Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1: Coming Back, and Chapter 8: New Rumors.
Author's Notes: Nothing much. Except I get to go the Governor's Conference in Sacramento, California on October 27 and MISS SCHOOL! YES! The only problem is that it means I'll miss Augustana's concert in LA! It's NOT FAIR! THEY'RE ONE OF MY FAVORITE BANDS! Moving along, I also get to see the Air Show in Oxnard, California, and on my birthday get all sorts of goodies I've been praying all year to receive!
Thank you to all you sweet reviewers! I finished this chapter early just for you! Mwah!
This chapter contains many swear words. You have been forewarned.
Chapter 9
"Hayama Akito!" the principal's voice rang out. "This is the last time I am going to tell you this! Shape up your act or I will expel you! Ditching school for no reason! What is the matter with you? You have missed 10 days in one term! 10 days! And not once has your family called in to report your absence! I will not tolerate this!"
Akito simply stared nonchalantly at the principal, loving how his face had gone purple with rage. It was quite becoming. "Daisuke," he said, using the principal's first name, "you should wear purple more often. It suits you, just like your fucking nosiness." He glowered menacingly at the principal. "Stay the hell out of my life, prick. Don't you fucking dare tell me what to do." He finished, his voice low and threatening.
The man simply gaped as Akito walked briskly out the door. He sighed. "What is wrong with that boy?"
--->--->--->
Akito fumed as he exited the godforsaken place known as the office. What a joke. Calling him in just because he wasn't at school yesterday! What kind of bullshit was this?
"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir," he muttered, in a high, girlish voice. "I had to stay home yesterday because I was too tired. It'll never happen again." He reverted back to his normal voice. "More like I stayed home because everyone's fucking talking about that goddamn interview. I swear, I will kill the Pretty Boy." He raised his voice to a falsetto. "Oh, I don't know where she is. She probably left because she was pissed at someone. I'm sorry, I really don't know. Like hell he doesn't, the bastard!"
Akito's face became crestfallen. "She always told him things." He punched the wall forcefully. "She always fucking told him everything!" Never me. Couldn't come to me. Never thought to tell me. His throat closed up as he gave the wall another round of punches. Couldn't believe in me. Never relied on me. Kamura was the one she confided in. Trusted in. Not me.
"Never me!" he yelled as he gave a round-bout kick to the hallway trash bin, knocking it over and spilling it's contents onto the floor.
He stared at it, feeling his insides knot up. Trash, that's what he was; that's what he'd been; it's what he would always be. He was stupid to even entertain the thought of Kurata having liked him as more than a friend. No matter how much he had tried to be nice and express his feelings to her, he was still the wounded stray that viciously lashed out. No wonder she ran away from him. . . .
He was trash, and now that she was gone, no one was going to pick him up and put him in his proper place again.
--->--->--->
"Konnichi wa, Hayama-kun!" a cheerful voice greeted, and it grated on his nerves. He didn't need to talk to anyone today; didn't want to talk to her today.
He slowly raised his head to meet the dark brown eyes of Kitahoshi Sachiko, turned around in her desk and leaning on the back of her chair, her lunch on her desktop. He didn't like this girl. When she'd been first introduced in front of the class, his instinct had picked up that she was hiding something. Hiding something meant you were trouble, and even on her own this girl was a shitload of trouble.
Not only that, but her happy-go-lucky disposition reminded him of Kurata. Just thinking of the girl he'd first liked as anything more than a friend pained him. Though he would never admit it, Kurata was a still an open wound that throbbed with pain whenever mentioned. And lucky for his friends, they knew not to probe.
It was a delicate injury, and wouldn't be healing anytime soon. The only way it would even get a little better was if Kurata came back and told him goodbye; but even then it would cry, because if she told him goodbye, it truly meant goodbye, and that he wouldn't be seeing her again. It would be way too surreal to know that she was really gone.
She'd always been there, since the sixth grade; she was the girl who angered him to no end, interested him more than she should, was a rival, a friend, and the first girl he'd ever thought more than platonic things about.
Corny, he knew, but she'd been the perfect balm to his screwed-up family life, and had smoothed it out without even really trying. It was one of the reasons why he'd been even more wounded when she'd abandoned him.
No note, no phone call, no letter, nothing. Nothing to explain to him why. And that was what tormented him most of all at night. The never-ending question of why.
So to see this teenager in front of him, acting just like Sana would, made him angrier and even more vulnerable to attack. Not that he cared, but she was so much like Kurata that it made the open wound even sorer. It was hard to think of there being another person like Kurata out there; Kurata was supposed to be unique, there shouldn't be a copy of her. It wasn't right. No one was supposed to even remotely resemble her. And it didn't help that she looked like Kurata, too. It produced another spike on his jaded heart. Just like her personality, no one should look like her as well. It wasn't fair to him.
It was like Kami-sama had placed a replica of Sana in front of him, to make him care more. The problem was, knowing the gods, they would snatch her away again, just like they did on the same day he'd been planning to tell Kurata. It wasn't fair. He'd finally worked up his courage, headed over to her insane house with that stupid red, mini race car, and the crazy manager and mother, only to find that she'd vanished. Poof, into thin air. He'd never get to tell her now. So much for the confession.
"So, Hayama-kun," Kitahoshi started, apparently not realizing he didn't want to talk to her, just like Kurata, "I was wondering. Ichi, where were you yesterday when you ditched?" He raised an eyebrow. Like he was going to tell her. She continued, "Ni," and paused, then with anger, "why the hell didn't you tell me that your dojo lost, huh? I think of a way to congratulate your victory only to find that you didn't win!" She took a deep breath. "Why wasn't I informed, hm?"
