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Chapter Four: The Flames of Absolution
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"Let's kill him."
Through a blur of semi-consciousness, this line echoes in my mind. This line, that voice, and through a haze of the millimeter I can open my eyes, a pink blob of hair.
Too pink. What's wrong with Shuichi's hair?
"We can't kill him. And put down my gun."
"How about the crazy unconscious man-geisha? Can I kill -him-?"
I try to move my hands. Maybe I can gather enough energy for just one punch. Enough to knock Shuichi back into his senses. What's going on? And why is the room fuzzy? I strain diligently to get my eyes open. I need to see my opponents.
Light flickers into my mind one blink at a time, a black-and-white-and-pink reel-to-reel movie on a very slow speed. Shuichi is sitting in a chair with his knees pulled up to his chest, a very impressive gun hanging off one of his fingers, and a...
Pink bunny on his head.
Goddamnit! Why is this fucking ninja always in my goddamn house!
"Sa...ku...ma." I lunge for him, but end up tumbling off the side of my bed. For some reason, none of my limbs are working properly.
Next thing I know, Gabriel's face hovers over mine, his lips drawn into a confident smile. "Please don't attempt to kill my partner, Michael. We already went through that. And, Ryuichi, hand over the gun."
Gabriel sticks out his hand in anticipation of the object. The insidious shinobi of idiocy shakes his head in defiance.
"Kumagoro wants a gun, too!"
"You're deadly enough without firearms, Ryuichi."
"But..."
"How many times do we have to have this conversation?"
"Seventy hundred and sixty-six."
K, bolder than I might -ever- be around that madman, reaches over and -pries- the gun out of Sakuma's hand. He then returns it to a holster somewhere underneath his trenchcoat. In retaliation, a shuriken whizzes through the air and clips several strands of K's hair before becoming lodged in my bedroom wall.
So fast. I didn't even see him throw it.
K., Gabriel, the American With The Guns, whatever you want to call him, doesn't even flinch. He's used to this sort of treatment, these nigh-murderous temper tantrums. He knows Sakuma's aim is perfect. Still, he also has to know that one of these days, that stupid shinobi is going to take his goddamn ear off.
I wonder if they are fucking.
I wonder if I can make myself care about whether or not they are fucking.
"Get me off the goddamn ground, before I..."
"Before you...what...exactly?" Sakuma hops off the chair and puts his face -way- too close to mine. His breath smells of the fruit punch bubblegum he is chewing. He cracks it between his teeth, popping unseen blisters of air noisily, just to get on my nerves. An almost infinitesimal dot of spittle leaps out of his mouth and lands on my bottom lip.
I want nothing more than to wipe it off, and shove him away, but my arms aren't exactly functional.
He grins. "Before you...decompose, na no da?"
It's pointless to talk to him.
Gabriel, thankfully, tugs Ryuichi off of me by the back of his collar. The shinobi's bones must be made of lightweight plastic, because Gabriel picks him up as if it were nothing. Or, perhaps, as if he did it on a daily basis. Ryuichi is deposited on the other side of the bed.
"It's some sort of nerve poison," Gabriel says as he hoists me up and arranges me into a sensible position on the mattress. "It should wear off in a while. Ryuichi already gave you the antidote." K. twists his head around suddenly. "You -did- give him the -antidote-, right?"
"Antidote. Yes. Kumagoro gave him the -antidote-, na no da. Because some of us DON'T TRY TO KILL OUR CO-WORKERS."
"Christ, shut up about it, already," I grumble. Pointless. Absolutely pointless to even -try- when it comes to Raphael. Why do I bother? I turn my attention to the much more important task of trying to figure out what in the hell is going on, and why this pair is in my house. It would be helpful if I could stand up, but since I can't, I just glare at Gabriel, and attempt to psychically impart to him that I'm going to strangle him as soon as I can move if he doesn't offer an explanation.
"We were trying to lure out Lucy." I guess he got the mental message. Gabriel leans back on one arm, and his trenchcoat falls open at the hip. Does any man really need that many guns? Even an assassin? "Ryuichi was going to dress up at Shuichi, impersonate him, and see if we couldn't attract attention from Lampyridae. We came over to see if you'd learned anything useful, anything that might give us a good place to start. We picked your lock, and Ryuichi was going through your kitchen cabinets, looking for cookies, when we heard someone open the door. Since we'd never seen the freak before, we decided to hang around and find out what he...she...it...was doing here."
For the first time in days, something makes a modicum of sense. I should thank them, I suppose. But, they -did- break into my house, so I will just consider it even.
