Lazy eyelids. Foggy mind. Heavy limbs. The commander remembered times when he didn't feel so drained, but those were times of nostalgia and the distant past. Alarms ringing, unable to rouse him from his heavy sleep while the sun was shining bright outside. Eyes wide open, unable to get any sleep in the night. Eye squinting migraines. Words on the page trailing off into illegible letters into frustrated scribbles. Teeth grinding.
If he wasn't so terrified of hurting himself any further, he would've drilled a hole into his temple and dripped out all that poison out of his head, where it would corrode the concrete below.
Sometimes he'd sit and eat and listen to others talk. It was always easier to listen than to talk. They'd talk about a wide variety of topics which would meander much like a singular cow grazing in an abundant pasture. His friends back at academy always discussed everything in between the teachers, the food, the opposite sex, and matters from home. The people they left behind, the people who they kept in touch with. And in much the same way, the kansen here weren't any different. All the things they talked about were things he didn't care about. That made him unbearably lonely.
There had to be people who felt equally as bad as he did, right? There was no way, out of the hundreds of thousands of people he met in passing, were satisfied with talking about cars and computers and clothes. Or things like politics or inside jokes or people who were long gone.
Once he made the fatal mistake of mentioning his troubles to a group. His own problems felt infinitely more substantial than all the other problems regarding being able to pay for some item or recent heartbreak. But the response had been a little more than lukewarm. He didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe some sympathy, maybe a friend. He walked away with neither. He never went out with them again. They didn't call for him, either.
Maybe he really was the only person in the world who felt this way, he had thought. Lonely. Hollow. Forgotten.
So in a way, it didn't surprise him when Bremerton didn't follow through on his request. It was about what he expected of others. To his annoyance, he found that there was some part of him which hoped that she had understood him perfectly, and he felt disgusted by it.
—
Staring into the darkness of his bedroom, the commander wished to see the infinite dark abyss but instead saw a smooth white ceiling with one unpowered light bulb. Maybe in the depths he could have imagined some sparks from stars, or even from passing airplanes. Instead, the only thing he had for company was the blank walls and himself.
He'd imagined long ago of sharing a bed with a significant other, back when he was a stupid teenager. They'd talk in the dead of the night sharing insecurities and secrets, and awaken in the embrace of each other. That idea probably stemmed from reading too many young adult fiction, with happy pairings and endings which had filled him with a temporary sense of content and a permanent longing for one himself. When he had carried Unicorn to his bed the other day, he felt sickened by the fact that he seriously considered laying down next to her. He wouldn't have dared to lay a hand on her, but the idea of hearing the sound of someone's breath by him as he dozed off sounded irresistible.
Of course, he realized that sounded creepy as all hell and retired to his couch instead, but the fact that he had seriously considered it made him pathetic. Those were the thoughts of a complete loser.
Perhaps he wasn't too far off from a complete loser.
It filled his mind and intruded on every single thought. It called out to him and told him how awfully lonely he was. Nobody to talk to, nobody to confide in. Nobody wanted to hear all the stupid problems he was having. They all would've rather be concerned over their own. And that was nobody's fault at all. That was just people being people.
But there was no other option for him. Maybe this kind of life would have been appreciated by 99% of people. Maybe they could grasp and take advantage of all the privileges that being a naval commander had to offer. Maybe his mom and dad would have been satisfied with the income and status that came from being an officer. Where did that leave him? Alone, trying his best not to burden others lest they too cut him out.
Was there a solution? None that he could see. A lose-lose scenario.
Sometimes he wondered if anybody else shared the same problems as he. If there was such a person, then he had to wonder how they handled it. Did they get over it, by some miracle? Or were they still in the same straits as he was, unable?
There were plenty of times where he dreamt up characters to talk to. And despite being so good at lying to himself, he was unable to convince himself that these imaginary friends said anything that was not in his own voice. In the end, he was only talking to himself again, wasn't he? Why couldn't people pop into his dreams and give him a reason to do anything? A voice from heaven, some message written into the stars, a shitty fortune cookie.
Why did he have to get out of bed? Nobody was telling him to, so he won't. Why did he have to make an effort to go talk with others? Nobody enjoyed it on either side, so he won't. Why did he have to and play at the holotable? Other people could do just a good job as he did. They might as well do it themself, instead of wasting all that time himself. Might as well not go because it was wasted on him.
Here was a question that he hadn't answered ad infinitum: would anyone really miss him if he were gone? He had no friends of note. The few acquaintances of note had more important people to care about. He was nobody's best friend. His parents mentioned several times over how many times they were tired of him. So, there was really nothing holding him back from just dropping everything and disappearing. Maybe that's what he should do. Drop everything and just go somewhere that's anywhere near here. But where would he go?
There was nowhere he wanted to be, but there wasn't anywhere he wanted to go either. No point in travelling to other nations to be miserable if you could be miserable at home.
