night, don't bother. I know what happened."
"Then why are you so mad at me?" I asked, desperately wanting an answer. I knew I was pathetic, but that didn't matter anymore.
Aya looked up from his paper and glared at me with so much hatred it made my heart burn, "I know last night was some sort of sick plan on yours to try and get me to feel sorry for you. You're a good actor, Ken, but I checked and you're mother died in a car accident. You are one sick whore, and I can barely stand to be in the same room as you, so I would just go back to bed if I were you."
My mouth fell open in shock at his words. He just turned back to his newspaper and ignored me as I stood there, my eyes wide and mouth open as I gaped like a fish out of water. I wanted to die. I had never been in so much pain in my entire life, and believe me, I am saying a lot. He hated me. Before he just thought I was disgusting, now he hates me and … and he called me a whore. That hurt most of all.
I'd been called a whore before. Everyone called me a whore. Father did when he was drunk, Mother did when I came back from business meetings with Father, Youji did when he thought he was talking dirty, Omi whispered it under his breath when he thought I couldn't hear it, and now Aya, the man I'd blindly fallen for, was calling me the same thing.
As I turned to leave, I grabbed a large butcher knife from the knife block and went to my room. I wonder if Aya would care, if I actually took my own life. It wasn't the life of a child-molester or a drug-dealer, but mine. I didn't know if I had the bravery to do it, but I was going to try.
I knew I was taking the easy way out, escaping the pain through death. They could easily find some one else to fill my shoes. Surely I'm not the only pathetic whore who's had self-induced delusions of grandeur.
I hope I am. I hope that no one else ever in the entire world has had to go through the pain that I have. I hate my life. That's why I'm going to end it. Those were my thoughts as I went to my room.
The marker was still in the sink as I went into my bathroom. At this point I was wondering if Aya had even noticed me taking the knife. I picked up the marker and wrote a simple word that held so much hidden meaning behind it that no one ever noticed.
"Coward."
I picked up the knife. I rolled up the sleeve of my left arm. I could do this. I could. I wasn't a coward. Yes. I was. But I did it. The blade sliced through my skin and opened my vein and as the blood poured out, so did the pain. And I smiled as I felt the life and the pain and the constant throbbing ache in my heart fading away, deep inside my body.
I don't know why I remembered that little fact, but it made sure that none of what had happened last night was a dream. How I wished it was. I wished that it had never happened. No one had seen me in such a weak state in years and I was afraid of the repercussions.
I timidly went out into the hallway and made my way to the kitchen. Somehow I knew Aya would be there. Low and behold, there he was, sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and eating a bowl of cereal with water.
"Um, good morning," I whispered. He didn't reply. He didn't even look at me. "Aya? Well, uh, about last night…"
"Fuck off, Ken," Aya growled, still with out looking at me. To say I was surprised was an understatement. Aya only sounded that angry when we discussed Takatori and even then, he never cussed like than.
"Aya, I-"
"I said fuck off, Ken. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it."
"But Aya-"
"Just shut up. If you're trying to explain last night, don't bother. I know what happened."
"Then why are you so mad at me?" I asked, desperately wanting an answer. I knew I was pathetic, but that didn't matter anymore.
Aya looked up from his paper and glared at me with so much hatred it made my heart burn, "I know last night was some sort of sick plan on yours to try and get me to feel sorry for you. You're a good actor, Ken, but I checked and you're mother died in a car accident. You are one sick whore, and I can barely stand to be in the same room as you, so I would just go back to bed if I were you."
My mouth fell open in shock at his words. He just turned back to his newspaper and ignored me as I stood there, my eyes wide and mouth open as I gaped like a fish out of water. I wanted to die. I had never been in so much pain in my entire life, and believe me, I am saying a lot. He hated me. Before he just thought I was disgusting, now he hates me and … and he called me a whore. That hurt most of all.
I'd been called a whore before. Everyone called me a whore. Father did when he was drunk, Mother did when I came back from business meetings with Father, Youji did when he thought he was talking dirty, Omi whispered it under his breath when he thought I couldn't hear it, and now Aya, the man I'd blindly fallen for, was calling me the same thing.
As I turned to leave, I grabbed a large butcher knife from the knife block and went to my room. I wonder if Aya would care, if I actually took my own life. It wasn't the life of a child-molester or a drug-dealer, but mine. I didn't know if I had the bravery to do it, but I was going to try.
I knew I was taking the easy way out, escaping the pain through death. They could easily find some one else to fill my shoes. Surely I'm not the only pathetic whore who's had self-induced delusions of grandeur.
I hope I am. I hope that no one else ever in the entire world has had to go through the pain that I have. I hate my life. That's why I'm going to end it. Those were my thoughts as I went to my room.
The marker was still in the sink as I went into my bathroom. At this point I was wondering if Aya had even noticed me taking the knife. I picked up the marker and wrote a simple word that held so much hidden meaning behind it that no one ever noticed.
"Coward."
I picked up the knife. I rolled up the sleeve of my left arm. I could do this. I could. I wasn't a coward. Yes. I was. But I did it. The blade sliced through my skin and opened my vein and as the blood poured out, so did the pain. And I smiled as I felt the life and the pain and the constant throbbing ache in my heart fading away, deep inside my body.