"Ryuichi," Gabriel says suddenly, bending over the unseen side of the bed to do something which causes the mattress to jerk and shift. "That man in the dress is not a trampoline."
"Can I keep him, K? You know, as like a pet for Kumagoro?"
"Let him," I mutter, "They deserve each other."
"Who is this guy, Michael?" K asks. I hear a gun cock, and Sakuma reappears, jumping up to sit on the bed, much to his keeper's apparent approval. "Lampyridae agent?"
"Worse," I try to move my fingers. I get my thumb to twitch a bit. "He's a mentally unstable gay author."
"So, just like you, then?" Ryuichi slithers back off the bed and onto Akasugi.
"Your life is fucked -up-," K adds.
"You understand that I'm going to kill you both as soon as I can move, right?"
"You missed your chance on that one, Michael." Ryuichi's face reappears sporting a massive grin. "You will not believe what this man is wearing under his kimono, na no da."
K dives towards his partner. "Ryuichi! Get your hand out of there! You don't know where that fag has been."
I groan inwardly as the pair starts quarreling again. It's unfortunate, but true, that they are skilled operatives. I don't know why K does this job. The gunplay, maybe? I'd like to believe that Ryuichi works for Exile because he's just a sadist. But, I know that he, somewhere in that remarkably puny brain of his, actually thinks he's doing some sort of good for the world.
Nonetheless, I am not interested in watching them squabble.
Rule Number Six for Writers and Assassins: Get to the root of the matter as quickly and succinctly as possible. Use small words, if necessary.
I finally manage to tilt my head up a bit. At this point, K has produced a voluminous roll of duct tape and has begun to wrap it around and around and around Ryuichi's arms. His critical mistake is that he's didn't pull Ryuichi's arms behind his back before doing this.
And here's where I employ rule number six: "Where's Shuichi?"
Both of them look at me and answer at the same time, "What? Isn't he with you?"
Ryuichi tacks on, "Jinx!" And then he thrashes to the side a bit as K rips the end of the duct tape. K has looped the tape all the way from his wrists to several inches past his elbows. Looks painful. I'm pleased.
"No, he isn't with me." I roll my eyes. Where do they think I am keeping the brat? In my pocket? In my cigarette pack? Why do people insist on asking such stupid goddamn questions all the time? "Does it look like he is with me? Do you think I would be asking if I knew where he was?"
Except, I do know where he is located. I know his coordinates. I just don't know what he's doing across town.
"Well, I don't know where he is. And I'm not exactly sure Ryuichi knows where -Ryuichi- is half the time, so it is pointless to ask him."
I look over at the shinobi who has proceeded the produce a stickpin from God-knows-where, and is now holding it between his lips and trying to use it to free himself. Needle versus duct tape. Right. That'll take a while.
"You're supposed to be his manager."
K glares at me. "You're supposed to be his boyfriend."
"Obud eye oh er oo-an ith," Ryuichi says, still holding the stickpin between his lips. "Buh mmnogun telloo neelay, nuh no wa."
"Shut up. No one here speaks idiot-ese," I say.
"Athssstole."
How can K not know where Shuichi is? This is a gross oversight. Maybe I
should talk to Seguchi about getting a new manager for Shuichi's band.
You know, someone who isn't otherwise preoccupied with his duties as an
assassin?
"He said he was staying home today," K says, the gravity of the situation apparently only now dawning on him. "I figured you two lovebirds went out and had a BIG DATE or something."
Maybe things are easier when you're dead. If only I could move, I would seriously consider beating my head against the wall until I passed out.
"Look. I want the two of you to get rid of Akasugi."
"You mean..." K takes out one of his guns and cocks it. "Get -rid- of him?"
Don't I fucking wish? "No, just... Remove him from my house. And, try not to blow your cover in the process."
Why do I suddenly sound like Seguchi?
"Alright." I hear a tearing noise, and look over to find Ryuichi attacking his duct taped arms with his teeth. "But, what are -you- going to do, Michael?"
Goddamnit.
Stop with the stupid questions already.
Christ, I need a cigarette.
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Tangerine drives a Jeep of some kind, I think. Some massive beast of a vehicle. Maybe she doesn't even have her driver's license. I imagine she parks badly. Maybe double-parks just to piss other people off. Tangerine is a real, unrepentant bitch. Imagine Bruce Willis from Die Hard packed into a bra and heels. On second thought, don't imagine that. The results aren't pretty.
Tangerine drives a Jeep, but I drive a nice, sensible BMW at a nice, sensible 80mph. I never double-park because that gives idiots the idea that they want to key your car. I'm an asshole only up to the point where it encourages others to vandalize my property. I'm still refining this theory, however, since it doesn't seem to keep my goddamn brother from occasionally coming over and tearing up my apartment.
I don't know what is wrong with that kid. How he can be so utterly devoted to the most psychotic person on the planet is beyond me. Of course, Tatsuha only knows Ryuichi as some pop idol. Heh. If only he knew the truth...
Actually, Tatsuha would probably idolize the idiot even more.
I can't win.
At least he hasn't called me lately and asked me to get him booze, porn, or strands of Sakuma Ryuichi's hair.
I love my brother...from afar. Very far. If I could figure out a way to transport Dad, the temple, and Tatsuha to London, I would gladly spend my entire fortune in doing so.
These are the thoughts which occupy my mind as I race down the highway. And, frankly, I am glad these thoughts are consuming me, because the alternative isn't pretty. The alternative is wondering where the fuck I am going and what exactly I am going to find when I get there.
It took a full half hour for me to regain movement in all of my limbs. K suggested waiting another two hours, but I don't have time for that. They left with K carrying Akasugi over one shoulder. I swear, I'm going to take out a restraining order on Akasugi when I get a chance. Or get a better home security system. Maybe with a guard dog. No. That's probably a bad idea. Shuichi would turn the thing into a drooling, pampered mutt within weeks. And, like I really need the hassle of a dog on top of the other pet I've apparently adopted against my will.
Goddamnit. Can't stop thinking about Shuichi.
I reach for the radio, but stop before I turn it on. That would be an even worse decision, considering how often they play 'Bad Luck' songs.
The only choice is to have another cigarette. I rummage around in the glove compartment for my spare pack while attempting to keep my eyes on the road. Alright. Found the pack but...
No fucking lighter. I thought I kept a lighter in here.
Maybe in my pocket? Aha. Here's the one Lucy threw at me. The one with the little picture of...
Shuichi. ARGH.
It never ends.
My speed increases to 85mph.
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I feel like I've driven halfway to Yokohama by the time I get to the middle-class suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of the metropolis. I didn't even realize anyone in this city lived in such a place. It reminds me more of the neighborhoods of upstate New York than it does of Tokyo. There are tree-lined groves and picket fences (thankfully not white). The cars here are small and inexpensive, but not overly worn. A cadre of kindergarteners are playing in a lawn sprinkler.
In a place like this, I really could get in deep trouble for speeding, so I slow down.
Is this sort of place considered 'nice'? Desirable? Is this where people go to stop being single and become families? There's a woman with a stroller sitting at a bus stop -not- marked up by graffiti, and an older gentleman walking a shaggy dog. So, I guess so.
Of course, I could never live in a place like this. I bet they don't even carry my brand of cigarettes at the corner market. And how would Shuichi get to NG every morning? Idiot would have to take a bus into the city, and that's just asking for disaster, since he is becoming more famous every day. Besides, who would mow the lawn? Not me, that's for sure.
I don't even like places like this, with their fake-chipper Tupperware parties and neighbors bringing in your mail for you when you're away, probably snooping at your correspondence. Hmph. I bet they even have noisy neighborhood barbeques, where all the men get together and watch sports. Right. Shuichi watching sports. You know, I don't mind watching American Auto Racing, though. Only for the inevitable car crashes. Shuichi would probably look pretty cute in a little apron, I have to admit. Flipping burgers. I could teach him how to make a good hamburger, juicy and rare. Little moron would probably burn his arm on the grill and cry about it until I got a cold beer out of the fridge to press on the wound. Then, as per usual, I'd have to kick him out of the way and finish making the burgers myself, because God knows he can't cook.
Why am I smirking? This is dumb.
Rule Number Seven for Writers and Assassins: Pay fucking attention to what the hell you're doing. Long digressions just always bite you in the ass.
I find the street in question, and drive down it once, just to scope it out. The house where Shuichi is supposed to be looks no different from any of the neighboring ones. Well, except for some ostentatious tile-work on the path leading through the yard, but somehow the yellows and reds play off of the nearby garden's aesthetic fairly well. Other than that, it appears to be a normal split-level with a privacy fence and a well-kept yard. I squint at the mailbox to see if it has a name printed on it. Of course, it doesn't.
Damn.
I loop back around and park the car at the end of the street. Plan. Now I need a good plan. Alright. If I wanted to kill the person in this house, I'd hop the fence and then go in through the back. A window on the second floor would be the best bet for entry. Those are less likely to be locked tightly or have infuriating security systems.
But, I'm not here to assassinate someone. So, what is the solution? I can't exactly walk up to the door and knock. First of all, how do I explain to Shuichi the fact that I know where he is? And second, how do I explain to Shuichi...why I am looking for him?
