-- Terrible Thought --
It was then, in the year after Hokuto's death, that I really began to change, deliberately. First, I threw out all the clothing, the matching-themed outfits. Buying my own clothes was difficult, strange. I ended up getting a lot of the same things, all in black, all simple, nondescript.
Except for the jacket. The colorless shadow of Seishirou's. It was an impulse, and I regretted it almost immediately. But still, I wore it. It was a way of remembering, I suppose.
I cleaned out the apartments completely, getting rid of most of her things, sending the important ones to Grandmother, who had left for Kyoto, and giving the rest to charity. It was surreal in the apartments without Hokuto, and even if I had wanted to stay, Grandmother wouldn't hear of me living there anymore.
I remember when I first found the cigarettes. The pack was open, but still mostly full, and the smell of them brought back so many memories. I stood there with them, my eyes almost completely shut, the pack lifted to my lips, which trembled.
I couldn't throw them out, for some reason. I slipped them into the pocket of my new white jacket, where they sat, for weeks. I'd find myself running my fingers over the pack unconsciously. I suppose they comforted me in a way.
Once, when I slipped my hand into my pocket, one of the cigarettes had slid out. I pulled it out, studied it. I was on the way home from working, and I stopped, in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at it.
"Need a light?" A teenager, my age or perhaps just a bit older, dressed in some absurd outfit that seemed completely composed of spandex and electrical tape. Jet black hair with shocking white tips fell over his dark eyes, which were touched up with just the faintest hints of makeup. I stared at him for a moment, not quite processing what he was asking.
Slowly, I felt myself nodding, holding the cigarette to my lips like I had seen him do so many times. Sucking in slightly as I watched the flame lick the tip of the cigarette, until the end glowed.
The smoke hit my lungs like a hammer. It hurt, the sensation of the smoke filling my lungs like nothing I had ever experienced. I was coughing, deep wheezing coughs that left me dazed and weak.
The boy was laughing, patting me on the back. "First timer!" I realized suddenly that he was uncomfortably close, pressed up against my side. He reached into my pocket, before I could stop him, pulling out the pack of cigarettes. I watched him warily as he whistled lowly.
He lifted his eyes to mine, a smile creasing the corners of his eyes. "Nice taste."
I shrugged, trying to dislodge the arm he had tossed over my shoulders. Suddenly, I was desperate to be somewhere else. He was staring at me. I averted my gaze quickly. "Thanks." My answer was clipped, cold. I hoped he would get the message.
He didn't. He leaned closer, brushing his lips over mine, flicking his tongue out just the slightest bit as he slid the cigarettes into my pocket. I stood still, in shock.
"I'm Kazuhiko." He smiled at me, knowingly, and I shivered, feeling repulsed. He pulled away, letting me go. "I'll see you again, sexy."
I was blushing. He turned away, back to his friends, and I could hear their breathless giggles. I gathered as much of my dignity as I could, continuing on my way, ignoring them.
That night, I bought a lighter.
I sat down in the kitchen, the fluorescent lamp of my new apartment flickering. The place was really rather seedy. I was lucky Grandmother hadn't seen it, or she would have had a fit and absolutely refused to let me live there. She wouldn't understand that the location was convenient, the rent was cheap, and I really didn't care about the classiness of the place anymore.
I pulled the pack out of my pocket, tossing it on the table. A card fell out of my fingers, slipping to the floor. I ignored it as I slid out another cigarette, lighting it with hands that trembled ever-so-slightly.
This time, I inhaled more cautiously. It still stung, but this time, I managed not to cough. I concentrated on the pain of it, almost enjoying it. I breathed in the smoke slowly, let it out... letting the cigarette dangle between my hands like he used to.
Finally, when the nicotine had hit me, leaving me slightly dizzy and disoriented, I leaned down to pick up whatever had fallen.
It was Kazuhiko's business card, such as it was. I turned it over in my hand, studying it. Nothing more than his first name, cell phone number, and scrawled on it in pen, the name of a local club.
A half hour later, I was at the club.
To this day, I don't know why I went, precisely. I suppose there were many reasons. I wanted to forget everything. Wanted to see what Kazuhiko wanted of me. Wanted to see if the boy was actually there... and perhaps, without really understanding it, I wanted to destroy myself until there was nothing of the 'me' that Seishirou had claimed for his own.
The club was private, invitation-only. They let me in as soon as I showed them Kazuhiko's card, and pointed me in the right direction, which surprised me. It was also dark, and much more quiet than I would have expected. There were a lot of people, but the music was just barely loud enough to be heard over the hum of conversation.
I made my way to the back of the room, through the dance floor packed with couples, slowly rubbing up against each other to the barely-heard music. The silence was eerie.
