Disclaimer: I don't own digimon.
Chapter Five: The Right Thing
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"Sometimes I wish I had never met you, because then, I could go to sleep at night not knowing there was someone like you out there." – Good Will Hunting
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I wake up early the next morning, though I don't have anywhere to be. Chris kisses me, mumbles 'goodbye, Kar,' and rushes off to the hospital.
He called me Kar. It feels wrong, dirty. Only T.K. calls me Kar, and I don't want it any other way. Even if T.K. and I aren't going to happen, it still doesn't feel right. I think about telling him not to call me that, but he's already gone. Why do I care so much, anyway?
Because he's not T.K., that's why.
After mentally tricking myself to believe that the blonde guy leaving my apartment the morning after is T.K., I realize something very important: Chris and I aren't going to work out.
I get in the shower, briefly wonder if it's possible to drown yourself in one, and get out. I go back into the living room and see that my answering machine is blinking. I have one new message. I press play and am not surprised to hear T.K.'s voice fill my living room.
"You're avoiding me," he states, mimicking my words from a few days earlier. It impresses me to find that I've suddenly gained the upper hand. I'm no longer the one calling him. I'm not the one losing sleep over our situation. I slept well last night. Chris and I slept well last night.
I hear a click and a mechanical voice tells me it's the end of the message, and then continues to ramble on about call information. Smirking, I decide that I will not call him back. If he wants to call and talk to me so badly, he will try again. Knowing T.K., he'll try again and again and again and again.
I throw on some clothes and do my hair and makeup. When I look in the mirror and deem myself ready to enter the crazy world of New York, I leave the safety zone otherwise known as my home and venture to Madison Ave.
Once there, I buy more shoes than I will possibly ever have the opportunity to wear. I grab a quick lunch – solo, something I like to do every once in a while – and head back to my apartment to unburden myself of my shopping bags.
The first thing I notice upon entering my apartment is a flashing red light on my answering machine. I press play and walk into my bedroom to set down my things.
"You're there, I know you are. I'm coming over."
What?
I run back into the living room – almost breaking my neck on a poorly placed plant (when did that get there? I don't remember ever buying it). The mechanical woman on my machine tells me the call time. I check my clock and, much to my dismay, see that the message was recorded four minutes ago.
Just wonderful.
He'll be coming by, and I'll be here. There could be worse situations, I suppose. After all, I could have just woken up and not had the chance to shower. At least right now, I look fabulous.
I go to the kitchen and get an apple. I turn on the TV, relax on my couch, and wait. I wait for T.K. to come over and say whatever he thinks he has to say before realizing what I've already realized: it's useless, it's pointless. We're over.
Hell, we never even began.
I hear a knock on the door. "It's open!" I yell, not getting up from the couch. It's a bad habit I've fallen into where I don't lock the door when I'm home. I just don't see it as a risk, if I'm sitting there in the living room. Paige always lectures me for it, saying one day I'm going to get in the shower and forget my door is wide open. When I get out, she says, everything will be gone.
He walks in and I still don't move. I sit there, watching my soap opera, munching on my apple. He clears his throat to get my attention. I glance up at him, smile, and look back at my television. I'm trying to look as emotionally removed as I possibly can. It's working.
"Uh, hello?" he says. I sigh and turn back to him.
"Hi." I shift again and face my show. When I see that it's a commercial, I grab the remote and change the channel.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" he demands. Okay, enough is enough. I turn off the TV and stare at him.
"I came home to hear you on my answering machine, telling me you were coming over. I don't want you here, but you're here, nonetheless," I sigh. Standing up, I walk into kitchen and throw the apple core into the garbage. I reach into the fridge and grab a bottle of water. "So how about you talk, since you needed to be here so badly, and I'll just go on about my day?" He looks at me for a second before his blank expression turns into amusement.
"You did not go out, you liar," he teases. I put the water bottle on the counter, cross my living room and go into my bedroom. I grab some of my bags of shoes, hoist them off the ground and bring them into the living room.
"I went out."
"Okay, so you went out," he agrees. I put the bags down and walk back to the kitchen. I open the water bottle and take a long drink. "But you're lying about the other part. You know you're glad that I'm here."
Am I? I don't even know anymore.
"Au contraire, mon ami," I say in French. He raises an eyebrow, clearly having no clue what I just said. Back in Odaiba, they taught us English as a second language. The only reason I know any French was because of my stint in Paris. Clearly, T.K. did not have the same opportunities as me. "It's … French. Never mind," I mutter. "But no, I don't want you here. So just say what you have to say, and leave."
He looks hurt, and I feel guilty. No matter what has happened between us these past weeks, T.K. is still my oldest friend. He's still a large part of my life, and I still care about him. I don't want him to feel bad. But then again, I don't want myself to feel bad, either. And since he's the one making me feel bad, he's the one who will pay.
"I meant what I said last night." That, I wasn't expecting. "I … I love her but it's not the same thing, you know?" Yeah, I know. But that doesn't change anything. It only hurts me even more. "I want to be with you, Kar."
"You're married. You can't be with me. I won't be the other woman," I tell him. He shakes his head.
"I couldn't ask you to do that. But I think I figured out a way," he informs me, his eyes sparkling. Damn him. He's going to get my hopes up again, isn't he?
"How?"
"We've only been married three and a half months. We could get an annulment," he suggests.
Oh God, he's serious about this. He's really serious about this.
What if he goes through with this?
I'll be the reason his marriage breaks up!
"You can't do that," I whisper. "Not because of me." He shakes his head.
"It isn't just because of you. We aren't really that happy," he says. Well, you were happy enough to marry her, T.K. "I mean, yeah, we were, but not really anymore. Not since we ran into each other that day on the street."
"See? It is because of me," I insist.
"Okay, so maybe it is. But it's about me, too. I was happy with her before I remembered what it was like to be with you. Now, when I'm with her, you're on my mind," he admits. "It isn't fair to you or me, or even Chantelle, for that matter. She's a good person; she doesn't deserve a husband who doesn't really want her."
He's right, isn't he?
Maybe if I just believe what he says, I can feel like this isn't totally my fault. I can feel like we're doing the right thing, for everyone.
You know what? We are.
I deserve to be with T.K. He was mine before he was ever Chantelle's. I'm just taking back what's rightfully mine.
"Okay," I whisper. He looks pretty surprised.
"What? Really?"
"Yeah," I nod. "I'm not going to lie. I want you. So if this is how I get you, then I'm prepared to do it."
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After our conversation, T.K. goes back to his apartment to wait for Chantelle to get home from work.
I've never been so grateful for the fact that he works at home and I only work a couple times a week. We can get together during the day, when Chantelle is at work, and she is none the wiser. Maybe she won't even suspect that T.K. is leaving her for me.
Who am I kidding? Of course she's going to know.
The most surprising thing is that I don't even care. So what if she knows? I'll be with T.K., and that stupid tart will be out on her ass. All's well that ends well.
Now, I'm forced to pace around my apartment and wait for him to call with the good news. Hopefully, she'll take it well. In other words, she won't come over here with a gun, ready to do me in.
I didn't do anything wrong, did I? I can't be blamed for falling in love. Besides, I fell in love with him before either of us knew her. And it isn't my fault that he just happened to return my feelings.
I do feel bad for Chantelle, though. She's about to have her world ripped out from under her.
Okay, maybe I don't feel too bad. It's hard to, when I'm so ridiculously happy.
T.K. and I are going to be together.
I never thought it would happen, but it is.
I suppose I should call Chris, and let him down easy. I call his cell phone, since he's most likely at work. I get the voicemail, and I freeze up. Maybe I should do this in person? After all, phone breakups are so tacky and impersonal. We've been on four dates, one official. I slept with him last night. I think he deserves better than this.
"Hey, it's Kari," I begin. Shit. I have no clue what to say. Should I just end it now, and get it over with? There's no point dragging our relationship on any longer. "We need to talk, can you call me later? Great. Bye."
Okay. That's not inappropriate, right? I didn't technically break up with him over the phone. I just … foreshadowed was will happen when he does get around to calling me back. That's perfectly acceptable. At least now, he'll be prepared. Maybe I'll even let him talk first, so he can save his pride and dump me. Normally, I would hate letting the guy act all tough when I'm the one ending things. But that was before, and that was when I didn't have anyone waiting for me. Now, I have T.K. He's waiting for me, and I don't need to care what Chris, or any other man, thinks.
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I fell asleep. I don't know how, because I was going out of my mind with anticipation, but I did. Sometime after leaving Chris that message, I collapsed onto my couch and drifted off.
I wake up to find T.K. shaking me. Okay, I guess Paige is right: Leaving my door unlocked is dangerous. Next time, it might not be T.K. waking me up.
"Hey," I say. My voice is hoarse and raspy. I look outside and see that it's dark. How long have I been asleep? It's probably been a few hours, at least. Did it take that long for T.K. to break things off? Did she put up a fight?
"Hi." Why does he sound so cold? I sit up and look at him. His hair is a mess and he looks really worn out. Yeah, she must have given him a hard time. I would, too, I guess … especially if my husband tried to annul our marriage. I wouldn't like that too much. Having the man I love ask me to sign annulment papers, so it would be like we never even got married in the first place, would really hurt.