What did he really want?
If someone granted him a wish, what would he wish for? Of course, he didn't want to feel like shit all the time, but there was nothing that came to mind that would offer that. No, there was one thing that he didn't want to admit. He wanted to have someone who would go beyond the extra mile to drag him from the throes of misery. He wanted one of those imaginary characters to become real and offer him continuous companionship and dissipate all the worries in his mind. Have them say, regardless of what he thought of himself, the words he always wanted to hear all along. Someone who would listen and reassure him instead of changing topics and ignoring him.
But of course, such people only occurred in fiction and television. Was it other people's fault that they didn't care? No. If the scenario was reversed, he wouldn't give much of a shit either to a whiny, obsessive, ultimately unimportant nuisance. So what was a nuisance to do?
Any self respecting scourge would stay the hell away from others and stop being a general burden. Make life easier not only for others, but for himself as well. He'd finally have an excuse to stop trying so hard at something he would never be good at.
It'd forever be just him and him alone moving forward. And that was for the best, right?
Neither did the night outside nor the dark bedroom pass any judgement on the commander's quiet declaration. They were silent, save the insects' mating calls in the dead of the nightl. His whispered words didn't echo around the room, and he found that his warped and twisted feelings only intensified.
It was that way until he finally fell into a restless sleep.
—
Children are often told by adults to "enjoy their youth while they can." People, all grown up calculated by an arbitrary quantity of time, are allowed rights and freedoms in exchange for responsibilities. You're allowed to drink, smoke, gamble, and drive; you have to work, pay taxes, and perhaps take care of family.
Then some have the gall to collapse on their sofa at home after a cushy 9 to 5 job and a drive home, pop open a beer, and then tell his or her child rolling a toy on the carpet to enjoy every last moment and complain about how terrible having a job is. They puff out their chest and tell their teenage kid, who is looking for answers to questions they cannot even put into words, to get a grip on themselves and stop hanging out with that questionable bunch from school. And then they wonder why their kid turned elsewhere for comfort when their household always offered none.
Are these among the worst things to do to your own child? Of course not. Imagination can run wild and rampant to the depths of depravity. But does someone not have the right to feel bad when there's people starving in Africa? Do people get the right to complain over being lonely when others don't even have family to speak of, orphaned by unnatural disasters or inhuman parents? There's always someone out there who has it worse than you do. Chances are, your circumstances are only merely average, like most people are.
So obviously, it's the child's fault for being too sensitive, too immature, too egotistical when growing up. In the average family, where half of all couples divorce, clearly a child who was raised in a better-than-average household and didn't come out right is the onus of the child.
The world and everything in it has done nothing wrong to you. It treats some better, it treats others worse, but you came out about net positive. Despite all that, you have the gall to be unhappy?
Don't you suppose that it isn't anyone else's fault, but your own?
Despite everyone going beyond the least they could do, you have a solo circlejerk about how great it'd be to not live and not think?
Can you measure yourself by what you'll do in life, and reasonably say that you lived up to the investments everyone put into you out of goodwill?
You don't have to answer.
You already know, don't you?
—
It needn't be said that Amagi was keeping her distance from the commander. Ever since that mock battle, she didn't want to do anything that might have pushed him back to square one. She feared that perhaps he might just turn away, pride irrevocably wounded and let whatever lay between them in an awkward limbo forever unresolved.
In truth, if he had done anything that was untowards herself, Amagi would have retaliated in kind with no mercy. And she would have lost zero sleep over that. She had no respect for those who were unable to categorically see the difference between flaws of themself versus flaws of others.
Instead, it turned out Amagi didn't need to make herself scarce at all. He had essentially stopped going out altogether. He stopped going to the canteen for meals, he walked about the grounds less and less, and eventually stopped going to his office as well. The paperwork, Akagi had complained, was put to a complete halt. The forms, reports, and mail started to stack up, unmarked by a necessary signature. The skirmishes were led by autopilot.
Of course, she didn't disagree that the commander was acting juvenile and stupid. Getting knocked into turbulence by a single practice defeat was pathetic by anyone's metrics. One might have even called him melodramatic if she didn't know him any better.
But the burden was on him if he wanted to set things back how they used to be. But as weeks passed without any change, she reluctantly turned her attention to other personal matters. She expected a day where he'd inadvertently step into view during a conversation, mustering his courage to approach, and she'd have to excuse herself because he'd be content waiting for thirty minutes for Amagi's company to depart. That was all she asked for.
But that day did not come. Instead, they managed to bump into each other when she accompanied a group playing hide-and-seek when the winter had convincingly pivoted to the beginnings of spring. His cap was crooked low as to nearly cover his eyes, and his head was crooked down, intent on facing the pavement and counting the cobblestone.
Amagi said hello.
The commander brushed past her, either not hearing or not answering, like they didn't know each other at all.