I saw him before he saw me. He was in a different outfit, what looked to be soft white leather pants and a ripped translucent shirt. He was watching the dancers, smoking a cigarette, alone.
I was about to back away, to disappear into the crowd and leave, when he spotted me.
He smiled, in the half light of the club, and his eyes were dark, riveting. He sauntered over to me. "Thought you'd never show up, sexy." His voice was low, mesmerizing. He took another drag off his cigarette, then offered it to me, his lips quirked in a small, mocking smile.
I took it from him, and he raised his eyebrows as I brought it to my lips.
He smiled as I handed it back to him, letting the smoke filter out slowly as I suppressed the urge to cough by will alone, then grabbed my wrist, pulling me through the crowd, towards the bar, which glowed a diffused neon blue through the smoky room.
I got a strange double-image of Seishirou pulling me like this, through the crowds on the street, on one of our ridiculous "dates." My head swam, and I stumbled into him. I could hear his low chuckle as he slid his arm around my waist.
"Take it easy, sexy." His words, whispered in my ear, gave me chills.
He pulled me up to the bar, leaned over it languidly. I was struck by how graceful he was. A few people looked over at him appreciatively. There were also a few eyes on me. I blushed, averting my eyes from those strangers.
He pulled money out of his back pocket, handed it to the bartender, who passed him two drinks in return. He turned to give me a slow smile, and I felt my blush deepening as he pushed the glass into my hands.
We clinked the glasses together, and I drank. It was the first time I had tried alcohol; and I sipped at it tentatively at first. He had chosen well, something that tasted like pink lemonade with just the slightest kick.
I didn't know why then, but I felt somehow as if I was betraying Seishirou-san as he watched me with a half-smile over the rim of his glass. And instead of the pain and anger that I expected to feel at that... I felt liberated. Powerful. I smiled back at Kazuhiko, sealing my betrayal.
He ordered us another, as soon as we had finished our first drinks. And then another. And another, and then I lost count, and the world began to take a pleasant fuzziness. And we talked, about nothing and everything, and all the things that no one had ever bothered to talk to me about before.
He talked to me like I used to imagine a normal friend would. And I felt like a teenager, not the strange child leading an adult's life that I had for so long. He slung his arm around me as we talked, and we were laughing, something I hadn't done since Seishirou-san was in the hospital.
Somehow, he ended up back at my apartment. I vaguely remember that he was walking me home because I could barely stand up. But then, I don't remember much about the night.
I woke up, naked, tangled in his arms, and I couldn't tell you what I felt. There was panic, disorientation, fear, and guilt, and a deeper emotion, both cold and satisfied at once. I stared at him as he slept, a smug smile on his lips, trying to figure out what to do.
I was shivering, and I pulled away from him, falling back to the futon to stare at the ceiling.
I stared at the stranger next to me, hardly comprehending the significance of his presence. All that kept running through my mind is how badly I wished it was Seishirou.
He woke up as I was sliding out of the sheets, trying not to disturb him. He grinned, and without saying so much as two words, he was on top of me, pinning me down to the futon, nipping at my ear, neck, shoulder.
I tried to tell him no, to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let me go. He was stronger than I had anticipated. This time, I remembered, and though he made sure I enjoyed it, I was mostly-unsuccessfully holding back tears by the time he had finished with me.
He curled around my body as I bit my lip, trying to control my sobs. I didn't even know why I was crying. He was laughing, quietly, letting his lips drift over my hair. Finally, he left me, to take a shower. I lay on my back, holding up my hand, staring at the marking on the back of it... and the subtle purple bruises that circled my wrists.
I was gone before Kazuhiko was out of the shower. I needed to think, needed time to process what I had done.
I went to the park nearby, sat down on a bench, pulling the cigarettes out of my pocket and staring at them. Memories were hitting me, one after another, hard and fast, and they made me want to curl into a ball and never move again.
I wanted to cry, on some level needed too. But instead I took a deep breath, slid out a cigarette, and lit it. I studied my free hand, tracing the outline of the star with the butt of the cigarette. I supposed that now, I was damaged goods. I felt empty, as I traced his marks over and over again.
Across the park, sakura trees lifted bare, skeletal branches to the grey sky.
I called Grandmother from a payphone. She began giving me new jobs without asking how I was doing. Perhaps she didn't want to talk about... anything. Perhaps it was her defense against breaking down. But I wanted it, needed it. Needed to tell someone about what had happened. I needed advice, guidance. Perhaps if she had given me that, things would have played out different.
She didn't. I listened to her in silence, my voice, when I did speak, neutral, emotionless. She talked to me impersonally, as if I was an employee. When I hung up the phone, I felt even emptier than I had when I picked it up.
When I came back, he was still there - and there were a few bags piled neatly in the corner. I said nothing about it. I let him stay.
