Greetings, dear readers! I'm happy to finally publish this chapter - it's past time. The chapter is rated strong T for several unpleasant topics.
So, last time we left our characters in a tough situation. The circumstances risk to disrupt the pack from the inside. Some people start to question the rightness of their choices. Chizuru finds herself facing the cascade of uncertainties related to the band, her family and one particular boy.
Greatest thanks to my wonderful friend and beta-reader ImpracticalDemon for editing the text!
Chapter XIII. Thy Serpent Tongue.
The river flows fairly wide here, with side channels of all shapes and sizes being common. Still, it's the narrowest point in many miles up and down the current. That is why two giant bridges cross the river here. Traffic - trains and cars alike - never quiets down at this place; people and goods constantly crossing the river to get to the transport hub on the Crossroad. The tradeways of the hinterlands meet in this city, tied in a dense node. Thus, both banks of the river are stained with humans and the multifarious traces of their existence. What? No, I'm not a misanthrope. Will you listen to the rest?
The right bank of the river is high. Once, there was a thick ancient wood of mighty pines, long gone now. From the highest river frontage, the land roughly slopes down. This is where the Great Slums begin, occupying the riverine terraces. The shoreline below is rugged with creeks, small lakes and swamps. People who live in this lowest part of the Slums and breathe the swampy stench daily are cocky enough to call their area the Swamp, adding a capital letter. Undoubtedly, for a lack of better options. Ague is no longer a major threat in this place, but the Swamp still feels like a scary place to be. Not many people are willing to live here.
The opposite bank of the river is low and this is where the true great swamp is situated though no one takes any pride in calling it in such fashion. The life is dull and dire here, with inhabitants aiming for a moment of drunk oblivion between hard work and more hard work. People know better than to struggle with broken roads, ruined houses, and worn-out sewers. No, I haven't lived there myself, don't be ridiculous.
In any event, the left bank is the worst.
There, among declining factories, residential blocks and foster houses, the solid building of the crematorium looks somewhat reassuring. If you are the type to gain strength from the promise of a sure ending. Anyway, plenty of Asian immigrants live on the left bank and they are not ones to be flustered by the prospect of death.
But why not return to the right bank? The Slums' market is open today and dwellers hurry to refill their supplies before four p.m. I bet you are curious to take a look. It's not far from the notorious Bar Mile, the heart and the wealth of the district.
Squeezing amidst buzzing people and loaded stalls, your eyes rest on those two. They don't quite blend in properly, like an eyesore. You notice the boy first, for he's difficult to ignore. He towers over his companion, just some regular girl. If he didn't stoop, he would be taller than everyone else around him as well. His clothes are very simple - a coat, washed jeans and heavy boots, suitable for crossing muddy local streets. Simple, but uncharacteristically colorful, since people here prefer black and grey all year round. His longish hair is tied up in a messy bun. He says something to the girl with a wry smile.
The girl - oh, just who dresses themself like that for the market? - barely reaches his shoulder. Her long woolen coat is belted tightly about her waist. A large scarf is draped around her shoulders and head, making a cozy hood. Her small hands are gloved and her feet are armoured in heavy boots. Not bad for the mud either. As much as the boy is deft and quick and colorful, the girl is monochrome, quiet and uncertain in her movements. I'd say she has a kind of clumsy grace about her, though I doubt that she's aware of it. And if she is, she probably fights it. Such girls with round eyes are never satisfied with themselves. She steals an occasional look at her companion when he doesn't see - or, at least, so she thinks - and her face acquires that sort of stupid expression that leaves no room for interpretation.
They both are in their early twenties, still fresh and smooth and a bit carefree. Not entirely adults. Though time cannot be conquered. Their life vaguely leaks away like those around them. Soon enough, they will become but another pair of worn-out locals.
The girl is pretty, but what good does prettiness do you if he doesn't so much as look at you? Oh, no, he does. The girl lowers her head to look at loads of meat on the stall and he studies her with an expression both weary and sullen. He must have felt you staring - should you always be so naughty? - and his eyes dart at you. He turns pale. You could swear that he was inches away from throwing something at you, and why not that butcher's knife? Better turn away quickly and move on. Perhaps you caught him staring at a most sensitive moment.
"What is it, Okita-san?" you hear the girl asking.
Don't look back, idiot. I tell you that she smiles gently at him, ignoring his outburst. They will be fine if they are smart enough, don't you think? Now go, you know better than observing the Slums' folk, don't you?
…
It was about twenty p.m. when Chizuru ascended the stairs of the Market Square subway station. The biting cold of the outside was unwelcoming. All establishments on the first floor were full of people. Signs promised a warming seasonal menu, a celebration of ginger and cinnamon, painted in white, red and green. Chizuru had never enjoyed the signs of the forthcoming winter holidays. Still, the bright lights of the coffee-shops were tempting for a girl who was eager to skip a family gathering.
With all the clouds gathering above the pack's heads, Chizuru didn't want to visit her family, especially in the light of the notorious talk-show. Besides, Heisuke-kun's recent outburst had put everyone's nerves on high alert.
"If Heisuke's going to disrupt our work while searching for his truth," Okita had said, "he might as well search for it someplace else. We're tools here, all expendable."
Really, what else did she expect him to say?
"Though I'm more concerned about Hijikata-san," Okita added. "He probably thinks he owns us and can use us for his personal nonsense."
He might have a point with that too. A warrior's gleam in Hijikata-san's eyes… No, it wasn't the time to think about that. No matter how unclear their common cause had become, Chizuru had her Father's direct invitation to deal with. She felt equally obliged and irritated, but she couldn't turn it down.
For the entire one-hour ride from the Crossroad, trapped in a stuffy subway car, Chizuru had tried to decide whether she should attend the get-together. She was still standing on a street corner in hesitation when a familiar voice from behind sent shivers down her spine.
"My, if it isn't my sweet sister…" the voice sad airily.
She was a complete failure as a liar, much to Okita's amusement. Particularly bad at imitating familial sentiments.
"Good evening, Kaoru."
"The birds sing that you turned down a Kazama heir," Kaoru chuckled. He looked oddly pleased.
Chizuru didn't answer. Sometimes she fancied that Kaoru had direct access to her phone, police records, the city's surveillance network, the windows of all the houses on the HQ's street, even her head. She looked away at the evening lights.
"What chance did the heir have anyway?" Kaoru continued. "My sister, polished to the tips of her nails, is fascinated by a no-name punk."
"I'm not polished," mumbled Chizuru, ignoring the 'no-name punk' part.
"Not anymore," Kaoru agreed readily. His round brown eyes wandered over her, noticing every detail.
Here's a riddle, thought Chizuru. My cousin is mocking me. If I yell at him, he'll just laugh. If I ignore him, he'll become blunter. What should I do? What. Should. I. Do.
While she was processing those thoughts, Kaoru made a quick move to grab her arm. Chizuru cringed and tried to escape, but he held her tightly. He started leading her towards the Yukimura family house, talking some casual nonsense.
If tools of power must be kept sharp, Kaoru was catching up for the time his cousin had been out of sight. It had always worked before - he acted roughly enough to keep her obedient. Yet he was never the one to blame - why, he didn't really hurt the girl, did he? It was always her fault for being too slow, absent-minded or sluggish. And never his - he was just protecting her, making sure her follies hadn't gone too far.
At least the immediate problem is solved, