Last Dance With Shinobu-Chan.
By Project Pegasus
Chapter X: Please Love Me.
There was a distinct chill in the air as Naru peered out from the living room window. She watched as Keitaro and Shinobu piled into Seta's van drove away.
"What's wrong with you?" Mitsune called out as she stretched luxuriously and lazily over the couch. "You should have more faith in people. Shinobu told you why Keitaro and she were going to the dance together. Nothing will happen between those two." Naru turned almost angrily from the window to face Mitsune, who was leisurely sprawled across the sofa in all of her sloth-like glory.
"Why should I care what they do? I'm not the J.S.S.D.F. for God's sake!" she howled.
"Calm down and watch the TV with me," Mitsune offered. "It's the opiate of the people," she said slyly while deviously wiggling the remote control. She sat up and temptingly patted the sofa cushion on her right side saying, "C'mon Naru. TV is my perfect drug."
Naru brooded by the window before sneering, "Did you see the way Keitaro was ogling Shinobu's ass when she got into Seta's van!?"
"Huh?" Mitsune asked, surprised by Naru's sudden outburst.
Naru continued in a huff, "Honestly, I don't know how you can be so nonchalant about all of this?!"
"Just let those crazy kids have their fun, Naru," Mitsune advised, "After all, what's so wrong about two people going to a social event together as friends?"
"Friends!?" Naru yelled in amazement, "How can you even bring up that whole sack of lies about those two going to the dance as 'friends?' Aren't you even the least bit offended that they're insulting your intelligence with that 'we're going as friends' excuse?"
"Why should I be offended? They are only going as friends after all. Nothing more," Mitsune said calmly.
"You're so naïve!" Naru said agonizingly, "Am I the only one who isn't afraid to call the Emperor naked!?"
"Oh! A cute naked guy? Where?! Where?!" Mitsune asked eagerly.
"This isn't a time for jokes!" Naru reprimanded, "I must be the only one who can see that as soon as he gets the chance, Keitaro is going to soil Shinobu."
"Back off there, Naru," Mitsune advised, her voice shedding it customarily lighthearted tone.
Naru continued without being interrupted by Mitsune's warning, "And Shinobu, with stars in her eyes and her head so filled with dreams, is going to go along with it all! I just know it!"
Mitsune started on in disbelief.
"Why am I the only one who seems to understand?! While you all were priming her like a rose, Keitaro has been getting ready to deflower her!"
"Naru, that's enough!" Mitsune pleaded, "Get a hold of yourself! Do you even realize what you're saying? Those are some major accusations."
"I can't believe we all turned a blind eye and let this crime happen!" Naru screamed.
"You've got to calm down," Mitsune begged, "Nothing is going to happen."
"Believe anything you want!" she cried, "Believe anything but the truth! It makes to difference to me!"
As she thundered out of the room she yelled, "I have things to do!"
Naru passed a dazed Mitsune as she departed from the living room and down the hallway. When she reached the door of her room, she flung it open with a kick and practically executed a stranglehold on her hamper as she dragged it toward the laundry room, muttering to herself the whole way.
If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that not even she believed her own slanderous, paranoiac finger pointing. But then again, anything was better than admitting that for once, she had lost Keitaro to another girl, even if it was for one night only.
When she had reached the threshold of the laundry room, she let her hamper fall to the floor with a careless thud. As she scanned over the room for her detergent, she noticed a solitary rose resting on the hood of the cold, whitewashed metallic washing machine. She continued to stare at it, the boutonnière, Keitaro's boutonnière that she had bought just for him. She blotted and hid away her tears.
She lifted the quivering rose against the light. She had intended it to be the token of her love for him. After masquerading as Shinobu's date for the night, she knew that it would be her boutonnière that would remind him of her, and she had faith that it would return him to her side when everything was over.
Had she been betrayed or forsaken? Had she been spurned for another?
But then again, it was no concern of Naru's since she had never loved Keitaro in the first place, she reminded herself.
What did she want anyway, she asked herself.
¾ Keitaro?