Amagi thought of herself as a very patient woman. Patience, after all, was rewarded in seeing through long term plans. But at that point, it all boiled over.
She waited three more days, then she headed over to his quarters. She didn't bring her oil paper umbrella.
—
Amagi knocked three times on his door. When there was no response, she tried the doorknob. Unlocked.
The last time she'd been here, it was to talk with Belfast from so long ago. The order that was once kept under the scrutiny of a maid had long since flown into disarray. Dirty pots and bowls covered the dining table, and worn clothes were strewn all over the couch. The lights were off. Amagi took this in with a single cursory look, then headed into the bedroom and flicked on the lights.
The commander was on his side in bed at 2 in the afternoon. His eyes didn't even flicker from gazing at the far wall.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He said nothing, nor did he even move.
"I asked, what are you doing?"
Again, there was nothing.
It took everything for Amagi to not grind her teeth. "If you want to, stay in bed. I don't care what you do right now, but if nothing else, I need for you to talk to me."
There was a pause. He mumbled, in the most monotone and weakest of voices, "I don't know what there is to talk about." Amagi found it difficult deciphering his words; his words had about as much effort behind them as a shallow exhale.
She smoothed out her dress and sat at the foot of the bed. "Tell me what's been going on these last couple of weeks."
"Nothing."
"I think we both know that it's not 'nothing.'"
He finally turned over to face Amagi. "Why did you come here?"
"Because I was worried about you."
"If you were worried about me, why did it take you more than a month to see me?"
"Do you really think you would have liked me to come over the day after that practice game?" Amagi asked quietly.
The commander turned back to face the wall.
She continued, "Isn't it only right for me to wait until you say okay? I was waiting six weeks for you to see me. I thought it was you who didn't want to meet me."
"Then why today?" His voice was steadily becoming more and more incoherent.
"When I said hello to you, you pretended to not know me. That's when I realized that you decided that it was easier to live without me than approaching me," she said softly.
He defaulted back to his silence.
"You know, all of that's happened? I'm willing to overlook it all. You haven't been yourself all this time, and it's partly my fault that I didn't notice."
"No."
"No?"
The commander finally heavily sat up from his resting position. Amagi could see now that his fingernails were bitten down past the cuticles. He pointedly looked down at his lap, away from her eyes. "All I've done, it's always been me. I always have been a condescending egotistical asshole. I can pretend to be nice, but alone this is how I always have been. So now leave me be. Please," he whispered, and went back to lying down.
Amagi pursed her lips, and was silent. The commander's breath was shallow and unsteady. She asked, "When was the last time you ate?"
His voice was muffled under the covers. "I don't remember."
"Then get up. Let's go get something to eat. I'll wait outside."
The commander felt the weight on the mattress shift, and the door creak, and then silence. He contemplated for a long time lying in bed anyways. He hadn't been hungry for a long time. The first day had been the hardest, but he hardly felt any pangs today, on the third. There was no reason to eat.
He wondered if Amagi would still wait outside after an hour, two hours. Did she really care about him, or did it give her a sense of power after seeing him in his pathetic state? Since when was the last time anybody cared for somebody other than themself? From the depths of his heart, he did want Amagi to be genuine and to care. But he also thought that no such person existed.
Thirty minutes later, he dragged himself outside to where Amagi was waiting after a boiling shower and a new set of clothes. It would've been rude to make someone wait for too long. Besides, he decided that someone only pretending to care was good enough for him. It was too far of a long shot to hope for something which only existed in fiction.
They walked to the canteen together in silence.
—
A/N: I feel sick. Unfortunately, more often than not, I'm being whiny and melodramatic. Who has the time to be productive and work when one feels too drained to do much of anything, even eat? So these days I get tired, discouraged, and I deal with it until it eventually goes away. Sometimes I think I'm depressed. Just like the millions of media comments which say that "this song/video/story/person makes the depression go away," I wonder if I'm reverting back to my roots as a middle schooler with negative emotional depth. Unlike them, there really isn't anything that "cures depression" for me. Maybe I'm not depressed. Maybe I'm just being melodramatic again. I can't seem to tell the difference.
This story is doing wonderfully. It surpassed 30k views, and on the verge of pushing 200 follows and 100 reviews. These are numbers anybody would be proud of, and I thank you all for helping build up these numbers. I originally started this up as a branch of my (imagined or not) pervasive thoughts, yet I feel like I made no more further progress than when I posted chapter one nearly a year ago. Sure, I have big numbers. Sure, I feel that jolt of excitement when I get an email that says "Review: Under Development". But it now feels like I'm running in circles, stuck in the same circuit. Am I happy with my progress since one year ago? The numbers say yes, but everything else feels incredibly ambivalent.
I don't know what I hope to gain by posting this online for strangers (and a few friends) to see. Empathy? Advice? I don't know either. I guess it's the only remaining option. It's easier to let strangers weigh in on your life than shake up relationships with friends and family.
I feel sick.
