Just one of a thousand gripes that ran through Ichiko Hashimoto's mind as she stepped off of a crowded train and pushed her way through the bustling, irritable post-work crowd to reach the street.
It was the same every day. The long commute to the office building where she worked, on a train so full it was hit and miss as to whether she'd be able to sit down for the journey. Barely able to move, barely able to breathe, barely able to think. Stumbling out of the train and walking the distance to her building, and it was only when she'd stepped through the doors that her day actually begun. The uncomfortable commute was just a prelude to the stresses of her working environment: the increasing amount of pressure mounted on her by her boss; the dependency of her colleagues. Finally, when all of that was over, for one day at least, the train journey began again, the discomfort only intensified by her wearied state. It was Thursday now, and the weekend seemed like a heavenly prospect, but the promise of Friday tomorrow made it seem all too far away.
My head is killing me.
She supposed she ought to be grateful, though. When she'd arrived at the office that morning she'd been informed that not one, but two members of staff had called in sick, which meant she'd probably have to stay on after her shift ended to take up the slack. She'd telephoned her husband and told him disconsolately that she was in for a long evening, but as it turned out, things had eased off as the day progressed and she'd been able to leave at her allotted time. The overtime pay would have come in handy but on a Thursday evening, the thought of putting in even just a few more hours filled her with a sense of dread.
I forgot to call him, to tell him I'd be home on time.
That's right, in her haste to catch the train she'd neglected to call her husband and let him know. Not that it really mattered now, she was on the home stretch. A few more minutes of walking and she'd reach her home, a small apartment on the top floor of a complex located in the Saitama prefecture. It wasn't much, but it was all they were able to afford. It was a little cramped, a fact that had been one of the primary catalysts in their increasingly frequent arguments, but there were worse places to live.
I suppose I've got to cook when I get back.
She felt a tiny stab of anger, directed at her husband, and, irritated as she was following the daily grind, she allowed her mind to seize on it. They'd married young, at the tender age of 19, when they'd both been fresh out of college. Life had seemed so bright then, Ichiko recalled with a bitter taste on her tongue. They'd gotten themselves a little apartment in Saitama and taken office jobs to pay the rent, just until something better came along. Those better things, of which they were certain would come, hadn't shown up immediately, but that was fine. They had each other, and that was what mattered.
Six years passed, and it looked like those better things just weren't going to come after all. The small apartment in Saitama remained their home, those menial office jobs remained their source of income. There had been the occasional promotion, but it hadn't done much to change their situation, and it certainly hadn't enabled them to afford a bigger apartment. Everything stayed the same, but after six years, it wasn't quite as fine as it had been.
They still had each other, sure, and to say that Ichiko didn't love her husband would be an outright mistruth. She did love him, and he loved her, of that she was sure, but that didn't stop the arguments. They'd flare up every now and again and rage intermittently for a month or so before cooling, until something else would spark them up again. Always about the same things: stressful jobs, the small apartment, a lack of money.
In short, neither of them particularly enjoyed their day-to-day life, and when they both came together in their small apartment at the end of a long day, arguments were bound to occur.
It had taken its toll on their marriage in several ways. They spent little time together now. Their evenings were spent in separate rooms of the apartment. They rarely went out together, instead choosing to stick to their own groups of friends during their leisure time. Marital relations had ceased months ago. There may as well have been an invisible barrier down the centre of the bed.
I deserve better than this.
She did. She was 25 years old, and by all accounts she was an attractive, educated and charming woman. She deserved better than to while away her life in a tiny coffin in the city with a husband who didn't appreciate her.
Maybe we got married too young.
She regretted that notion as soon as it entered her mind. That wasn't true – they'd been truly in love back then – and now – and she'd known – no, she knew – that he was the man for her. It wasn't fair for her to place the blame solely on him, when she too had started many of their fights.
Really, though, neither of them were to blame. It was just the circumstances they were in. She knew she'd be utterly devastated if she ever lost him, and when she thought it through rationally like this, it seemed ridiculous to let the trappings of everyday life get in the way of the bond they'd shared since their college days.
She made up her mind then that she'd repair the rift that had appeared in their marriage. All they did right now was get up, work, and go to sleep. It was no wonder they were at odds. Ichiko decided she'd do something to remind him of their early days. Perhaps a night out, take in a play or a movie, have a nice meal… hm, but wouldn't that be expensive?
Well, no matter. She'd make him his favourite meal at home instead, they could rent a nice romantic movie from the store just down the street, and then the two of them could retire to the bedroom and rediscover a little of the old magic. Their marriage may have faltered slightly but Ichiko hadn't stopped taking care of herself. She was just as slender and well-groomed as she'd been as a teenager. All it would take was some evening wear that emphasised all the best parts of her body and he'd be putty in her hands.
