Chapter 19: A promise renewed
Seven months ago, he came to her.
Keitaro had been moody all day, avoiding contact with her. Motoko racked her brain, trying to decipher his enigmatic behavior. Did she offend him? Was she being too forward? Was he feeling guilty about their time together? They had been intimate, but had yet fully expressed themselves physically. Could he still be in love with Naru? This above all her other doubts affected Motoko the most – it was the one doubt she knew to be true.
Motoko sat on the edge of her bed touching her lips, her ecstasy still lingering from his kiss. A week had past since that wonderful night. His hands had touched her – a lover's touch. She reveled in his warmth, his scent. Motoko had never known such intimacy before. She confessed her love and he did not reject it. Did Keitaro return her love? He never said the words, but he stayed with her – it was all that she needed.
For a week, she lived elated in love's embrace. They held hands, shared passionate kisses, and lived happily. However, today was different. He recoiled from her touch and gave no explanation. The few words he spoke to her were terse, devoid of the warmth they once carried. Motoko descended into misery as old wounds reopened.
She began to tremble, the self-loathing resurfacing from its dormancy. She must have done something to Keitaro. Her eyes gazed down on her scars. No, he finally realized how disgusting she was to look at.
Distracted by old demons, Motoko did not realize that her body was moving towards her dresser – a hidden urge taking over. She opened the drawer and pulled out her tanto, buried underneath her clothes. She unsheathed the blade, its luminous surface reflecting her tortured eyes.
Her body ached for the release that the blade promised her. Her hands shook, a testament of the battle waging within her. It had been years since she allowed any blade to touch her skin. The knife edged slowly towards her bare flesh. Suddenly, the door to her room burst opened – Keitaro stood in the doorway, seething in rage. He charged towards her, knocking the blade from her hand. Motoko, stunned by his appearance, stood with her mouth gaping. No words were exchanged, only the silence remained.
He grabbed her arm violently, nearly ripping it from the shoulder. She let out a strained cry as pain rippled from his grip. He barked, "What the hell were you thinking?" Motoko tried to say the words, but fear tore through her. She stuttered incoherently, further enraging Keitaro. His eyes blazed with a fury that drove Motoko to the brink of madness. She broke down, bawling into his arms.
His fingers enclosed around the back of her neck. She could feel his grip tightening, his anger apparent. Keitaro's rage had not subsided, but intensified as Motoko's tears flowed unabated.
It seemed like eons had passed, before his grip on her slackened, his anger waning. Keitaro embraced her, holding Motoko close to him. His hand massaged her neck gently, his fingers intertwining with her sinewy hair, soothing her weary soul. Motoko stood taller than Keitaro, but in this moment, she seemed so small to him – fragile as porcelain. Her head buried into his left shoulder, her long black hair shrouded over him like a cloak. He whispered into her ear, "Motoko, I'm sorry for hurting you today. None of it was your fault. I just had some things on my mind, please forgive me." Motoko could only nod her head in response, the emotions still turbulent within her.
Keitaro then grabbed her by the shoulders and gently extricated her from him. He wanted to look into her eyes, but she turned away, too afraid to look at him directly. His hand reached under her chin, and tenderly led her face to his. Keitaro's heart nearly broke at Motoko's dejected appearance.
He still thought of her as the stoic warrior from his memories, but he reminded himself that was years ago. Motoko had suffered terribly and made herself vulnerable to him. The implications were not lost on Keitaro. He was responsible for her – for all of it. He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.
Withdrawing from her, he took a deep breath then exhaled. He looked into her eyes, and spoke, "Promise me, Motoko. Promise me that you won't try to hurt yourself again," his words were shaking at this point, "I can't lose you, understand?" Motoko's demons were put to rest by his words. Wiping the last vestige of tears from her eyes, she replied in a hushed voice, "I promise Keitaro."
They melted into each other's arms. Motoko could feel the warmth returning – "this is love," she thought. Keitaro's mind had also reached a decision: "This is where I belong."
What came next was rapture.
The ebb and flow of Motoko's raw emotions kindled a burning desire that ached for release. She had lost him once before, Motoko was determined not lose him again. She led Keitaro to her bed, drawing him closer to her. They kissed, giving form to the deep longing within them.
Motoko blushed at the memory of their first union. She remembered the pain of losing her virginity to him, the sight of her blood still salient in her thoughts. The pain, however, gave way to a new feeling – a deep yearning finally quenched. Her blush became a furious red as the images of his "actions" flooded her memories.
A month later they were married. It was a civil ceremony attended by only a few of the friends that Motoko had made during her time teaching at the local college. Still, it was the happiest day of her life. She was married to her one true love and would be the mother of his child.
Now, in her final trimester, Motoko Urishima awaited the arrival of their son – though how the doctor could tell from the swirls of distortions from the ultrasound escaped her understanding. Today was her last day teaching. She needed to prepare for the baby's arrival, but regretted leaving her position. Over the years, Motoko grew to love her work. It made her feel more complete than her days as a dedicated swordswoman. As a warrior, she could protect lives, but as a teacher, she was shaping lives. It was a good life for Motoko, here with Keitaro. She looked over to the clock on the wall, noticing that her husband should be arriving soon with her lunch.
She returned to her desk, relieving her swollen ankles from the excess weight she had to carry. Though she enjoyed the prospects of motherhood, Motoko was utterly dismayed of how her body was affected by the pregnancy. Looking in the mirror each morning was a constant battle for Motoko. Her once taut and lean body had been replaced by a swelling, bulbous entity prone to morning sickness and mood swings.