No. That's too complicated. What we need here is a surveillance operation.
I pop the trunk and spend a few seconds digging out my binoculars. Seguchi's idea, actually. Just in case. In case of what, I have no idea. In case I need to identify a sparrow working for the yakuza? Give me a break.
The fact that the sun is quickly getting lower and lower in the sky will help quite a bit. I approach the house from the side with the most trees. Well, fuck. Now I have to climb a goddamn tree. Shuichi better be...
Alright?
Worth this trouble?
Thankful that I give a damn whether he is alive or dead?
Climbing the tree ends up being nowhere near as difficult as I had thought. Unfortunately, doing this with a pair of binoculars in hand makes me feel like my slimy sex-obsessed brother. Right, right, I'm sure Tatsuha isn't a Peeping Tom, but this is probably only because he doesn't know where Sakuma lives.
I balance my torso against a sturdy branch and bring the binoculars up to get a closer look. Not that I really need them. The backyard is fairly normal. And there -is- a barbeque grill. I -knew- it.
What is this place? Who the hell does Shuichi know in this part of the city? I try to rack my brains, but I come up with nothing. A relative, maybe? But, his mother and sister live miles from here, and I can't remember him mentioning any other family. Alright, so maybe I wasn't really listening when he babbled about his family most of the time. Can you blame me? I can't listen to him all the time. I'd go fucking insane.
I see there are a couple of lights on... Maybe that's a kitchen, there. The one with the lacy green curtains. And the larger window should be...a living room or den, I think. The last window has to be a bedroom, and the lights are off on that one.
After several minutes, a shadow moves past one of the windows. Damn. Too quick to make out.
So, what are you doing here, Shuichi? Visiting a friend? A new acquaintance? Have you been lured into some Lampyridae trap? Why haven't you spent the last few evenings spending every waking minute trying to tell me what you are doing? You love telling me about your life, especially when I am trying to work.
I can't tell if my palms are sweaty because I'm acting neurotic, or because it is just hot out here. Shuichi says I should wear shorts, but...
Shrrrthunk.
I'm shaken from my thoughts by the glass patio door being slid open. Finally. Maybe I'll get some answers. And this will certainly be easier than tapping the phones.
I'm so relieved to see Shuichi step outside that it takes me another full beat to realize he's only wearing a towel.
A -small- burgundy towel.
What the...?
The man who follows him into the yard stands only a few inches taller than Shuichi. Quick rundown of distinguishing features: Long purplish-black hair pulled up into a ponytail. Broad shoulders. Smiling entirely too much. He's wearing a navy blue yukata with a white sash. He looks stupid.
Who the fuck is this guy?
"Cigarette, Shu-chan?"
Shuichi whirls around, causing the towel to fly up at the back in a way which makes my teeth grit. The boy has no propriety. None. Sometimes, I'm not sure if he's even aware of the fact that his body is...very...
Yeah. Very.
"Yes. That'd be nice. Thanks, Okita-san." Shuichi stretches as this 'Okita' guy sticks his head back into the house and retrieves what I can only assume is a box of cigarettes.
When did Shuichi start smoking?
At least now I know where all my lighters went.
This Okita guy smiles as he pulls out a cigarette and hands it to Shuichi. Smiles like a fucking lion admiring a tasty zebra. Damn, I wish I'd brought a gun instead of binoculars. Except I don't own a gun. Only knives. Lots of knives.
"So..." Even more smiling. This guy smiles more than Sakuma. "That was fairly exhausting, even for me."
Shuichi lights his cigarette. And he doesn't even fumble or cough. How could I not fucking notice that he's taken up smoking? "Well, if you didn't have such a tight..." The end of the sentence is eaten by a breeze. I curse the weather, and whatever witty Gods are in charge of it.
"Hai, hai..." Now this idiot is laughing. He brushes his fingers through his bangs and plops his ass down on the side of a picnic table. His feet dangle precariously over the grass, swinging back and forth. I don't think I like the distance his knees are from one another as he says, "But, next time, I want to do you in the bedroom."
I think I just bit a section of my cheek out.
What the fuck?
Shuichi exhales a wispy cloud of smoke as he turns to look at a part of the yard I can't see from here. "How about the hammock? If I had one leg hanging over the side..."
A faint trickle of blood slides down my throat. I try not to cough. Or vomit. I can't decide which seems more urgent at the moment.
Okita-san claps his hands, "Oh yes. You read my mind, Shu-chan."
And that's when it happens, when Shuichi smiles at him, smiles back in that utterly ecstatic, chocolate bliss coated way. No. No. Those are my smiles. Those are the smiles he gives me when he thinks I'm not looking. That's mine. Mine! He loves -me-. I have proof. I have it written down on paper. Up until two days ago, he told me, every day, repeatedly, like fucking Chinese Water Torture. This is wrong! This can't be real! You can't just make someone believe something so brilliant and alive and full of hope, and then expose it to be false!
"That's why I love you, Okita-san," Shuichi says, flicking his cigarette with expert ease into the barbeque pit. "...Because our great minds think alike."
I can't breathe. I'm suffocating. No. Drowning. Being torn into shreds. Falling. Imploding. Crushed. Stabbed. Mangled. Shot. I don't know, I don't know. It just hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Fuck, there's got to be incredibly eloquent words for this kind of pain, I should know them all. I'm a goddamn romance novelist. But there's nothing. Nothing but the word "hurt". Hurt. I hurt. And, I can't detach from it. I can't make it abstract. I can't scoff at it. I can't throw a wall in front of it. I can't give it to Tangerine and shrug it off.
Pain is everywhere. Everywhere Shuichi ever touched me is being ripped off, ripped out, ripped away. I'm like a book, being destroyed, one page at a time. Each paragraph, every chapter, story by story, I'm being torn, crumpled up, and tossed thoughtlessly at a wastebasket.
A decade of blocking out everything, of living a life of pacific numbness, of being protected from every troublesome emotion by the walls I've built...and this...and this... Who would have known that wrecking balls come in pink?
And the pain doesn't subside. It doesn't wash away the more I think about it, the more I try to rationalize. What? What would make it go away? I have to know. There has to be something. Booze? Anger-fuck some fan? There has to be...
I can't watch as Shuichi throws his arms around Okita, as they laugh, as they walk to the part of the yard I can't see. I can't watch, and I can't stop watching.
I can't do anything but slide out of the tree. I end up kneeling in the shadow of the oak, one hand on a thick root, the other clenching and unclenching a patch of grass. Is it...real? A lie?
Make it stop. Please. I'll believe in you, God, if you just make the pain stop. I'll do anything, anything, just...
My cheek presses against the root. I've denuded a small patch of ground, and I can feel chunks of loamy soil underneath my fingernails. Dirty. But, not so dirty as... Several times, I try to push myself back up, just so I can puke, but nothing comes except for heaving coughs.
How I make it back to the car is a mystery. The only thought I recall is a brief hatred of the distant sunset for revealing itself in luxuriant hues of pink. The sunset is taunting me.
I zone out while I drive. I block out every sensation and thought possible, and still can barely function. I try to grab for a cigarette, but the pack falls on the passenger side floor. Reaching over to get it would just be a convenient excuse to take my eyes off the road and run into something. Unconsciousness would definitely end the pain. So, no cigarettes.
I'm on auto-pilot. I'm ramming my fist into the dashboard, over, and over, and over, just to stay focused. I've got to...make the pain stop... There's only one place... One person...who understands...
Seguchi.
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"Uesugi-san, do you have an..." Tohma's secretary stands up as I brush past her, "...appointment?" The last word is clearly laced with some sort of astonishment, and punctuated with a small gasp.
Tohma's door knob is slippery, for some reason. I try, over and over, to get a good grip on it, and even end up wedging my foot against the bottom of the door and kicking for extra leverage. For fuck's sake, is his office locked?
The door finally pops open with a reverberating "thuck". I stumble inside, half due to the thick plush carpet and half because I'm shaking.
Only Tohma knows what to do. Only Tohma can fix...this.
"Eiri-san." He looks up from that desk, a placid smile already plastered to his lips. A smile which falls, immediately, as he leaps to his feet, sending his office chair rolling backwards into the wall.
With Tohma, there are no stupid questions. He doesn't demand to know what happened. He doesn't tell me that I look awful. There's no screaming, and never any betrayal. There's only that mildly debasing look of overwhelming pity, and I can live with that at the moment.
"Alright, come..." I look down when feel his fingers close around my wrist, and I finally realize why the door was so slippery. One of my hands is caked in blood. Must have been from slamming my fist into the dashboard, I guess. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Seguchi's unspoken promise to me is that I do not have to be anything for him. He is the only one who knows every facet of my existence, every kill, every fear, every mask, every psychosis. I can't hide from him, so I don't even have to try.
He leads me into the private bathroom in his office and produces several stark white hand towels. I hang my head to hide from the harsh overhead lights as he rolls up my sleeve and begins cleaning my knuckles with towels dipped in hot water.
I hear a small sigh. Pity. Always pity. Tweezers now. He has to pull
several pieces of jagged plastic out of my flesh. I don't know if that's
from my dashboard. I might have punched something else on my way up here.
I can't recall. I can't feel the injury... Or, at the very least, it is
indistinguishable from the rest of the pain.
I don't look at Tohma as he works, but it's hard, even with my head
lowered, not to catch the occasional glimpse of his bright cornsilk hair,
or a flash of his red jacket.
He stops and turns away to fetch disinfectant and bandages. "I tried to warn you. I wish..."
"Don't..."
"He's very young. You haven't been young since..." Tohma catches himself in time. He always does. "...for a long time. It isn't your fault."
How does he know? I didn't tell him that this had anything to do with Shuichi! Without forethought, my injured hand twists and I end up grabbing a section of Tohma's jacket. Red velour oozes between my bandaged fingers, replacing the washed-away blood.
I'm not sure if I grabbed him to keep him from escaping my next question, or to keep me from falling off the planet.
"You knew. You knew Shuichi was seeing someone."
Well, alright, it's not so much a question as a realization. I don't know whether to feel furious or betrayed. Or both.
Tohma places his hand on top of mine, but does not attempt to pry my fist from his jacket. From where I am sitting on the toilet, I look up to find him giving me the same look of concern a parent gives to a child who has just realized the meaning of the word 'death' for the first time. Pity. A look of pity. Because compassion and truth are mutually exclusive. "I only suspected."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Now I am the one asking the dumb questions. Childish questions. I go to bite my own tongue and realize that my mouth still tastes faintly of blood. I've gone back in time, somehow, and am twelve years old, begging Tohma to explain it to me. Explain it to me again. Fix the hurts and scrapes. Tell me how to deal with the bullies. Show me how to be more like you.
Fix it, Tohma.
Fix me. I'm broken.
Do I care that he sees me like this? Of course, of course I do. Or rather, I will. Tomorrow, when I wake up and realize that I've done it again. I'll find a way to blame Tohma, and end up avoiding him for weeks because I can't look him in the eye anymore. But, right now, being twelve years old, being a child, I do not care about consequences.
"Eiri-san..." That voice, ever-so-patient, tinged with filial admonishment, slices into me. "I told you my suspicions as best I could. You would not have believed..."
I know. If he had said anything directly, I would have called him a fool. Living in denial, living in a fantasy world wrapped up in the prettiest pink bow, I would have rebelled against anyone who tried to ruin my beloved lie.
"Come, Eiri-san. Your hand is bandaged." He's stronger than you'd imagine, Tohma is. I'm not sure if he works out, or if he just powers everything under a force of his own will. He extends an arm to help me up, and I take it. I'm pathetic. But, this is the part...the part where he will fix...me. He'll make the pain go away. He'll set everything straight, just for me.
I'm led back into his office, and I stand there, naked in my own clothes, exposed and vulnerable to Tohma's all-seeing eyes. He brushes some dirt off of my lapel. "You're hurting. I will help you. But, you must ask me. You must tell me that this is what you want."
Why does he have to make it start out this way? Why does he have to make me beg and plead? No, I know why. Because this is insane, and wrong, and completely fucked up. And the dirtier I feel about making Tohma do this, the better it will make the outcome. "I want..." My voice cracks exactly as if I were a decade younger, "...you to...do it again...oniisama."
"What is it that you want, Eiri?" The pity is gone from his voice, now. There's only authority. The game has already begun.
"Absolution. Reprieve from...agony." The absolution I can't find by praying to God. The forgiveness I will never discover, because the divine has forsaken me. The atonement I can only have by washing away pain with more pain.
Tohma's fingers brush against my cheek. "This shall you have. Go. Your things are in the usual place."
The fact that he keeps these things here would otherwise fill me with shame. Thankfully, I can't feel shame at the moment. I can only feel the loneliness, the pain, the betrayal. The utter betrayal. Shuichi's betrayal.
I don't even have to look, I just move towards the storage closet, gravitating towards my salvation. I open it with my uninjured hand and kneel down to find the box hidden beneath the floorboard. Right where it should be, right where it always is.
Inside is a light brown wig, and some contacts.
I slip off my jacket and fold it as best I can. Behind me, I hear Tohma moving things around, preparing. He'll hide his jacket, too. I lift the wig with some amount of reverence and adjust it on my head. Already, I know...I anticipate... This will be good. This will make the pain stop. But, I mustn't get ahead of myself.
I put the contacts in and stand up.
When I turn around, I am sensei.
And Tohma...
Tohma is standing in the middle of the room, where I was before. His jacket is gone, and his undershirt is partially untucked. He's barefoot. He runs his hand through his hair to mess it up slightly. Even his posture and facial expression have changed, taking on a heretofore unknown quality of youth.