"No!" she insisted.
¾ Keitaro?
"No!" she maintained.
¾ Keitaro?
"No! No! No!"
She didn't know what she really wanted, but she could honestly say that it wasn't Keitaro. If nothing else, she just didn't want to be alone and abandon like she had been when she was a bedridden, anemic toddler.
Loneliness.
It was a Friday night.
This was the time when the boys of Todai, her classmates, gathered their loose yen and slapped together whatever semblance of a date they could. She could imagine the men taking their girlfriends to dine at restaurants the men could hardly afford. She could see them wracking their nerves over the bill even before the appetizers were served. Perhaps then a movie, whatever trash had just been imported from Hollywood. And then a final return to Todai for a night of atrocious and shameless dorm sex.
"Ugh," Naru groaned, "Repulsive." She could almost picture the men ineptly and clumsily fumbling through their wallets for that tacky condom.
"How vulgar!" she spat, "How obscene!"
But somehow this scenario would almost be a quaint way to pass the evening with Keitaro.
"A date with Keitaro?" she wondered.
At dinner, she could imagine him pulling up to the drive thru window and proudly announcing that no extra value meal was too good for his girl and that he would be honored to pay the extra hundred yen for an apple pie.
She could almost intuit his choice in the movie afterward, some sloppily constructed routine of inane clichés: an action movie with machines and robots, no doubt. The appalling dialogue would only be matched by the equally appalling acting. How his face would be rocked with utter shock when the movie revealed that the cyborg hunter was really a cyborg all along, or something just as tedious.
And then they would reach the awkward end of the date. She could almost feel his lust-driven body gravitate toward her, only to have the impulses suppressed by his paralyzing shyness. She could picture the gratitude and fear in his eyes as she took his hand and guided him up the stairs to her room, holding control over him with nothing more than a knowing glance, a brush of her skirt, the sweet life of her breath. Alone together in her room, she could feel the echo of their shoes hitting the floor, their years of isolation dissolving like a lump of sugar in a cup of warm water by one act of recognition and acceptance.
Naru looked at her watch. She knew that Keitaro must have reached the dance by that time. She had no power beyond fantasize his return to her. This would just have to be another solitary evening. Meanwhile, Keitaro was far away with Shinobu.
She brought to mind how Keitaro had so cavalierly cast her off. She stared upon the washing machine where she had first discovered Keitaro's forgotten boutonnière. "If he'd only ask, I wouldn't hesitate to confess my love for him," she brooded sullenly.
"On second thought," she revised, "I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't be so open, but he would still understand if he had half a mind. It's still his fault." She continued to peer upon the rose. It saddened her just as it infuriated her.
But it was her anger that got the better of her. She crushed the boutonnière till a red and green paste began to grease the palm of her hand. She opened her hand and gazed at the ruined gift, the rouge petals crumpled and torn and the leave pressed together. Then she realized that it didn't matter what she did because he wasn't there to see her destroy her present to him. Even if he had been there, he might not even care what she did to his rose. She finally understood that she no longer had any authority over him.
"No!" she yelled defiantly, "No! It's not so!"
She began to furiously kick the washing machine. The vibration of the sheet metal sounded throughout the room. The side of the machine yielded to her blows as clusters of craters worked their way into its surface. She swung her attention to the wall. Again and again her knuckles slammed into it; she throttled its impassive, white face. After her tender and reddened fists had been exhausted of all feeling, she turned her attention to a nearby cabinet. She grasped the cabinet by its sides and began to rock it forward and back. Its contents began to cascade from the shelves. Rolls of toilet paper began to float by Naru before bouncing on the floor. Light bulbs shattered around Naru's feet as plastic bottles of cleaning solution dropped to the floor with a thud. As her fit of rage continued, she did not notice the bulky iron teetering on the edge of the shelf, the same iron Keitaro had been using earlier that evening. Passively, it obeyed the motions of Naru's tremor and slid out from its place on the shelf. It followed the law of gravity to its logical conclusion as it collided with Naru's head below. She collapsed to the floor amid the heap of rubble she had created. The iron clanged to the floor and settled beside Naru's fallen body.
