Green and scaled the alien's massive foot hurtles towards my face… with a wet crunch the world goes black.

I wake with a start, instinctively raising my arms to cross in front of my face. It was just a dream, just a stupid dream. I let out a slow breath, feeling my heart thunder in my chest and my phantom hand pulse painfully. Despite this, I find a smile creeping onto my face. Ha, it must be a mark of how messed up my life is that being killed in my dreams by a video game monster is actually welcome relief.

Almost without thinking about it I shuffle to the edge of the bed, sending my good arm to rummage about beneath it. I jump slightly when my fingertips encounter cold wooden flooring and it takes me an embarrassingly long time to realise I'm not in my own room - and there are no nearly empty bottles of whisky under the bed.

Damn it!

I'm hit suddenly with an enormous sense of loss, as if I had arrived just in time to see the last lifeboat flee my sinking ship. Followed at once with an even greater feeling of guilt. Not having booze shouldn't make me feel like that. It was just a stop gap measure so that I didn't wake Hisao or my family by screaming the house down after a dream.

Whisky does a better job of dream patrol than Ikuno ever could. Unfortunately it works too well. Drinking before bed doesn't stop the dreams as such, but it numbs them, makes the nightmares feel they are behind a curtain of mist, happening to someone else. I've not slept so well for a long time.

Frustrated I roll onto my stomach, pinning my stump in place between my abdomen and the mattress. Biting the soft fabric of the pillow I start to laugh, almost hysterically at how absurd this whole situation is. I'm stuck in a house with a woman who hates me, a boyfriend who after lunch has gone into a kind of coma of apathy and to top it all off, a giant of a man who is perhaps the most henpicked person I've ever met.

My life is a fucking soap opera.

Indigent at not making the list of problems my phantom wrenches at my non-existent little finger as if trying to rip it off, however the digit simply stretches sending a jolt of pain up my arm. I feels like the bone is splintering and I gasp into the pillow. Gah, fine! I don't feel like laughing anymore.

My eyes become moist as I try feebly to control my breathing, a process hindered greatly by a mouthful of Egyptian cotton. Slowly, with the pace of red hot metal cooling the effect starts to fade, not completely, but to a point where the searing pain is manageable.

Letting out a resigned sigh I roll into my back, gently rubbing my bandaged stump, more out of habit than any real hope it might help with the dull ache in the nonexistent appendage. Whisky would have helped with this as well.

Cursing my errant thoughts I focus on the sounds of traffic outside, which even at this hour continues to rumble past; an endless stream of moving metal. There is so much noise here.

I guess I never appreciated the blessed silence at Yamaku, even my family's dilapidated apartment is only ever shaken by a late night delivery truck occasionally. I don't think this city ever stops, and i'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

The pain finally ebbs away, vanishing back into the night. But the damage has been done. I'm not going to be able to sleep.

Regretfully I sit up.

The floor seems unnaturally cold on my bare feet as I slip out from under the covers. Pulling down my t-shirt - which had ridden up in my struggles with the alien menace - I tiptoe over to the glass doors, leading out to the balcony.

Please let this door be unlocked.

As luck would have it the handle moves easily under my palm. Thank goodness. Then again I don't suppose there's much use in locking a door on the eighth floor, any burglar that makes it up this far isn't going to be put off by a cheap lock on a glass door.

Outside the night air is cooler than I expected, I shiver, my sleep shorts offering little protection against the stiff breeze. Looking up I'm sad to see the stars are hidden by the orange haze of the city lights. Yet another good thing about my secluded school.

Placing my hand on the railing I lean over the edge, looking straight down to the tiny cars far below.

"Going to jump?"

I leap away from the railing, my heart about to tear itself out of my chest. The fuck? Looking around wildly I see the balcony does not serve just my room, but extends all the way around the Nakais' section of building. Hidden half in shadows Hisao smiles softly, trying to hide his obvious amusement.

"Sorry," he says softly, "It was just funny you didn't spot me."

"No fair," I grumble, "And I can't get my own back."

"Why? - Oh…"

My momentary anger fades as the smile vanishes from his face.

"Nice pyjamas," I comment, pointing to helpfully to the sky blue cotton garments with a vague hope of lifting the mood.

