A Wilting Rose

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Part II: Drowning

It exists plainly, simply;Yet it isn't alive, and it never will be.Cloaked in lies and deceits,It is no more than an act.Nothing but a cheap imitation.It stays in this time without reason to leave,And has no reason to stay.It is just here.

A soft tapping noise pulls me from the realm of unconsciousness I had graciously accepted earlier, and I open my eyes slowly, half-expecting to be blinded by the flood of white that would greet me when I woke. Surprisingly enough, I am not blinded at all. Apparently, in the time I have spent in my reverie, the sun has already slipped well past my window, dimming the room lightly, and making it more favorable to my sensitive eyes. I push myself into a sitting position as another gentle knock taps rhythmically across my door.

"Yes?" I call stretching, arching my back elegantly, grimacing as my vertebrae crack in protest.

My mother opens the door and walks in slowly, shutting it behind her gently. "How are you feeling, Shuichi, dear?" she asks, smiling at me and crossing my room slowly, each step taken full of measure and purpose.

I turn and rise gingerly to stand at the edge of my bed, and turn to smooth my hands across the sleek, cool sheets. Straightening the covers neatly into place again,

I answer mother's query with my back turned to her. "Much better, Mother. I think the few hours of sleep I allowed myself really aided me."

"You're sure you're feeling better now?" she asks tensely. I hear the worry in her voice, and I feel her take a step closer to me, her presence suddenly becoming much more prominent in the small room.

I turn to her, having finished with my sheets and feeling that I have straightened them satisfactorily. "Yes, Mother. Do I have reason not to be sure?" I ask politely, trying to ignore the obviously concerned look in her warm eyes.

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," she sighs tiredly; her exhaustion is palpable and deep, the sigh comes from her very bones, from deep within her soul. "It's just that if you're feeling better, you won't have to miss any more school."

"Of course, Mother," I reply lightly. "So, to what do I owe this visit?"

"Oh, right." She laughs lightly, her sweet alto dancing softly around the room. "Well, dinner is done. I wanted to come tell you, as you've been asleep all afternoon since I got home. I thought you might be hungry."

I nod marginally. To be honest, I am not terribly hungry; I have lost much of my appetite in the past few days. But, I do not wish to cause mother any more undue stress by turning her down.

"Of course, Mother. You are correct in your assumption. Shall I escort you downstairs, then?" I ask heading towards the door, holding my arm out for her.

She laughs again — truly such a heavenly sound to my ears — and swats my arm down. "Don't let me kid you, Shuichi, darling. I'm not a lady worthy of your gentlemanly disposition," she insists as she follows me out of the room shutting the door behind her.

My stepfather and brother are already seated at their respective spots around the dinning room table when mother and I join them. My stepfather smiles warmly at me in greeting as I take my seat next to mother, and I nod to him in acknowledgment. Shuuichi gives me a small wave and a bright ear splitting grin, which I return with a small smile and another respectful nod.

For the first few minutes of the meal we all remain silent as dishes get passed around and we fill our plates. Then, once the scraping of dishes and plates has settled, casual conversations take over the peace. I pick up snippets of them here and there, but make no effort to include myself in any of them.

"So, how was your day, Shuuichi?" mother asks, turning to gaze at him.

Her look is one that leaves a person feeling so special, so utterly important; as though he is the only person on the planet. Like she has only eyes and ears for him. And she is sincere, which makes her all the more amazing.

"Same as usual," he replies, swallowing a mouthful of rice and shrugging in an offhand, casual sort of way typical of someone his tender age. "Just normal school stuff."

"School stuff?" his father, Hatanaka, asks incredulously, shaking his head in something like mock-astonishment. "Isn't there something they teach you at that place? Not just stuff?"

He laughs easily, scooping up another heap of steamed rice with his chopsticks. "No, not really," he supplies, shoveling the food into his mouth again with vigor.

"Well, I can't say I learned anything at work either, don't feel bad," Hatanaka replies shrugging, looking laughingly sympathetic.

"Not true," Mother chides in, her voice rising in a sing-song way typical of her when she is in a joking mood. "You learned how to burn noodles!" She laughs kindly and turns to Shuuichi, poking her chopsticks in the opposite direction, towards his father. "He can't cook Souba noodles, Shuuichi," she grins, smiling with school girl-like grace.

He holds in a laugh, almost choking on a bit of rice. Hatanaka looks good-naturedly embarrassed and shoots a friendly glare towards mother. I just sit at the table silently, picking half-heartedly at my plate. I just cannot find my appetite.

I should not really be sitting here.

I idly move the food on my dish around in tight circles with my chopsticks, wondering why I am sitting here. I am not hungry in the slightest bit and the conversation hovering about the table concerns me in no way. There is no reason why I cannot just excuse myself politely, and retire for the night.

So, why do I remain seated then?

Because it would be rude, I tell myself. And it would worry mother even more than she is already worried about me. And frankly, she has been doing enough of that lately. I do not want to burden her more.

Besides, I should wait awhile longer.

Patience is a virtue after all.

And so, I resign myself to wait out the entirety of the meal, whether I actually have reason to or not. I pacify myself by listening to the conversation happening around me, random and meaningless as it is. Even if not directed to me, it still passes the minutes, however slow they may dredge on.

"At least I don't burn water, Shiori," Hatanaka teases motioning to her with a wave of his chopsticks, his whole arm waving them, as though to punctuate his meaning.

"You can burn water, Mom?" Shuuichi asks laughing.

"I'm telling you that pot was possessed, I swear," she defends herself shaking her head.

"Right… And that's why the whole place almost went up in smoke?" Hatanaka smiles.

"Well, you've no right to complain; it's still standing, isn't it?" She quips back.

Their conversation seems so pointless. Actually, it is rather uninteresting. But I will still sit here patiently waiting for the evening to come to a close.

I do not know why I bother. I will not hear what I seek.

I am in the mind to forget it; I would rather not waste time sitting here without cause. I have better, more important things to do. And, if not more important, then at least more gratifying.

Besides, I will not be accepted in the conversation. I will not be acknowledged.

I make a slow move to push away from the table. Suddenly — perhaps my sense of spatial reasoning has failed, I do not know, but time seems to freeze, motion stops, and all I am aware of is mother's eyes probing, watching me. She has fallen silent, abandoning the lively conversation that she had been a part of moments before, and glances at me. As I said, my reasoning must have abandoned me — the glance she casts holds my gaze no more than a passing second, yet it seems an eternity in waiting to me.

I will sit it out anyway, I decide tiredly.

Dinner tonight seems to drag on far longer than any other previous to it. Honestly, I do not think I can make it through the meal, cannot possibly hold out for one more minute. But, as with everything else, it does come to an end, eventually, and I can finally excuse myself politely from the table.

My room is dark when I reenter it, and I must turn on my light. When the false lighting seeks to offer me no solace, I turn to my window, hoping that natural light will.

I lean out the window, propping myself up on my elbows, and peer out over the outer ledge. The cool night breeze washes over my face and whips red locks into my eyes and over my cheeks. I focus on the sun, slowly slipping behind the horizon, painting any nearby sky in placid tones of red, with detached attention, glazed eyes, and let my mind wander.

I really do not belong here.

From the way the three of them — my mother, Hatanaka, and Shuuichi — had held such a nonchalant chat over dinner, without so much as mention of me, it supports my view perfectly.

I am better off gone.

The woman would assuredly lead an easier life herself if she had one less mouth to feed, especially when that extra mouth currently does not eat what she sets in front of it.

But what would be the way?

There seems no reason for me to stay: I just get in the way. Or rather, I just should not stay because I do not act like I am ever here to begin with.

Could I leave? Simply go to school one morning and never return? Oh, but where would I go? Everywhere I could go I would find myself being brought promptly back here.

Perhaps I should just end it.

I could just get it over with; spare myself the monotony of dealing with all of this.

But could I truly do that?

The prospect looming before me does not bother me in the slightest. It soothes me, if anything.

For myself, yes, without regrets, would be no problem.

I am not so certain that the prospect would be so easily accepted by everyone else, however.

I cannot do that to Shiori.

I think I would be better off never existing — or never having existed at all, for that matter — in the first place. Though, I suppose it is a little too late for that now.

My thoughts are disturbed by the familiar gentle knocking pattern of my mother.

"Come in, Mother," I call, turning away from my window and the sunset; away from the open space and uncharted freedom it offers, to face the door, and mother instead; towards the door that will lay forever locked behind me, keeping me forever trapped in a reality to which I do not belong.

She walks in, shutting the door behind her soundlessly, repeating the same process she had earlier this evening. Then sits herself down on my bed, motioning that I should come beside her, which I do.

"Shuichi," she begins gently. "How are you?"

"How am I?" I repeat, not really understanding her question or her intent as I lower myself comfortably beside her on my futon, thinking that I will once again have to smooth the sheets tonight.

She nods slowly, her eyes focusing on me; there is something haunted about those eyes — that look. Something very familiar to me, yet I cannot place it. "Yes — how are you in school? At home? Is everything all right?"

Silence.

No.

Everything is not all right. I am not fine at home; I do not belong at home. School is fine, except that everyone either hates me or loves me to an extent so unprecedented that I wish they would hate me as well.

I am not fine; I do not know what I am.

"Yes, Mother, I am fine; very well, really. School is fine: my grades are superb. And, of course, I am fine at home. Do I have reason not to be?" I ask, trying my best to sound conversational and engaged.

I thought I was tired of the constant lies I lived behind? Surprising how easily they still spill from my lips despite that.

"I see…" she begins quietly. Her next words come out slowly; with difficulty, as if she is having trouble putting her thoughts into words. "Then, why have you been missing so much school lately…?"

I blink, startled by the question — the last I was expecting. "I just have not been feeling well; the weather has not been all too pleasant lately, has it?" I supply hesitantly.

"Shuichi, please…" she replies sadly, her eyes focusing on me with a wounded, teary look. "Please don't lie to me."

My jaw clenches because if I were to let the muscles move of their own accord, I would be gaping unabashedly at mother right now. "Of course I am, Mother. Why else would I stay home?"