Mitsune, drawn by the commotion of Naru's eruption of anger, ran towards the room.
"What the hell is going on?" she cried out. Upon entering the room, she saw Naru's crumpled body. In a panic, she screamed, "Oh my God! Naru! Naru?"
*
* *
Keitaro quickly finished drying his hands and tossed the brown paper napkin into the waste bin. As he exited the restroom, a chaperone tapped him on the shoulder and leaned toward his ear. Raising his voice above the pulsating music, he asked, "Excuse me, you are Urashima Keitaro, correct?"
"That's right," Keitaro nodded.
"There's a phone call for you. Please follow me," he said. He led Keitaro down a hallway to the main office. He unlocked the door and ushered Keitaro to a phone sitting on the main desk. After thanking the man, Keitaro placed the receiver to his ear and said, "Hello?"
"Keitaro? It's me, Mitsune," the voice across the line said urgently, "Listen, Naru is unconscious. An iron fell on her head and she has been out since. Can you get to the hospital somehow?"
"I think there's a street car that has a stop about a quarter of a mile away from here. It runs right by the hospital. The next run isn't for a while, but I'll be there as soon as possible," he said, the tone of his voice weighed down heavily by his concern for Naru, "Will she be ok?"
"It's touch and go for now," Mitsune confessed powerlessly, "The doctors say she should be all right, but they're still running some tests. I really don't want to pull you away from your dance, but . . . "
"I know. I know," Keitaro said, picking up where Mitsune's voice trailed away, "I'll be right there."
After they said their goodbyes, Keitaro replaced the receiver on the phone.
Quickly and with purpose, Keitaro arose from his seat and headed back to the auditorium, and back to Shinobu on the other side of the dance floor. "So this is how it all ends?" Keitaro sighed dolefully, "Shinobu must have my luck. Her prom date is going to the hospital just like mine did."
Keitaro recalled his own painful junior high school dance: Makoto's pained glances at him, Yoko Yokohama's abrupt departure, the violent spectacle of the rugby game, a fitting prelude to the strategy, tactics and war of the dance itself. And now, nothing better awaited Shinobu.
As Keitaro reached the forest of faces on the dance floor, he craned his neck and caught a glimpse of Shinobu patiently awaiting his return to their table. As he began to wade through the river of dancers, Keitaro felt as though he was fading into their singular motion. He fought to keep Naru folded in the center of his heart, but he began to question what sort of good his presence would do at her hospital bed. Being at her side would be inconsequential: she would either emerge from her coma or she wouldn't. He could work no magic to revive her. Certainly, he was hardly her prince charming; kissing her wouldn't wake her from her deep sleep, but would only result in a mild concussion for him when she finally shook off her unconsciousness. All around Keitaro, shoes were grinding across the floor and hips were swaying. An occasional stray leg knocked him against his shin and when one swift kick reached his knee, suddenly, Keitaro realized that he didn't want to leave the dance. His selfishness and callousness immediately appalled his more decent sensibilities. But then from her table, Shinobu lifted her eyes to meet Keitaro's. Those were the same eyes that had stared at him in grateful silence when he first agreed to escort her to the prom; those were the eyes that were struck by wonder when he wouldn't allow her to withdraw her invitation to the prom, and those were the eyes that just moments ago had been moistened by the bitter tears of her childhood. The choice now belonged to Keitaro what would next appear in Shinobu's eyes.
His frightened thoughts stampeded through his mind. He feebly attempted to shepherd them and call them to order, but it proved impossible. He could feel the hearts around him pounding and beating in time with the throbbing music. Beams of colored lights shifted and drove their way across the dance floor and into his eyes. As his fugitive mind eluded recapture, Keitaro ecstatically and without warning announced to himself, "Yes! Yes! I do love Shinobu!" Keitaro stopped dead in his tracks, shaken to his core by his own confession.