Akito rolled his eyes. "Ichi, I don't care. Ni, I don't want your congratulations or pity, whatever the hell it is. San, I don't know you, and I don't tell people I don't know certain things they don't need to know." He leaned back in his chair.
The girl pouted. Quickly, showing she wasn't even thinking, what a dimwit, she replied, "Well you told Kurata Sana things when you didn't know her that well." Immediately she froze.
Akito tensed, his shoulders and arms coiled and ready to strike. How dare she bring that up as her defense. He'd only told Kurata things because she would've found out on her own quickly, having visited his house and talked to Tsuyoshi-kun. He leaned forward, even angrier when she pulled back. At least Kurata had stood her ground. If she was going to use Kurata to her defense, she should at least be a little braver. He hated the meek.
His nostrils flared like a bull's, and his eyes narrowed into slits. "Go," he growled threateningly. "Get the hell out of my sight before I punch your face in." Kitahoshi stayed frozen. "Go now, and if you ever talk about her again, so Kami-sama help me I will kick your sorry little ass." He leaned back and closed his eyes, tilting his head up.
When he opened them, he was surprised to see Kitahoshi still there, except now she was glaring at him. He opened his mouth again, glaring, but was cut short by her enraged "No."
He blinked. "No. You have a problem with people talking about her, see if I give a flying rat's ass. It's been what, five years since you've last seen her?"
He interrupted, "Four." His throat caught again. Four whole years . . .
Kitahoshi's eyes flashed. "Whatever. Four years, five, close enough. The point is you're"–she jabbed him with her index finger–"still getting all worked up over it, while all our other friends have pretty much moved on." He gave a snort. She ignored it. "Maybe they haven't gotten over it completely, and maybe it's still sore, but I don't see them getting all prissy just because someone mentions her! I questioned about her before, and you didn't say a word! Just sat there silently. So what's crawled up your butt and died, eh? Because I see no reason for your behavior!"
He looked at her, inwardly dumbstruck, and allowed his eyes to open a little wider. Then what she said registered, and a glower resumed. Slamming his chair back, he walked to the door, feeling her eyes on him. She couldn't see a reason for his behavior? Well, if she had known Kurata and how he had felt, she would.
Matsui should have briefed her on the subject, telling Kitahoshi to not mention that girl at all. Hadn't done her job right, since here he was, staring at the gates of the school, wishing there was a way out.
A way to get away from that Kitahoshi girl who brought back memories that only served to haunt him every waking moment.
It hurt a lot more than he wanted.
--->--->--->--->--->
Akito stared at the piece of paper on his desk. It was Physical Science class, beginning of the year, and his teacher was being surprisingly lenient that day, allowing the kids to talk and mingle before the bell rang. It was a rare treat, since he was usually way too fucking strict with them.
Picking up the piece of paper, he stared at it with an eyebrow raised. Three strips of paper stapled together to form a bracelet. He read the writing on the outside, written in marker. 'Akito & Sana R BFF's!' Obviously, it was made by Kurata. Not a surprise, seeing as how it was so poorly crafted. Couldn't even do paper bracelets right. He'd hate to see her in Woodshop, where there were saws. . . .
Glancing around, he spotted her four seats over. Making eye contact, he lifted the paper bracelet questioningly. She walked over.
He looked at her and said, "What the hell is this?"
"It's our friendship bracelet! See the sides? We're BFF's!" she exclaimed, beaming, and he couldn't find it in him to tell her that it wasn't a good bracelet and they probably wouldn't stay BFF's for long.
--->--->--->--->--->
"Moriko, did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"Apparently our Heartthrob Naozumi"–huh, Pretty Boy? What was this about?–"is dating Sana-chan!"
The other girl shrieked. "No way! He's taken? That's so not fair!"
"I know!"
Akito ignored them after that. Pretty Boy and Kurata were going out? That couldn't be true. He needed it to not be true. There was no way Kurata would date him. She'd said that they were just friends, right? If they were only friends, then that meant they wouldn't date.
He brushed the thoughts from his mind. Kurata hadn't said anything about a boyfriend, so that meant she didn't have one. He'd be the first to know.
Right?
--->--->--->--->--->
"Guess what?" Kurata screamed, and not waiting for an answer, went on, "We get to go to the mountains! It's so beautiful up there, I hear!"
He shrugged nonchalantly, "So? I'm not going to go."
She bonked him over the head with her plastic hammer, eliciting a yelp. "You're going to go and you're going to like it, mister!"
The memories were running together now.
"Wow, it's so beautiful right here! Arigatou, Akito-kun!"
--->--->--->--->--->
"You can't start fights! What are you, an idiot!"
--->--->--->--->--->
"I love you, that's why I gave birth to you."
--->--->--->--->--->
"It'll be okay. . . ."
--->--->--->--->--->
"Don't worry. We'll fix it."
--->--->--->--->--->
"Hayama-kun!"
--->--->--->--->--->
"Hayama . . ."
--->--->--->--->--->
"Oi, Akito-kun!"
--->--->--->--->--->
"If I get busy with work again and can't see you , what'll you do?" she'd asked him.
To which he'd replied, "If you wanna see your friends, you can. . . ."
That last thought pained him the most. If she was alive, which she must be, why hadn't she come back? She'd agreed with what he'd said, so why hadn't she come back to see them?
He knew why it hurt him when he thought of that conversation.
It was still an open wound, and now it was gaping, spilling all his blood onto the cool pavement.
Glossary of Translations:
ichi-one.
ni-two.
san-three.
Author's Note: I finished this super early just for you! A look into how Hayama feels. . . . He's obviously still very wounded.