The thought put a little smile on her face, and she quickened her pace slightly. It wasn't long before she'd turned the final corner. At the end of this street stood her apartment complex. Beneath the shadow of the sky and its fading sunlight, the dark stone building took on a rather sinister appearance.
My head…
The headache she'd been nurturing since she'd boarded the train had stepped up a notch now, and she rubbed her temples with the palm of one hand gingerly. Still, she was in a better mood now than she had been, now she'd set her mind to fixing the problems between herself and her husband. She decided on tomorrow night, Friday night. With the relief of a finished week behind them, she was sure they'd be in for a good weekend.
All it took was a little bit of effort.
She entered the building and approached the elevator, only to be greeted with a sight that made her groan out loud. A large "OUT OF ORDER" sign mounted upon the closed doors, one final hurdle for her to clear before she could call it a day. She turned begrudgingly to the stairs and willed her aching feet to climb them.
It was with a great sigh of relief that she slid her key into the lock on her apartment door and twisted it, pausing to gratefully remove her shoes before heading inside. The lights were off and her husband's shoes weren't inside the doorway. It appeared he wasn't home. Since he was still under the impression that she'd be working overtime, he'd probably decided to go for a drink with one of his buddies. That was fine by her, as he was a lot less irritable after a drink or two, and it was when he was slightly inebriated that his delightful sense of humour – one of the things Ichiko found most attractive about him – came to the fore.
She flicked on the lights and closed the door behind her. Making her way to the couch, she sat down, depositing her handbag on the small table in front of her. Her head was still pounding, not helped at all by several stories' worth of stairs to climb. On the train she'd considered taking a bath when she got home, but now she thought it best to have a lie down, perhaps a quick nap. She didn't have to cook tonight after all – no doubt her husband would eat something while he was out, and she didn't have much of an appetite herself.
She sat for a moment longer and then forced herself to stand and make her way over to the bedroom door. It was on the opposite side of the room to the couch. In one fluid motion she reached out, gripped the door handle, turned it, and pushed.
Her mind struggled to process the scene her eyes witnessed inside the small, cosy room that housed their marital bed. There was a figure lying on their back on top of it, the covers splayed around them. It looked like a man, and it had similar facial features to her husband. The hair, dark and wavy, was quite similar, too, and the startled gasp that escaped his throat as he turned to look in her direction sounded rather similar to his voice.
Sitting astride the man was another figure. This one looked like a woman. Her long hair flowed all the way down her back like a waterfall, a startling red in colour. While the male figure looked a lot like her husband, the female figure looked like nobody she knew. Judging from her face – although she could only see it in profile – she was a teenager, and rather a beautiful one at that. Unlike the first figure, this one didn't turn to look at her.
What they were doing was anybody's guess. At first glance, it appeared that the woman was bouncing up and down, her sweaty, slender thighs sliding across those of the male figure. The motion caused her generous breasts to bounce up and down rhythmically, and since Ichiko could clearly see the small, pink protrusions that were her nipples, she guessed the female figure was topless. In fact, she was naked, Ichiko realised. In fact, the other figure was naked too. Their discarded clothes were scattered all about the room, as were their shoes. Some manners these people had, not even removing their shoes when entering another person's home.
Who were these people, and what were they doing in her and her husbands' bedroom?
About half a second after her eyes registered the image, her brain caught up and delivered the truth to her with the merciless suddenness of a bomb exploding.
My husband is having sex with a strange teenager on our bed.
The paralysis that had gripped her for a moment subsided then and she opened her mouth and screamed. On the bed before her, her husband forcibly shoved the teenage girl – who still hadn't acknowledged Ichiko's presence – away from him. She tumbled off of the bed and landed on the floor, disappearing from sight. Her husband twisted his body around and clutched at the covers, dragging them across to cover his crotch.
"I-I-Ichi…" he stammered – he had dropped the "ko" shortly after their marriage – his voice a high-pitched wail. "You… you said you were… I thought… you said…" He continued to stammer like this for a few moments, until the power of speech was returned to Ichiko and she interrupted him.
"Kanaye!" she screeched – for that was his name – in a frenzied, anguished tone she'd never heard come from her own throat. "You… you…" That was as far as she got before she burst into tears and the sound of sobbing began to fill the small room.
Sitting on the bed, his face red and his body gleaming with sweat, the bedsheets still clasped over his midsection, Kanaye stared at his crying wife with nothing less than abject terror displayed on his face. "Ichi… I… I don't know… she just… it was…" He seemed unable to finish a sentence before he stumbled onto the next one.