After a while, Keitaro continued to swim through the sea of bodies as he returned to Shinobu. As he passed by a pair of dancers, one of them bumped against Keitaro, nudging Mitsune's flask against Keitaro's side.
"The flask, "Keitaro reminded himself, "I was reaching for it when I first realized that Naru's boutonnière was missing."
Naru.
Naru Narusegawa.
A torrent of memories swept across Keitaro's mind, flooding out his sense of intimacy with Shinobu. He turned his attention to where Shinobu sat: the dim lighting, her hair that faintly fell upon her shoulders, her eyes eagerly awaiting his return, and her hands resting so delicately in her lap.
Yes, he did indeed love Shinobu, he acknowledged, but he couldn't guarantee their happiness together. With Shinobu, unlike Naru, there was a very real risk and a very real danger of failure.
But there was a good probability that Shinobu's warmth and humanity would bring his life more fulfillment than would Naru's aloofness and loathing. But the difference between the two was that Naru was Promised to him, and Shinobu was not. Whether their love would be fulfilling or not, it did not matter. What mattered was that Naru was guaranteed to him. The only way he could forfeit her was if he passed her over for another.
Though the prognosis for a future with Naru was mediocre, he trusted that Fate would eventually bring her to him. Keitaro unhurriedly anticipated a time when It would deliver her to him. He could wait. He had been waiting for almost two decades. A few years were inconsequential to him as long as he received what he was promised.
Unlike Naru, consummation with Shinobu was uncertain. Keitaro had already searched for his Promised Girl for fifteen years. It had been fifteen years of cold repression and humiliating frustration. Even now as Shinobu struck a meditative still-life pose Vermeer wouldn't have been quick to ignore, he knew that he had come too far, sacrificed too much to renounce his Promised Girl, even for Shinobu. In the five year interim it would take her to come of age, too much could happen, too many emotions could sour and so much passion could ebb prematurely. He had always worked to make everyone happy, to satisfy everyone's needs and alleviate their worries, but when it came to his Promised Girl, he would accept no compromises.
Keitaro parted a pair of dancers as he finally emerged from the dance floor.
His expression was direly urgent but anxious. He plopped himself down at the table and uneasily wiped his forehead before speaking.
"Shinobu," he said with immediacy and fretfulness, "There is something I have to tell you right now, and I don't know how you're going to react to this."
"Sempai?" Shinobu said gently.
"This is why he took so long," Shinobu told herself, "He must have been gathering the courage to confess his love for me!"
As Keitaro inhaled slowly and deeply, Shinobu could feel a fragment of her soul being swept up in his drawing breath. She seemed to quiver in anticipation. She knew that what he was about to say would change her life irrevocably.
Keitaro began again, "Shinobu . . . "
He felt Mitsune's flask within the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and knew that once begun, there was no turning back. His choice would be final.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long," he said hesitantly.
"It's not a problem sempai," Shinobu assured him, "Now what did you want to tell me?"
Without another word, Keitaro blurted out, "It's about Naru."
"What?" Shinobu yelped, trying her best to suppress her unease, "Naru?"
Keitaro winced as Naru's name caught against Shinobu and shredded her heart like razor wire. Nearby classmates, drawn by the scent of Shinobu's blood, began to circle her, waiting for whatever they could scavenge from the scene.
"Naru?" one whispered to another.
"Another girl, I bet," another chortled.
"What are you saying, sempai?" Shinobu squeaked.
"Naru is in the hospital. An iron fell on her head," Keitaro explained, "We should go and wait by her bed till she wakes up."
"Wait for Naru?" Shinobu asked incredulously, "Wait for Naru? What difference does it make it if we're there or not?"
"He's ditching her!" Shinobu heard.
"I knew he would!" another chimed in.
"Would she drop everything just to rush to your bedside?" Shinobu cried.
"Shinobu," Keitaro eased in, "That's not the point. We should be there for our friends."
"You hear that," somebody chuckled, "He said, 'Let's be friends.' She's gonna be dumped for sure!"
