Chapter III: Fissure
What did it mean to bear the ponderous load of a broken heart? When he had first erased Kana's memories by the proficiency of is own hand, it had led to nothing. A dark void; a pain beyond that which could be felt. Yet also relief. Shame would no longer ensnare her heart with thoughts of him. It had not been her fault to begin with; however; she had taken Akito's words and wrapped herself in them, convinced by lies and guilt.
Now she was in high spirits and oblivious to the darkness that had fallen between them. He was left to stomach the bitter aftertaste. If only you knew…
If only she had known the late empty hours he had lay on the couch in his office, lights shut, necktie astray, eyes set on the off-white ceiling, thoughts encircling behind his immobile temperament. If only she had known his feeling of a heart dropping into nothingness when a photograph appeared, displaying the ghost of a face, the ghost of a love: unreciprocated and forgotten.
If only…then what? What would it have meant for her to have always known? Would it have changed anything? Was Akito's wrath inevitable? Was their courtship bound to end? The questions clawed at his insides. A world of what-if's engulfed his very being. It's useless to live like this. But he had no choice in the matter. Akito's word…it was always his word. The curse…
If he saw her again, he would break.
And so would she, for that matter. Eventually, at the very least. There had been reason behind his subtle avoidance of all contact with her. What he had done to her was his final act to try to salvage their existence. All those months; he couldn't let them disappear so easily. So he had done something about it. In the spur of the moment, there had seemed to be no consequences. To the best of his knowledge, Akito still had no idea that Kana was much more than a blank slate; she was much more than what met the eye. However, if the secret was let out, there was no saying what Akito would find as a worthy punishment. Death almost seemed within his reach to inflict. Now that he thought about it, the consequences overshadowed what had originally been a result of good intentions: for her as well as himself.
He found himself in his office; funny how he considered his workplace a home. His house held nothing but emptiness. He had nothing in which to surround him. However, his office provided the solace of impending labor. There was paperwork he could get lost in and keep his mind off of petty issues. Well, he tried to brush them off as petty, but that was a difficult task in itself.
Not a single photograph had been thrown out of place since the separation. A brown, leather-bound photo album filled with moments from their halcyon days was tucked neatly into the side of one of the shelves. Only one small photo was framed and out in the open. In the photograph, her smile evinced a serene sense of mind. A tiny crack in the glass did not hinder the photograph from taking on seraphic qualities. He wondered how one person could be so beautiful. He wondered if he could fix the frame. Or if he should.