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VII
Life Isn't Enough
Chapter Seven: Secret
VIIIt was after Kairi left for rehab a few days later that I began to consider it. Before then, I had thought that it was too much and I didn't want to go on, but I hadn't thought of killing myself. Not directly, anyway.
The fact that Kairi had tried already—and failed—actually didn't affect what I thought about it. It didn't scare me into realizing what I did have, but it did stiffen my resolve in that if I tried, I would be successful. I would know how to pull off a clean job without anyone being able to catch me when my spirit leaked out and went to join with the dead. Maybe if I died, I could find Riku again.
But no, I couldn't, because he wasn't dead. I had to hang on, as hard as it was, until he came back. Then the shattered fragments of my life would fall back into place.
A heated anger descended on me. If I was waiting, why couldn't they find him? How hard was it to find one person, with silver hair? How does someone like Riku just vanish into thin air? But I guess the police didn't know him, and didn't realize what Riku was really like. So of course it wasn't as big of a deal to them if they didn't find him. No! Don't think that. He would be found. He would be alive. He would come back.
Having decided this, I left my room to forage for food. The fridge was full of crap, and I found a really big rat in my cereal. At first I thought it was the prize, but there was no mention of it on the box. Watching it scamper away and thinking about filing a complaint to the landlord, I sighed and settled for milk. But when I went to get the glass, because I was now officially the proprieter of the worst luck in all of Destiny Islands, I happened to drop it and part of it shattered. I stooped to scoop the pieces into my hand, dumping the small pieces into the garbage. It wasn't until they were thrown away that I realized the sharp part of the broken glass was biting into my arm, drawing a bit of blood. It didn't hurt much, for some reason. In fact, as I pressed on it and it cut a little deeper, it helped. I watched in morbid fascination as the droplets of blood ran down my arm, as though they were crying for me. All the pain I was holding deep inside suddenly seemed less.
It was then that I realized what exactly I was doing to myself, and I quickly threw the glass away with a shiver, rushing to the medicine cabinet for a bandaid. I wouldn't be doing that again, I decided. But that was because I clearly didn't know myself very well.
VIIMy weekend vanished too quickly and before I knew it, I had to go and see Mrs. Inoue again. I didn't want to see her, since lately I'd been putting down genuine thoughts and feelings that I didn't want her to see. But still, I found myself with Ms. Nakamura for third block, only one class away from the session.
The bell rang, and I waited in my seat, not yet ready to get up to leave Ms. Nakamura's comforting presence. She had grown to be almost a protector, defending my right to cry and feel remorse and anxiety. I wasn't sure if it was her job, though, to keep Mrs. Inoue from prying into my personal feelings.
"Sora? Are you all right?" she asked, approaching me as the last few students filed out the door.
I hesitated. "Yeah," I told her, smiling. "Just thinking, that's all."
She gave me a doubtful look, but nodded and gestured to the door with a comment about my next class. I stood, gathering my books in my arms, and started away. But just before I reached the door, I turned around and said, "She read it." That was all I could get out before my throat squeezed shut with tears and my eyes started to water.
"What?" Ms. Nakamura, like Mr. Yume, was adept at reaction, leading me to a seat quickly and looking into my eyes. When she saw that I was clearly going to lose control, she seized the box of tissues from her desk.
"Mrs. I-Inoue," I managed, my voice beginning to tremble with emotion. I suddenly felt inadequate—me, a fourteen-year-old, crying because some counselor didn't even have to bully me into giving her my notebook. At least I'd never been in any type of dangerous situation that needed me to stay strong. I'd never be able to live through it. "She read the notebook. I let her, but…but I didn't want her to see it."
It was clear that I wasn't explaining it properly, and I'm still not sure how I could have without repeating the entire scenario, but Ms. Nakamura had this ability to understand more than I expressed. "All right. We'll go and talk to her right now," she told me with a confident smile that hid the anger I could see in her eyes. "You go ahead to the bathroom and get yourself cleaned up. I'll call your next teacher—you have Mr. Kotori next, don't you?"
I nodded, sniffing and feeling pathetic. Why did I have to break down and be so weak all the time?