With a tiny smile starting to blossom on his face he looks me up and down. Suddenly I feel very aware of just how short these shorts are, and pull on the hem of my tshirt. Well, at least I wasn't sleeping in my underwear.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes sparking. "Those are still not as short as my gym kit."

An image of him in those tiny red shorts flashes across my mind, leaving behind a wide smile. In just a few short steps I am by his side, so close I can feel the heat from his arm, together we lean on the rail, our eyes meeting for a moment before we both turn back to the city laid out before us like a chessboard.

"So…" I say, "What brings you out here?"

Pulling his fingers through his messy hair he ponders the question. "You first," he finally replies.

Right, trust, honesty… right.

"I had a nightmare," I say simply, not looking up.

"A bad one?"

"No more than usual." I shrug.

I sound like a sullen teenager, and I know it, but I'm not entirely sure how much I really want him to know.

"So you have nightmares often?" Hisao asks with concern.

"I guess." Again I shrug. Come on Miki, you can do better than this.

"Do you know what phantom pains are?"

To my relief he nods. Telling him is one thing, explaining is quite another. I feel him shift so our arms are touching, an act I take as an open invitation to rest my head on his shoulder. It's funny, I always thought I would feel different after telling someone else about the ghosts and dreams.

Silence falls between us, and I wonder what Hisao is thinking. As far as I can work out there are two options, either he will think I'm some fragile flower that needs protecting, or he will realise just what kind of damaged soul he has hooked up with.

"I'm sorry," he says at last.

"Don't be, it's not your fault." I reply quickly, before changing the subject as fast as I can. No one can say I didn't make an effort to open up.

"What are you doing up?"

"Oh, I couldn't sleep. I, well, I was thinking about you to be honest."

"Yeah?"

"Erm, yeah. Look, about what my mum said, well, I'm sorry."

"She's not exactly my biggest fan is she?" I say. The subject of Hisao and this girl - Iwanako - had almost completely slipped my mind. At the time I was more focused on his mothers assault to register much of what she was actually saying. However this girl clearly means something to my boyfriend, though I have no idea what.

"No." He sighs, pulling away from me to lean back over the handrail. "I don't know what's gotten into her, she was never like this with anyone before."

"Perhaps she was expecting to have you home alone after so much time apart?" I say reasonably. Could this women feel jealous of me? Seems an insane notion, but she certainly carries one hell of a grudge. But if she wanted to spend time with her son why wouldn't she just say? I'm hardly going to object, and with an entire city I'm sure I can find something to amuse myself. She clearly has no qualms about trying to split us up over lunch, so why not just ask?

I already know the answer. She's the type of person he would rather destroy me than open herself up to accusations of being rude. In other words a bitchy middle school bully through and through. But I will not be bullied, not again, no, it's on bitch.

"Did you hear me?" Hisao nudges my shoulder, bringing me crashing back to reality.

"Sorry no, I was lost in my own head." I feel my cheeks begin to burn - hopefully - it's too dark for him to see.

"I was saying it's a bit late to want to spend time with me now, neither of them cared before I had a heart attack." He says, his voice heavy with bitterness.

"I'm sure they cared about you," I say nervously, deciding against pointing out that an inattentive mother is better than a drunk one. Anyway it's stupid having a competition about who had the most messed up childhood, even if you win, you lose.

"Maybe, but they cared about their jobs so much more."

I shrug, "I suppose you don't get a home like this without working hard."

"You're defending them…" Hisao whispers, not bothering to hide the bitterness. Which burns all the more for being directed at me.

"I'm not," I say, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. "It's just I don't think there's such a thing as a perfect family, and the family you do have, well, you will regret losing it."

"I'm sorry," he says - there is no bitterness in his voice anymore - If anything he sounds ashamed. "I should have thought about your dad, I'm really sorry."

It's not a competition…

With a sign I sit down on the edge of the balcony, slotting my legs through the bars to dangle in the cool night air.

"It's not just my dad," I say softly, resting my forehead against the cold metal in front of me. I hope I can trust him. "My mum, used to drink, like a lot. It's… well you better sit down, it's a long story."

Sitting together under a polluted sky I tell him about myself, no cutting corners or hiding behind shrugs. I tell him everything and answer every question as honestly as I can. It's a terrifying, yet cathartic experience. Thankfully Hisao listens carefully, never looking at me like I'm somehow different, or broken. His pity would have destroyed us far quicker than his mother ever could.