"I know you're not sick," she interjects, waving my blatant lie away as easily as she would swipe an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "You never get sick for such lengths of time. Or this often."

I try not to stare at her with this revelation, but my eyes do not seem to want to blink. My voice crawls into the back of my throat and try as I might, my tongue will not form the words I need to steer the conversation into more shallow water. Knowing I have been caught, effectively, in the middle of a lie, a knot of shame wells in my stomach and I avert my gaze, staring dazedly towards my window and the pinprick stars that are trying valiantly to outshine the moon.

"I've just been letting you stay home, Shuichi," she explains quietly, her voice betraying neither disappointment not anger. "I know something is bothering you. What's the matter?" She puts a comforting hand on my thigh, squeezes in gentle reassurance.

I close my eyes, trying to get that expression out of my mind; I just can't stand to see her like this, least of all when I know I am the reason for it, the cause of all her undue suffering. I know she will not let it show in her voice or on her face, but I know here well enough to know that she is disappointed in me, and perhaps rightfully worried.

I sigh knowing all I can do is tell her the truth now, and begin to speak without turning to look at her. "School just bores me, Mother. My grades should be proof of that. I am not accepted there; or I am overly accepted. Neither of which is something I find helpful," I concede slowly, reluctantly.

Suddenly, I feel slightly better. For once I have not lied to her, and the weight it lifts from my shoulders, like a lead brick being unfastened from about me, is a surprising relief. But, her expression is not exactly the most reassuring.

And why would it be? What I told her is probably not what she wanted to hear.

"I see," she replies quietly, her voice suddenly tired. Then, her voice drops another octave. "And what about here; are you happy here?" I can hear the anxiousness in her voice.

Silence again.

This is unexpected. I have never been asked a question that has made me feel so stupid and lousy all at once. I do not know what to say.

"Of course I am happy here, Mother," I finally assure her after a painfully quiet moment.

She still seems disbelieving, however, as she asks, "Are you sure?"

"I have you, Hatanaka, and Shuuichi. A wonderful and loving family if ever there was one. Perhaps school falls short and leaves me unfulfilled, but I assure you, Mother, I am happy here. How can I not be?"

"It's just…" She sounds on the verge of tears, and it tugs at my heart painfully having to see her like this.

"Mother, please—" I voice gently, finally turning to look at her. I shift to face her entirely and give her the best smile I can muster, circumstances considered. "Please do not cry."

At this, she laughs slightly and wipes at the corners of her eyes. Then she sighs. "It's just that you've become so withdrawn — so secluded recently." Her voice breaks off shakily, and I wonder if she will truly keep the tears at bay. "It seems like you don't want to have anything to do with the rest of the family. It just worries me…"

"Mother," I begin, laying my hand over hers gently and squeezing it in reassurance — though honestly, the warmth of her small, frail hand in my own is more a comfort to me than my hand on hers probably is to her. "I assure you that all is well. Of course I want to be part of the family — how could you think otherwise?"

I am lying again; they just do not seem to want to stop flowing off of my lips.

"You know me, Mother. I have never been very social, that is all. You have no reason to worry," I assure her firmly, my voice more confident than I am feeling.

I cannot stop them; they flow like water in a stream, steady and unobstructed it is so natural. I am so tired of the very lies I live behind, yet I do absolutely nothing to stop them from coming.

She nods, laying her other hand over mind and squeezing it gently. "I know, I know…" she mumbles. "But just remember: I love you…"

My heart beats painfully in my chest for doing this to her. How can I be so selfish as to even have considered abandoning her? What kind of son am I? A sick wave of guilt and nausea writhe in my stomach, and I lower my eyes to the carpet beneath my bare feet. I cannot stand to see her like this.

"You mean more to me than you could ever know, Shuichi, and I — I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you…" she continues on quietly, her voice threatening tears again.

How can I do this to her? How? What gives me the right?

"I know, Mother, I know…" I reply softly, closing my eyes tightly, clamping my eyelids shut and with them, shutting down my higher reasoning, willing myself to truly believe her. Yet, I am deaf to her words.

She sighs. "Yes, all right." Slowly, she lifts her head to look at me, and I have to force myself to look briefly up at her, and resist the urge to look away. She gives a weak smile, gently brushes the bangs from my eyes, and plants of soft kiss on my forehead. "Good night, then." She stands and heads to the door, my gaze falling guiltily back upon my carpet. She turns back to me once more, standing half in my room, half in the hallway. "Sweet dreams. "

Then she is gone, leaving me to sink back into my pit of guilt and self-loathing.

I cannot do it. I cannot leave her; cannot abandon her.

I do not want to hurt her — not any more than I already have.

I cannot leave her.

But it is not right for me to continue lying to her.

If I do not want to leave her, I have little choice but to, I fear.

There has got to be a median. Some way we both can win.

I am not going to hurt the woman any more than I have already, but I need to appease myself as well. No longer can I live this life solely for the sake of those around me.

There has got to be something, anything. Any way we can both win.

As I have learned over the course of my life — human and demon alike — when you do not like either of the two choices thrown before you, go with the third…

Make your own.

If only I knew what that was…