Tohma...has become me, as a teenager.
Tohma is now Eiri-chan.
"Sensei..." he says, smiling so sweetly, so innocently. God, he's good at this. "I found you. I knew you would be here! I looked all over for you."
This is so dirty. I know, I know this is wrong. I know that I like things that are wrong, messed up, inappropriate, and bad. Just like I wanted Shuichi, when I knew I should let him go. The same way I kill people for a secret organization. The way I wanted sensei. All of it is corrupt and foul and greedy and immoral.
I am not a good person.
"Of course I'm here," I say. My feet, momentarily transfixed, begin to move of their own accord. I walk over and twine my fingers lazily through Tohma's now-unkempt hair. This is narcissism, sadism, and masochism all rolled into one neat little package. "My special student, this is our night together, isn't it?"
Tohma, never betraying for an instant that he isn't me, immediately throws his arms around my waist. He rubs his face into my chest. "Sensei...I missed you."
I'm exactly the same amount repulsed as I am turned on.
"I missed you, too, Eiri." I reach down and lift his chin so that I can stare into his eyes. Not Tohma's eyes. My eyes, the eyes of a time when I was good, and whole, and pure. It must be true, because I can see it. I can see the goodness I once held. "Look at how adult you are getting. So tall, and...so strong now..."
I'm rewarded with a smile. Tohma lets go of my waist and spins around. "You think so, sensei?" I'm so cruel to him. Tohma must be a saint to do this for me. A bodhisattva. He's a living deity, a martyr to my insanity. Which is why only he can provide absolution. Only someone who is so selfless and close to holy can give me what I require. He ends up standing with his hands on his hips. Such a frighteningly alluring pose, but containing absolutely no aspect of carnal knowledge. "Do you think I am an adult?"
"Yes." I reach out to touch him again. I need to be in physical contact with my own innocence. My hand traces his shoulder. Adoration. Approval. Base narcissism. I can only love myself through sensei's eyes. My breath becomes shallow. No. I must not rush. Soon enough. Soon enough. "And we should celebrate tonight like adults. Why don't you go bring me the wine from the bar, Eiri-chan?"
I'm dirty, hideous, repugnant underneath my mask. I'm just like sensei. But, it's alright, it's alright, because I am also here...in a purified form, as Eiri-chan. I can exist both ways. I can be both good and evil.
"Uh...wine? Um...hai!" Good lord, he even hesitates like a youth. I watch Tohma imitate me as he walks away. Just like I know, no I hoped, sensei was always watching me. But, it wasn't dirty then. I just loved him, clean and pure and simple. There was nothing wrong about it.
Of course, Tohma and I, we've done this so many times before that both of us know the script by heart. I can't even remember how this game of ours began. I only know that I needed it then like I need it now.
Tohma plays my part, and I play as sensei. It only works this way, not the other way around. I have to be the thing I despise, I have to become evil incarnate in order to learn the meaning of the word 'good'.
I head over to sit down on the couch, but I never take my eyes from Tohma, now 'Eiri-chan'. He does everything more slowly than it should be done, just to draw it out, just to make me wait, make me wonder if he'll really do everything right. I watch as he fumbles with the cork on the wine, like he'd never opened a bottle before. I watch as he searches the cabinet and chooses champagne flutes instead of wine glasses. I watch as he pads over to the couch, barefoot, biting his lip as if nervous and unsure.
I can't help but squirm.
He'll pour the glass of wine, and take a sip, and then hand it to me. I crave the scent of that drink, that forbidden strawberry wine, expensive and obscure. It's really too sweet to drink, too pungent. A dessert wine that lays fallow on the tongue, rotting your tastebuds. I can't help but gulp it down.
There must be Communion before Absolution.
This is the blood that I crave, the essence of deity.
This is my blood. Drink this in remembrance of me.
"You must be thirsty, sensei. You drank it all." Tohma kneels down in
front of me. Yes. Yes. Make me holy. Make me sinless. Show me
awe. Show me faith. Show me all the things I once had. Reveal what
I lost, and then give everything back. Fix me. He's so angelic, there,
kneeling in front of me, looking up at me like I gazed up at sensei.
Worshipful.
What are you waiting for, Tohma? Say your line! Say it!
"If you are hungry, too, I can find something for you to eat, sensei."
That's right. That's how it goes. My panic subsides as I lean back against the couch, my knees apart. "You're the hungry one, isn't that right, Eiri-chan?" I hold out my hand to him as Tohma stares at me with a perfect mimicry of confusion. I let the sexual innuendo of the next word roll off my lips. "Come."