His eyes are red and puffy. Was he crying?
"Did you do it?" He shakes his head. I get on my feet almost instantly. "Why not?" He looks uneasy. "What's wrong?" He takes a deep breath and chews his lip. This isn't a good sign.
"I think we need to talk." Shit. This really isn't good. Has he gone back to her? Please, anything but that.
"What is it?" I try to catch his eyes but he's looking everywhere but my direction.
"I don't really know how to say this," he whispers.
"Just say it," I demand. I don't like him keeping me in suspense the way he his.
"Fine." He looks up and stares into my eyes. I know for sure that he's been crying. My stomach turns, and I know for sure that this is not going to be good. "She's pregnant. Two and a half months. She found out this morning."
This isn't happening. I'm still asleep, and this is just a bad dream. It's a nightmare. I reach out and pinch my arm, like I did back in Japan. And, like it did in Japan, it hurts. Oh God. Oh, no.
"Oh," I say dumbly. What else can I say? "That's … great?" Is it? I don't even know. I'm in a daze.
"Yeah, it is. I mean, I always wanted a kid," he smiles. But is it Chantelle's kid that you've always wanted? Or is it mine? "But this doesn't change anything; I want you to know that. It doesn't change a damn thing."
He still wants to be with me. Is he serious? His wife is almost three months pregnant and he wants to leave her for me. If I didn't know him so well, I would think he is the most insensitive asshole to ever live.
I hate it, but I know what I have to do.
"Yeah, except … it totally does," I whisper. "T.K., it isn't just your life anymore. You're going to have a baby." I don't think it's fully hit him yet. I don't think he realizes just how huge this is. Unfortunately, it's hit me. I understand how important, how life-changing this is. "That baby will need you to be there for it and to love it and it's going to need a family." He looks at me, confused, wondering what I could be saying. Okay, I'll come right out and say it. "I can't be the reason it won't have all those things."
"Kar, just stop," he begs. "You're trying to do the right thing, but you don't need to. I don't want you to."
"I'm sorry." You don't know how sorry. "Maybe you can do this, but I can't. I love you, but …" I trail off. A tear slides down my cheek, and I realize that I'm crying. Why does life have to suck so much?
"But what?" Here we go …
"But it's just not going to work out for us."
If it was just Chantelle who was standing in line to be hurt, I'd be all for it. But there's an innocent little baby involved now, a baby who hasn't done anything wrong and shouldn't be born into a broken family. That baby shouldn't grow up without a real set of parents, just because some almost-thirty loser thinks she deserves a second chance at love.
"Kar, I don't love her," he insists. He's crying, too. This is the first time I've ever seen T.K. reduced to tears. It's horrible, but it can't possibly compare to how horrible this whole situation is. It can't compare to how horrible I feel. "I love you. I want to be with you. Please, don't do this. Please."
"I have to," I sob. "We missed our chance." He shakes his head, not accepting my words. I push him to the door. He doesn't even try to resist, and it breaks my heart. No, my heart has been broken a million times before. This time, it feels like he's taking all the little pieces and grinding them up into dust. And now, he's sweeping the pieces up and throwing them away. Because that's what I am to him, I suppose. A disposable heart. He only wants me when he can't have me. I know that now, even if he doesn't admit it. He had me in high school, but he never did anything. And now, when it isn't possible for me to be with him, he suddenly needs me. "Goodbye, T.K."
We stare at each other for a few silent minutes before he looks down and turns around. He slowly walks away, throwing the occasional glance over his shoulder. He's waiting for me to call out to him, to tell him that I don't want him to go and that we'll find a way to make this work. I want to do that more than anything, but I can't. I should have done it years ago. Now, it's too late.
T.K. is right. I'm trying to do the right thing. I always do. Sometimes, like now, I really hate that about myself.
There will always be the one who got away. There will be the one who you want more than anyone else; the only one who can make you stop what you're doing and get lost deep in thought, wondering where they are and who they're with, wondering if they're happy or if they ever think about you.
But sometimes, somehow, they come back. And then, you have to make a choice. You can give in, be with them and have everything you've ever wanted, or you can accept that you've lost them and it isn't meant to be, and bow out. The question you have to ask yourself is 'what will I do?'
For me, Hikari Kamiya, 'Ms. Fashion Photographer Extraordinaire,' the answer is nothing.
I will do nothing, because the one that got away from me went somewhere. He was scooped up by someone else. And that 'someone else' is relying on me to back off, so she can have hope for a future with him, and their child.
I will do nothing.
He will get away.
Sometimes, first chances are all you will ever get.
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