"You BASTARD!" screamed Ichiko through her tears. She looked past her husband to where the redheaded teenager stood beside the bed. She watched Ichiko with her eyes narrowed and her mouth slightly upturned to form a devilish smile. Her arms were by her sides, and she made no move to cover her nudity, as Kanaye had. Her firm, pink body glistened.
"YOU SLUT!" cried Ichiko venomously at the stranger. The girl shrugged and rolled her eyes – green eyes, the colour of jade – in a manner that suggested Ichiko was greatly overreacting.
Kanaye began to stammer again. "Ichi, please, listen to me, I-"
"SHUT UP!" roared Ichiko, turning to face him again. "I don't EVER want to see you again!"
"But I-" he protested.
"GET OUT! NOW!"
She watched as he began to scrabble about, looking for his clothes. Her mind reeled. She couldn't think. A thick red mist swirled about in her brain, clouding her eyes, clouding her mind. She'd entered the apartment with the intention of fixing their marriage, convinced herself that it would only take a small effort, and she'd discovered this? How long had it been happening for? Had she been stupid? Had she failed to notice the signs? Had she been too naïve to believe he'd hurt her in this way? Why had he done this to her?
Why?
She looked around, suddenly aware that she had no recollection of the last several seconds. Her husband was gone now, he'd ran into the main room of the apartment with his crumpled clothes in his hands. The naked teenager had moved, now standing only a few feet from Ichiko's position in the doorway.
"You…" mumbled Ichiko, the wrath present in her voice a few moments ago replaced by a weak murmur. Tears silently streamed down her cheeks. No more words would come. There didn't seem to be any that applied to a situation like this.
"I can feel it," said the naked woman, opening her mouth for the first time to speak in a low, seductive growl. "Your broken heart." She began to walk towards Ichiko, her small, bare feet sliding across the carpeted floor. Without understanding why, Ichiko began to back away. A voice in her head was telling her to reach out and seize the girl, to tear out her fiery hair, to destroy her perfect young face, but only her feet would move, and they went backwards.
Her husband sat on the couch at the other side of the room, pulling on his trousers and fastening them. He watched as Ichiko shuffled towards him, her back to him, with the teenager advancing on her slowly.
"There is love here," she said, her catty eyes moving over to the couch where Kanaye sat, and then back to Ichiko. "It is wounded." She paused for a moment before adding, "I shall drink from that wound."
Kanaye stood and stepped across the room to stand before her, glaring angrily at the girl he'd been busily making love to only minutes earlier. "Get out of our home," he told her with certainty. "Get out and don't come back again."
"Come back?" asked the teenager, her eyes widening in a passable impression of surprise. She brought one of her hands to her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl. "I don't have to come back anymore."
Ichiko watched the events that unfolded next with a feeling of detachment, as if this were some scene in a soap opera that she had only a slight interest in, and certainly had no involvement with.
The toes on both of the girls feet, and the fingers on both hands, began to glow with a red light. The lights began to move, quickly travelling up her legs and along her arms, crossing her stomach and climbing her breasts, becoming stronger and brighter all the while. The light collected in one area: her lips, and they began to burn a fierce red, to match her hair.
She stepped forward then and took Kanaye in her arms, pushing her body against his. She stood up on her tiptoes and her face, with its gleaming green eyes and glowing lips, slowly, inexorably, moved towards his. He stared back at her, his eyes wide, as she kissed him.
Long and hard, she kissed him, and when she was finished, she extricated her own body from his and he fell to the ground to lay in a tangled, motionless heap.
He's dead, thought Ichiko, but the thought had no meaning, it was just a couple of words that popped into her mind for a reason she couldn't fathom.
The naked girl turned her head and her eyes met with those of the woman who had just watched her husband die. "Don't worry," she said, twisting her bright red lips into a smile. "I saved some for you."
In the final moments of her life, several things flashed through Ichiko's head, swimming among the fog that had descended upon her brain. He's dead was one of them, but she still couldn't understand what the words meant, so she ignored it. Why? was another, but it didn't seem overly important now.
She felt something hot press against her mouth, and her body began to feel terribly cold and empty. The room around her began to darken and her eyelids felt heavy, so she closed them. Another scene came to her then, one she was familiar with. She'd seen it once already, and it had stuck in her mind ever since.
In this scene, a man and a woman were standing together in a grand building lined with stained glass windows. A church, most likely. Yes, it was a church, she recalled. Ichiko watched as the man, a handsome teenager with dark, wavy hair, turned to the woman, an attractive young lady by all accounts. He was wearing a black suit, while she wore a beautiful white dress. The man leaned in close to the woman and whispered four words into her ear. Ichiko heard them clearly, almost as if they were being spoken to her.
"I love you, Ichi."
The scene ended then, and nothing followed.