"Anyway," I finish feebly, "Enough about me, who's Iwanako?"

He grimaces at the name. I'm not sure if this is a touchy subject, or he simply hasn't mentioned his ex girlfriend - if she even was his girlfriend - while with me. He probably thought I would be jealous of her, not an unfair assumption. But I just can't seem to muster any resentment for this mysterious girl, plus it's not like I've been much more forward with mine and Ayumu's relationship. Who knows, perhaps she hurt Hisao as badly as my ex hurt me.

"At school, she... Well, she confessed her feelings, and…" he pauses, his hand raising to his chest. "And I had a heart attack."

Shit.

"That's, like… fuck." I can't seem to find the words to describe that admission. It's like something that happens in a movie or comic book, so tragic as to be unbelievable. No wonder his mood was so dark when he came to Yamaku.

He gives me a pained smile, rubbing his sternum steadily.

"One moment I'm out in the snow with her, the next I'm locked away in hospital with a…" He doesn't finish his sentence, seeming to talk to himself more than me.

It's terrible of me, but I'm secretly celebrating the fact that my own confession didn't lead to his near death. I'm not sure if I could cope had I been the cause of another death. Hell, I'm not coping with one.

"She did come and visit me afterwards, my whole class did. People I didn't even know or speak to would bring me gifts and cards, but their attention soon dwindled until it was only my close friends." He pauses, looking away to hide the sudden dark look that crosses his face. "Then it was just Iwanako, then even she couldn't be around me anymore, and it was just my parents."

"Bitch," I say consolingly.

This at last draws a light chuckle from my understandably somber boyfriend. "It wasn't her fault, not really I wasn't exactly a nice person to be around back then."

"You had a heart attack, not being in a good mood is expected, right?"

Again he laughs softly, his warm eyes finding mine. "I don't blame her, it was hard on both of us. I'm just thankful I managed to find myself, and I have you to thank for that." He leans his head against the bars, watching me with a smile playing at his lips.

"Me? What did I do?" I ask taken aback.

He just smirks. It feels as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and I can't help but share the exhilaration brought forth by his now found freedom. Silently he reaches out through the restless night for my cheek, looking for my lips in the semi darkness, and I happily oblige.

I should tell the truth more often.

— — —

"You cannot be serious!" I hiss, a few inches from my boyfriends face.

"I'm sorry!" he replies, failing completely to hide his grin. "It was dad's idea and he bought the tickets before he knew you were coming, I swear I didn't know anything about it!"

"Right, come on! We don't want to be late." Mr Nakai calls loudly from across the worktop that dominates the centre of the kitchen area. I feel like diving on Hisao and refusing to let go unless he stays, or at least agrees to take me with him. Unfortunately he is already out of reach heading in the direction of the door, followed by his giant of a father.

"Have fun girls!" Haru calls over his shoulder. Glancing at his wife I'm surprised his back hasn't burst into flames with the look she is giving him. At least I'm not the only one completely put out by this arrangement.

While Hisao and his father are off spending some quality time wandering around some museum, I've been left to the whim of Mrs Nakai. Who by the looks of things is fresh out of mercy. Hisao better get home in one piece, because I'm going to kill him. The front door slams with a sound like the trap door on the gallows.

I stand awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, as she clatters around collecting pots and pans. I wonder if should just sneak back to my room? Or better yet, retreat to Hisao's room and his games console. There's a better chance of my super space soldier and the alien invasion working things out than me and this demented woman anyway.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Hisao's mother snarls, not bothering to look at me.

A wooden block containing an assortment of knives catches my eye. Tempting.

"I'm sorry, what would you like me to do?" I say as politely as possible, though I feel like shouting.

"What can you do?"

More than you I bet, and I'm at a handicap.

"Anything you need me to, we're cooking something right?"

"A cake, yes." She lets out a slow sigh, some of the anger slipping away. "I need to make a phone call, can I leave you to measure out the ingredients?"

I'm about to ask how exactly I'm supposed to know what we need - and in what quantities - when she places a cookbook in front of me, using a bright red painted fingernail to point at the relevant information. It's a little like baking with my grandmother, but lacking her gentle nature and kindly warmth.

