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It was a something – I realised – I shared with Ran.
No, not indulgence. Excesses were abhorrent to him. It was just the burning need to get as far away from the drill and rigidity we faced daily.
Where for me it was the very idea of becoming just another emasculated drone in this square-peg square-hole world, for Ran it was the fear of losing control.
Rather obvious, this controlling nature of his. Yet I did not learn the true reason for his fear, not at first. To me, it was irrational and in the many weeks and months before I understood, I quite uncharitably considered Ran's presence in the sanatorium absolutely justified. He was a nutcase! He always had to sit in the same seat, eat the same food and wear the same clothes. He was neat beyond compare; his room was austere to the point of being bleak. He never seemed to take joy in anything. Change was something that was unacceptable. For him, familiarity bred no contempt.
The two of us could not be any more different. A personality clash the likes of which I think those poor people at the sanatorium with us would never see – and I think pray never to encounter – again.
But once more, I digress. There is much to be told yet and I do not arrange my thoughts in a linear, logical manner. (Much to Ran's disgust.)
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I decided that one bad turn deserved another. It was entirely too much that another person had witnessed my humiliating encounter with The Ants and The Bitch Terror. To top it off, actually laughed at me. My pride demanded satisfaction. An elaborate plan was needed, preferably one which involved a certain red-haired devil falling flat on his face – maybe in a cesspool?
Nah. Too smelly. Even I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
I wondered what the appropriate justice would be for the damage done to my sense of self-worth. The punishment, I decided, had to fit the crime.
I wracked my brain for an appropriately elegant plan for revenge; it would not do for him to believe I had no finesse. No manners, yes. No finesse, never.
It took eleven days, but I finally arrived at a plan even 'ol Stick-up-ass would not dare sneer at.
It was, simply put, an absolutely brilliant plan.
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