"I'll tell him what's happened, and we'll get this straightened out. Mrs. Inoue isn't supposed to press you for that kind of information."
"O-okay."
Nodding, she went to the phone as I rose and went to the door, using several tricks to hide my tears so the people in the hallways wouldn't see. It was only once I was in the bathroom, watching the redness go away, that I realized just how much Ms. Nakamura understood about me. She must have known that no boy in the world likes to cry because it erases his macho image. While my macho image had been suffering lately, I still didn't want to ruin it for myself by going to see Mrs. Inoue looking like this.
"…be getting back to your class as soon as possible," Ms. Nakamura was saying when I returned to the classroom. "No, this is serious. I'm not sure what exactly she learned about him, but he wasn't comfortable with her reading it, and you know what happened with our last counselor." She listened intently for a moment. "All right. I'll write him a pass."
She hung up and turned to see me, an apologetic look on her face that barely masked the taut anger behind it. "Lately, it seems like we only attract the bad eggs when we're looking for counselors. Let's hope we can straighten this out so we don't have to let her go, though."
I nodded, even though I knew she was angry enough to do just that. We proceeded down the hall in silence, me considering what I would say to Mrs. Inoue. There was a fear that she would somehow take control, convincing Ms. Nakamura that I was mistaken and I wouldn't be able to speak up for myself. But I would have to do that now, I decided. I would have to be strong.
Mrs. Inoue was speaking on the phone when we reached the office, and I could see her gray, roundish shape through the opaque window. "…Exactly. Oh, but I know. These high school children are on my nerves all the time. One of them actually believes I'm going to take some of the crap he writes as the real thing."
A cold shiver passed down my spine and I stopped short, hearing a slight whimper that I didn't realize was mine. Ms. Nakamura looked confused for only a moment before her eyes widened in understanding, and she looked toward the door, her eyes flinty.
There was disgust in Mrs. Inoue's voice as she continued. "Not even a good Christian boy, that one. Turns out he's a little fag, too."
It was a blow. I let out a dry sob, and my knees were suddenly too weak to support me. The world blurred even as I heard Ms. Nakamura's voice, sharp and unforgiving. I closed my eyes, feeling the cold tears as they streaked down my cheeks in a race to my chin. It was too much. After everything, now I had to deal with this. What kind of cruel divinity ruled over us, safely enclosed in their own personal haven in the clouds? Why was all this happening? What was the point? To kill me? I could do that by myself if it was really necessary. If it would get me out of here and away from all these stupid people, intent only on hurting me badly enough that I'd rather peel away my skin than breathe for just a moment longer…
Ms. Nakamura was talking rapidly now, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. Blind with tears, I let her guide me to one of the cold plastic chairs, resting my head in my hands. I looked up, blinking away a few of the tears, and saw Mrs. Inoue glaring and pointing at me, arguing in a loud voice. She turned her eyes on me and any warmth that I had first perceived in them was gone, replaced by an indescribable hatred. She took a step forward and I expected her to hit me—maybe that would make it hurt less, at least—but Ms. Nakamura stepped in front of me, seeming twice her height. Her hands were clenched at her sides, trembling visibly with anger. But then she was gone behind a veil of tears, and I leaned forward, rocking back and forth. If only Riku was here, I thought over and over. If only he was here.
VIITime must have passed, because an eternity later I was lying on the couch, drained. I must have memorized every nook and cranny in the wrinkled ceiling in the three hours after Mom came by and picked me up to take me back home. Of course, it wasn't home—not exactly—but it would suffice. I only sat up long enough to pull back the bandaid back from the cut I'd given myself earlier, and then I leaned into the cushiony, familiar couch, worming my fingernail between the broken skin. It hurt, of course, but it was satisfying. I smiled, feeling the burden lessen as I continued.
Mom came in for a short time before dinner, hugging me and talking to me in a soft, comforting voice. She asked a few questions that made everything feel different—feel normal again, like nothing had really happened and I had only fallen down the steps. I smiled at her, telling her all the answers she wanted to hear, and then she was gone, vanished into the kitchen.
I lay down on my stomach on the couch, seeing the phone on the table next to me. For a moment I watched it as if it was going to do something, wondering whether or not I should really pick up the receiver and dial. But I wanted to know. Had the Yumes gotten back yet? Did they have Riku with them? Or was everything I had ever known lost for good? Without that knowledge, I was sitting with my head on the chopping block, waiting for the axe to fall.
So I dialed, taking comfort in the familiarity of the usual seven numbers that would lend me a few moments of Riku's time and his voice. It rang three times with no answer, and I was about to hang up when I heard the answering machine click on.
"Hey there, you've reached the Yume residence. This is Riku—"
"And this is Sora!"
"—and it looks like we're not home right now, so tough luck. Leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you whenever I so desire. Bye!"
BEEP
My fingers went numb around the receiver, and I remembered it. I remembered how Riku hadn't wanted me to comment, since I wasn't a Yume, but I had done so anyway. I'd left a message on there once not long after we created it about a year ago, something about where was Riku and his big fat pants and I'd call back later. I called him Fat Pants on the beach after he called back, and the word got out so he was mad for a while, but then he calmed down and transmutated to good old Riku again. But now this, this one little blurb, light-hearted and somewhat random, was all I had left. That might be the last bit of his voice I would ever hear.
The receiver landed on its cradle with a click.
VIIA small part of me had finally accepted the fact that Riku was either dead or just gone, but the major part of me would not. He had disappeared before. I didn't remember when, or what had happened exactly, but I knew it had, somehow. He had been gone for an agonizing period of time, and then he had returned, and everything was right again. So he would come back.
Mr. and Mrs. Yume didn't think so, though. They came home on the flight that should have brought him home, but they were without him. Aunt Muffy was with them, and I met her for the first time. She was a tiny woman with more wrinkles than an elephant, and a memory to match. Her hearing wasn't worth much, though. For the moment she took up residence in the Yume guest room, where Riku and I had once had a water balloon fight and ended up in heaps of trouble, but I got the impression that Mr. Yume planned to eventually move her into Riku's room, since it was more convenient for her.
Back with me, I adjusted to the new house slowly, and Mrs. Inoue was fired and then discredited so that she could no longer practice psychology or counseling. Tidus, Selphie, and Wakka, all of whom had gotten particularly angry when they heard, thought it was a suitable punishment. But for some reason it didn't matter to me. It just wasn't satisfying.
It was more satisfying to lie on my bed in the dead of night, the dim light from the moon spilling through the window and onto my pale legs, stretched out before me like porcelain rods as the thin knife I'd swiped from the kitchen continued its work on my skin. I was devious enough to pick places that people would never see unless I somehow managed to lose my shirt or shorts. But too soon that wasn't enough, so I began wearing long-sleeved shirts and pants. These earned me an odd look every now and then—I wasn't known for wearing that sort of thing—but summer had become fall and would soon be winter. I began to hate myself for the first time, my eyes meeting their glowing counterparts in the mirror as I sprawled on the bed with the blood-streaked blade. In the darkness I looked like some scrawny, depraved child, friendless and alone.
"I've been talking to some of the other teachers," my mother said one night as she washed the dishes and I dried them, "and I've heard of this one guy who might be able to help you get through this. He's not a counselor per se, but—"
"No," I said flatly, letting the plate I was holding emit a loud chink, a ringing tone of finalty. "No more counselors."
She gave me a motherly look, her brows turned up imploringly. "Honey, not all people are like that…that woman." She looked very much like she wanted to say a few other words describing Mrs. Inoue. "In fact, it's very rare that—"
"I said no more!" I repeated. I made a jerky movement and a bowl slipped out of my hand, shattering on the kitchen floor. Mom looked angry for a moment, but then she sighed and started to clean up while I resumed drying.
"If you would just give him a chance, Sora," she said in a disappointed tone as she let the pieces fall into the garbage. I didn't answer, hoping she would just be quiet. I didn't need anyone like Mrs. Inoue telling me how to run my life! How hard did I have to try to get that through her head?
Mom suddenly seized my left hand, pulling back the sleeve to reveal a slender cut that twisted across my wrist. "What's this?" she asked, looking concerned. "How did you get that?"