Still, Keitaro never made her feel anything less than beautiful. He was always there for her. He held back her hair during those awful mornings in the bathroom. He massaged her feet and ankles every day with fragrant oils and a caring smile. This and a multitude of other tiny pleasures he gave to her.
And the sex was great – though she would never make such an overt comment.
As Motoko graded the last of her students' quizzes, her mind drifted back to the memories of Keitaro and their encounters – the term she used to refer to their love making. She blushed at her raging carnal desires. Thinking to herself, "Oh my god, I am a pervert."
"Are you feeling sick Motoko," Keitaro asked. Startled, Motoko acted out of instinct. Before she realized what was happening, the eraser she held in her hand was soaring through the air, straight for Keitaro's forehead.
Though forsaking the sword, Motoko's considerable fighting abilities had not faded away. Keitaro let out a yelp as the eraser impacted, leaving behind a red welt. Motoko giggled at the sight of her husband's confused expression. Composing herself, she replied, "I am sorry husband, I was just startled." Remembering his first question, Motoko nervously added, "And I am not ill, it's just hot flashes from the pregnancy."
Keitaro smiled in response. Though only married for a few months, he could already tell when his wife was lying to him. "Really, I could have sworn that you were thinking of something perverted just then," Keitaro said with an innocent smile. Motoko's blush deepened as the truth was revealed. Though deeply in love, Motoko was still a modest woman who did not enjoy voicing such things in a public place.
"Oh Joy," his mind screamed. He loved teasing her. It reminded him of a boy poking a tiger with a stick – and surviving to tell the tale. He walked closer to her in the most casual manner he could muster. Then with a cherubic expression, he continued, "Yes, I do believe you were thinking of something very explicit. Perhaps, you were recollecting something? Let me see, were you thinking of that time in the park, or perhaps when we were in that movie theatre? Wait, I got it! I seem to recall this desk and something about you being the overbearing teacher and I the lowly class delinquent…"
Motoko's face became brighter and redder – the heat of which could peel paint off of walls – as Keitaro continued his little stroll down memory lane. Her anger was only eclipsed by the arousal she was feeling as the memories of their indiscrete encounters popped into her consciousness.
Motoko was about to interject when she began to feel a sharp pain from her womb. Startled by these sensations, she leaned over in her chair. Suddenly, she felt warm liquid dribbling down her inner thighs. Keitaro saw the concern take hold of Motoko's expression. "What's wrong Motoko," he asked. Motoko, reaching for his hand, replied, "I think my water broke."
Eight thousand miles away, a private Su-Tech jet was soaring above the Pacific, destination: Newark-Liberty International Airport. Naru gazed out her window, knowing somewhere out there was Keitaro - alive and well. She felt someone's hand clasping her own. She turned from her window and saw Kitsune sitting next to her, a warm smile telling her that she was not alone.
Six years have passed since Naru last spoke to Keitaro - those words forever engraved into her soul. The tears rained down. The last thing Keitaro heard from her were words drenched in malice and distrust. How could she ever be forgiven for doubting the man she loved – the man she had never stopped loving.
Naru's knuckled turned white as she squeezed Kitsune's hand, overwhelmed by the maelstrom of emotions she was feeling. Kitsune bit her bottom lip, trying to mask the pain. For Naru, Kitsune could bear her friend's suffering, if for a little while. As Naru wept, Shinobu sat quietly in the back of the airliner.
Her thoughts were focused, her emotions kept in check. Shinobu had spent years honing both her mind and body, trying to reclaim the initiative to live after Keitaro's accident. He nearly died because of her. The guilt of her role in Keitaro's tragedy hung over her like the sword of Damocles. She knew that she deserved death, but not yet. She needed to live to fulfill the vows she made. She needed to live long enough to see Motoko again.
Shinobu saw Motoko that night – the night she slit her wrists. After being brought to the hospital, Shinobu woke up from her nightmare, finding herself lying in a strange bed, dressed in a hospital gown. She left the confines of her room, escaping the notice of the nurses, and headed towards the familiar sounds of women crying. As Shinobu entered the waiting room, she spied Haruka rusing out of the bathroom, her face showing signs of panic. Morbid curiosity took hold of her. She went in and noticed the pool of blood. She was startled to see Motoko on the floor, drenched in liquid crimson.
Realization came in one fell swoop. The nightmare she had was real. Motoko did attack Keitaro. The women she heard crying was the other residents. They were in the same hospital that Keitaro was dying in.
Rage filled the tiny frame of Shinobu Maehara – a rage long repressed by years of rejection and self-loathing. It was only Haruka's reentry that had stopped her from doing what was most obvious to her – killing Motoko.
Though her mind remained shattered much of the first two years after Keitaro's tragedy, Shinobu slowly crawled her way back to the living. She had a promise to keep to her sempai. She was going to make it into Tokyo University and live her life, but she also had another promise to fulfill. A promise she made as she saw the blood drain from Motoko's body. It was the power of her promises that propelled her forward. She trained in the same discipline that gave her enemy strength, under the tutelage of the Aoyama elder. She developed her cunning and guile with the aid of the Urishima School of martial arts, under the mentorship of its master – Kanako Urishima. She sacrificed much, endured even more, to achieve her goals.
Shinobu had gotten into Tokyo University. Now fate had given her the chance to go to the man she loved and tell him that she had kept her promise to him. Looking out the window of the airliner, Shinobu reminded herself that she had one more promise to keep. Renewing the old vow, Shinobu whispered, "I'll make her pay for what she did to you Keitaro, this I swear."