Tohma takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto my lap. He straddles me so innocently, so freely, as if he didn't know, the way I really didn't know...back then. He finds some magical way to make his body even smaller and more frail than it really is. Now, now I take his wrist, firmly, almost harshly, and pull it to my lips. This, just this, I'm allowed just this small concession, of loving myself in this way.
Loving myself through sensei's eyes.
"Yes, sensei?" He whispers to me now, careful, as always, not to break the spell at this point. Tohma's face pulls alongside my own. "What is it?"
His ear draws close to my mouth.
"Tell me..."
Wisps of his hair brush against my cheek.
"...what it is..."
A timid hand comes to rest on the outside of my thigh. I try not to roll my hips.
"...that you are thinking..."
Shuichi. Shuichi... Why did you betray me? Why does everyone betray me? Sensei, Uriel, and now you. Is it...because I am a bad person? Deep at my core, beneath the walls, beneath the masks, beneath the lie... Is it because I deserve this?
For what I have done, is this my punishment? Losing you is my punishment.
"...Sensei."
And, I begin to whisper then. I can feel my lips occasionally brush
against the soft curve of his ear as I confess. Dirt, grime, filth, these
things pour from my mouth. Sins of the flesh, criminal desires, thoughts
of causing pain to others, everything I've kept inside. Fantasies,
dreams, passing ideas which would make even a hardened psychiatrist
flinch. I let it all out, corrupting my younger self, purifying who I am
now, the monster that I have become. Thus the cycle continues.
It has been so long since my last confession.
I quickly lose all sense of time. I could be speaking for minutes, or possibly for hours, I know not. Tohma never moves, never turns away. Very soon, a familiar drowsiness overtakes my senses. My hands, limp against the expensive leather couch, grow numb. My eyelids feel thick, heavy, and sticky. Every breath cleaner than the last, calmer, I finally become silent.
"Sensei..." How does he do this? The innocent voice is gone, disappeared like a sugar cube in hot tea. Now the sound oozes, syrupy grenadine, infused with carnal potency.
"Sensei..." With utter certainty, Tohma's fingers slide up the front of my shirt. They never pause, not once, as they slip over my chest, as fingernails graze along my neck, caress my temples. "Close your eyes."
"Yes..." I am spellbound. Plunged into darkness behind my own eyelids, I am lost, I am lost, but the shadows are gone. Fingernails rake through my hair, removing the wig on my head. I am not sensei. I am...
"Open your eyes, Eiri-chan."
I open my eyes to find sensei looking back at me.
"Sensei..." He's here with me, again. Resurrected into Tohma's body, sensei looks down at me. He wants me, he wants me. He loves me. He... "Forgive me, sensei, please..."
Forgive me. I need to be forgiven. I need to be saved...from myself. I thought Shuichi would save me, I thought he would be the one. But Shuichi...was only lying.
"I forgive you, Eiri-chan."
And strong hands cup my chin. Strong thumbs stroke my lips. Strangely powerful hands slide over my throat, and begin to squeeze. It's an amazing feeling, being strangled, being deprived of oxygen. So peaceful, you remember a time and a place before breath, an ancient and magical era before the divine gave us life. A time when, we too, were gods.
As he throttles me, everything becomes hazy, ringed with fuzzy multicolored halos. Sensei's halo is the brightest of all. Before I lose consciousness, he and I, we come to an understanding. Standing on the precipice between life and death, we exchange hate for love, evil for goodness, and sin for absolution.
Godless, but forgiven, I pass out murmuring the name of my own personal Judas.
"...Shuichi."
Still, even now...
I can't stop thinking of you.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
In Our Next Chapter: A fire. That pesky rival author shows up again. Eiri tries to figure out how to rescue Shuichi from Lampyridae, even though Shuichi is cheating on him.
Author Notes:
In case you didn't catch it, Ryuichi said: "Oh, but I know where Shu-chan is. But, I'm not gonna tell you anyway, na no da."
Yeah, alright, so I just had to stick Okita in there. It is not important to know who he is. And, if you're not a reader of my other (non-Gravi) stories, you won't miss anything important by not knowing. But, you would have extra clues in the mystery...maybe.
No, Tohma and Eiri do -not- have sex in some sort of "offstage" way or something. Don't even ask me to write it. I should point out that the last scene was inspired by an author who does not want to be named, but who wrote the best Tohma and Eiri story ever. My hat is off to you, anonymous one. Now, I will drop the subject.
Review Notes:
Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I'm sorry that it takes me so long to write each chapter, but I do intend on finishing this story. I really appreciate your patience with me. Thank you again. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.