"Don't you want to stay here Keitaro?" Shinobu asked, her face flushing from the embarrassment and despair, "I'll even take responsibility for what happens back at Hinata Sou."
"We have to leave, Shinobu," Keitaro said regretfully, "The streetcar will make its stop any minute now."
Keitaro began to move toward the door. In desperation, Shinobu leapt and clung to Keitaro's arm, attempting to stymie his movement.
"Please be reasonable, Shinobu," he pleaded.
"No sempai!" Shinobu shot back, "Please stay here!"
Keitaro continued to walk slowly, dragging Shinobu along with him. Her classmates followed in her wake like a hideous torrent. The last thing Keitaro wanted to do was abandon her at the prom. In reality, he didn't want to leave the dance or Shinobu, but he couldn't bear the thought of staying either. By this time, they had reached the door. Shinobu had still not detached herself from his arm. Keitaro knew how painful it was for Shinobu to be abandoned just when she had found love. Once he thought that Yoko Yokohama had loved him, but she had a higher calling: to drive the school mascot to the hospital. And now it was Naru Narusegawa. He couldn't even begin to guess how Naru felt about him. Yoko Yokohama. Naru Narusegawa. The repetition in their names struck Keitaro. The repetition could have signified a second change for Keitaro to change his past. It could have almost been like a second life: a second opportunity to rectify the failure of his own junior high prom ten years ago. Instead, the repetition in their names signified the fact that his efforts had been doomed from the beginning. He would replicate the same mistakes that had been played out so long ago: both prom nights would end in broken dates, trips to the hospital, and he would never share the last dance with the one whom he loved.
"Shinobu," Keitaro said, "I know what you're going through."
Shinobu said nothing. He could begin to feel her tremble with frustration and sadness.
"I know because the same thing happened to me at my junior high school prom. Remember? My date had to leave me too in order to go to the hospital too. But I'm taking you with me, so it's not so bad, right?" Keitaro declared, still dragging Shinobu along.
"Sempai, shut up!" Shinobu screamed, "Shut up!"
Keitaro was struck dumb by her fury.
"Shut up!" Shinobu commanded for a third time, "Can't you see? Yoko Yokohama didn't desert you because she had to go to the hospital! She ditched you so she could be fingered by the school mascot! Why do you have to be so stupid?! How long will you let women use you, women like Yoko Yokohama and Naru Narusegawa?! If you accept punishment so readily, then you probably deserve everything you get!"
Shinobu panted for a while, trying to regain her composure. She realized that Keitaro had not moved since she had told him to shut up. It looked as though he were comatose. Not even his facial features registered any signs of consciousness. Shinobu loosened her grip on his arm and back away from him. Even the crowd held its collective breath in anticipation.
"I'm going now," Keitaro said calmly, finally breaking the silence, "Stay or tag along, it makes no difference to me."
"No, no sempai," Shinobu begged, "I'm sorry. I didn't really mean that. I just don't want to see you get hurt anymore." He continued to walk, no longer acknowledging Shinobu's presence. Shinobu latched onto his arm once more. "No sempai, please don't go," she whispered into his ear, "Please don't go, sempai, please."
He labored even more intensely, like a machine striding forward.
"No, no you can't leave me," Shinobu wept, "How can you leave me?"
He still betrayed no emotions as he charged forward at a steady, determined pace.
. "Sempai," Shinobu finally mumbled almost incoherently, "Please. Please sempai, please." She paused momentarily before completing her almost moribund phrase. "Please love me."
At that, Keitaro violently jerked her away. Shinobu half-heartedly hugged his arm until finally being discarded. She flopped into a puddle that had been made by the rains earlier that day. Keitaro looked down on her with cold detachment. Muddy and sniffling, Shinobu lifted herself up and sat upon her knees with her head bowed. Keitaro turned and moved away from Shinobu, disappearing into the night.
End of Chapter 10.
Disclaimer: All concepts, characters, and other copyrighted materials used in the fan fiction, "Last Dance with Shinobu-Chan" are property of their respective owners. This is to be used for non-lucrative purposes only.