"Yes," I say curtly, "Anything else?"

"That should be more than enough to be getting on with." she replies, before noiselessly leaving the room.

With a somewhat surreal feeling I scour the gleaming kitchen for the necessary supplies. My fear that she might not actually have any of the items on the list, and set this task purely to mess with me proved to be unfounded. Apparently even she's not that cruel.

Noa returns just as I finish measuring the correct amount of sugar, the last of the ingredients needed. Digital scales are definitely easier than the brass and chain affair of my grandmothers beach house.

"Everything ok?" I ask, unable to grasp anything from her neural expression.

To my surprise she answers with something other than the sneer I was expecting. "Quite, unfortunately even on holiday work keeps me busy."

"Yeah, Hisao mentioned you and your husband worked a lot of hours." I say evenly, busying myself with mixing egg and flour. It feels a bit like I'm playing the carnival game with the wire and hoop, where if you accidentally knock one against the other an alarm will sound. Only diffidence here is I have to watch for saying something stupid, rather than an unsteady hand.

"You two have known each other long?"

"Yeah, from his first day at school - we share a homeroom."

What follows is some of the most stilted and awkward conversation I have ever had. Still, the cake is coming together nicely, and Hisao's mother is on the verge of being almost friendly towards me. I can't help but feel that this is what Shizune will be like in thirty years - they will have invented robot ears by that point, or at the very least a robot Misha.

At last all the necessary ingredients have been mixed. Now how the hell do I get this into the baking pans? There are very few times nowadays I even notice I'm missing my hand - other than when it decides to forcibly remind me - but looking at the heavy mixing bowl I'm suddenly very much aware of my deformity.

"Need a hand?"

Her reaction is immediate and predictable. With a gasp she covers her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide. So she said and did all those horrible things without batting an eyelid, but the mere idea that I'm lacking a hand is where she draws the line? I smile softly, quite enjoying her discomfort.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbles at last, "I didn't mean."

"Don't worry, your son said the same thing shortly after we met." She winces when I mention Hisao's awkward turn of phrase, "And, like I said to him, I could do with some help."

With a quick nod she quickly moves to lift the bowl, and together we split the mixture evenly into two baking tins. Her rapidly adjusted attitude seems to be more than a passing phase as she throws me a wide smile. Her face seems to lighten and soften with her grin, and I can just barely see echoes of the dimples that feature on her sons face.

Though I can't help but feel put off. She only started treating me with a semblance of courtesy after she was made acutely aware of my missing hand. I don't know if that should annoy me or not.

"It must be hard, living with…" She gestures to my stump. Apparently "only one hand" is too rude to even mutter.

"I've gotten used to it," I reply, bending down to open the oven door, the heat hitting me like a solid object.

"So, you've not always…" Again she cuts herself off.

It's a little disconcerting having what is an essentially a stranger be even this open when enquiring about my deformity. Then again half an hour ago she looked fit to murder me, so this definitely a marked improvement. Plus I suppose I should not expect any less from my boyfriend's mother.

"No, I've only been at Yamaku for two years." I reply, sliding the second pan inside and closing the oven door.

"You're parents must have been beside themselves."

"They were inconsolable." I can't help but smirk and my own rather sick joke, which luckily Hisao's mother misses, having turned to prepare drinks.

She offers me a cup of tea, and we sit in peaceful silence, the rumbling of traffic the only sound - other than the occasional clink of porcelain on marble.

"Can I ask you something?" I say, biting my bottom lip. This might be a mistake.

Noa, holding her mug in both hands as if sheltering from the cold nods.

"What was Hisao like before," again I find myself biting my lip, "Before Yamaku?"

"You want to know if he's changed?" she asks, eyebrow raised.

I nod quickly, I was expecting outrage.

"He actually changed quite dramatically since we last saw him." Her tone is neutral, her lips pursed.

She's unhappy that her son is no longer - how did he describe it - 'Not a nice person to be around'?

"But, that's good right?"

I might be pushing my luck, but her reaction has me mystified.

"It is, of course it is," she pauses to sip at her tea, "You've done something I never could."

What?