"I don't know," I replied shortly, tugging my hand back and continuing. I didn't want to let her into my little world of self-torment and loathing. "Probably ran into something sharp. I don't remember."
She nodded, but then hesitated. "Are you sure, Sora? I don't want you to be doing something dangerous. You'll let me know, won't you?"
And that just pushed me too far. I remembered Mrs. Inoue asking me the same question. I'd let her know, wouldn't I? I'd tell her everything that was in my soul, wouldn't I? I'd just stand by and do nothing while she blabbed to everyone in the world about it, wouldn't I? "It's none of your damn business what I do, all right?" I said sharply, glaring at her. "Maybe some people would rather not let everyone know just exactly how they're feeling every single day! Maybe some people would rather not let the world know it if they're…if they're gay! All right? So stay out of my business, you stupid nosy bitch!"
I was fuming now, not caring what she was going to say next and whether I'd be punished or not. But she didn't say anything, staring at me with a terrible look on her face—a hurt, vulnerable look, like I'd just cut open her heart and she didn't know what to do. I recognized that look. It was the same one I had seen in my own eyes when I looked into the mirror and Riku was gone. When we had to sell the house. When Mrs. Inoue said…
I couldn't stand it. The screen door flashed once before my eyes and then slammed behind me as I raced out into the street.
VIIIt wasn't okay, I thought bitterly as I sat on the paopu tree, eyes locked on the horizon. Nothing could ever be the way it was, even if Riku came back. My life had taken a turn onto a one-way street of despair, and there was no way I'd be able to dredge myself up from its depths. The idiot who told me everything was going to be okay had no idea what the word meant. It would never be okay again.
I heard a step on the wood behind me, and looked up, startled, my eyes catching those of the man standing on the walkway. He wasn't a man, I realized moments later—he was only a boy, maybe two years older than I was, but very tall. His hair was deep blond and arced outward in spikes, reminding me quite a bit of my own, although his seemed to have a quality of softness mine didn't. Piercing blue eyes landed on me below the blond bangs, taking in my scruffy appearance. "Sorry to interrupt," he said then in a smooth voice. "Are you Sora Hikari?"
Hesitating for only a moment, I nodded, wondering who he was and what he wanted with me. It was then that I realized he was really…uh…attractive. My cheeks began to feel hot and I looked away quickly.
"I'm Cloud Strife," he introduced himself, approaching and extending a hand.
I shook it carefully. "Nice to meet you," I managed in a mumble. There was an awkward silence, during which I searched frantically for something to talk about.
"Do you mind if I sit?"
"Huh—? Oh, no, go ahead!" I scooted to one side to make room on the paopu tree. "So…are you new to the islands?"
He nodded, and we just hit it off right then. For some reason, it seemed like he was easy to talk to. I didn't bring up anything about Riku or Kairi, but I didn't have to. I just talked, and for a short time, nothing mattered. Nothing mattered except him and me and the sunset as we continued our discussion. I was completely at ease.
When I finally said goodbye and returned home, my troubles returned in triplicate when I remembered how I had hurt Mom. I sighed, knowing I'd have to apologize, and regretted having ever said it in the first place. She was sitting in the living room when I got there, looking through a magazine. From the heated presence behind it, I knew she had been waiting. "Mom?"
"Not now, honey."
"But—"
"I said not now," she repeated, looking at me with blazing blue eyes over the top of the magazine. "Can't you see I'm reading?"
"…You're holding it upside down, Mom."
She sighed, shooting me a wry look, and dropped the magazine onto the end table. "All right. I'm waiting."
"I'm sorry for blowing up and saying what I did," I said sincerely, studying my shoes so I wouldn't have to see the anger and hurt in her eyes. "I didn't mean it. I guess I just…"
"You got fed up," Mom finished, standing. "And I understand that, Sora, but that doesn't mean you should take it out on me. Come here." I did so reluctantly, and she enveloped me in her embrace, her chin resting on the top of my head. "I don't want you to ever think I won't accept you for who you are, Sora," she said in a soft voice. "I don't care what it is about you. I'm your mother. I love you beyond all reason, no matter what. You hear me?" she asked, tilting her head to look into my eyes.
"Yes, ma'am."
"No."
I smiled. "Yes, Mom."