Her eyes, so reminiscent of Hisao's are fixed on the mug in her hands. She's not angry anymore, and it's hard to believe she ever was. All at once she seems older and weaker. This is who she really is, behind the face she puts on to face the world. Selfishly I picture my reflection in the bathroom mirror, bruised eyes and bottle in hand.

No, that isn't who I really am, it doesn't work like that.

"Why haven't you been in Hisao's room?" I ask quietly.

She sniffs audibly, and I suddenly feel an immense wave of guilt. All my plans for revenge feel almost barbaric, even if they felt all too justified at the time.

"It was like he had died," she whispers, "There was a boy in that bed, but he wasn't my little boy, not anymore."

I find myself rubbing my eyes on the back of my hand as she continues in the same hushed, almost panicked whisper.

"Nothing I did seemed to make any difference, he was slipping away. Even when everyone was telling me how lucky he was to still be alive, I could see him slipping away." She pauses just long enough to wipe at the corner of her eyes with her thumb, the bright red painted nail an alarming contrast to her sullen face.

"Even when he was strong enough to go to school he was so distant, he never wrote and hardly called. I've lost him."

"You haven't," I say quickly, startled by the sudden revolution. He never even wrote home?

"I've seen the way he looks at you," she sighs hopelessly.

What does she mean by that?

"Look," I say desperately, "Waking up in hospital is horrible, even worse when you find out your life is never going to be the same. It feels like your world is ending and nothing anyone says or does can make that better. The only thing that helps is time, time to see that you can still have a life, it's just different than it was before."

I sound like my grandfather.

"That's the only difference, Hisao still loves you, he just needed time to accept things have changed." I finish with what I hope is an encouraging smile.

"I'm sorry if I was hard on you," she says, finally setting her now empty mug down in front of her.

"It's okay," I reply, "And Mrs Nakai?"

"Yes?"

"I'm going out with your son."

"I know."

We share the smallest of smiles across the countertop, before the buzz of the oven timer causes us both to jump. Abruptly ending the moment. Not that I mind too much, this whole morning has been one surreal event followed by another.

It's like the conversation of just minutes ago never happened, as together we return to the act of creating a picture perfect cake. The only difference is the animosity between us, or lack thereof. She still has things she needs to work through, but then so do I. Like getting my boyfriend to call his damn mother once in awhile.

As first meetings with your boyfriend's parents go this was hardly orthodox, but then again when is normal ever the case for me?

— — —

"This looks amazing." Hisao grins, eyeing our cake. Which now resembles a mountain of pink icing, capped with snowy peaks of candy sprinkles.

"Thanks," I say a little bashfully. "How was the museum?"

"Fantastic," Haru announces boisterously from beside his wife. "I do enjoy spending time with very old things, makes me feel young!" His laugh reverberates around the kitchen, catching all of us up in his good mood. Even Noa - now back to her familiar mask of cold indifference - cracks the smallest of smiles.

I nudge my boyfriend, who turns to me with a smile.

"What's up?"

"Think we can sneak away to your bedroom?"

His eyes grow wide and his mouth hangs open, making him look a little like a frog.

"To play video games." I laugh, "What did you think?" I ask, raising my eyebrow. As if I couldn't guess, honestly, boys.

"Exactly that, yes, video games. Just what I was thinking." He plays it cool, but I can't help but notice the sudden brightening of his cheeks.

"Mum?" He says, now looking over to his casually chatting parents. "Can we be excused?"

"Hmm," her eyes flicker to mine for just a moment, but the malice I'm familiar with has vanished. "Of course you may, I'll call on you when dinner's ready."

We waste no time in getting to Hisao's room. We take our normal spots leaning against the bed, and wait - not altogether patiently - for the game to load.

"Sorry about today, did she give you a hard time?" Hisao asks, tearing his eyes away from a loading bar that seems to be moving just a little slower than the average tectonic plate.

"I think we've come to an understanding of sorts," I report happily.

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you later," I reply, nodding towards the balcony. Just as the eerie orchestral music starts to play, signifying that the game at last had loaded.

"Aww," Hisao coos, " I don't even get a hint of whatever it was that caused this miraculous change of heart?"

"Nope," I grin, "But I think we should be able to enjoy the rest of our time here much more now, or at least, I will be able to."

"Good to hear, ready to save the world?"

"Always."

Hisao hits start.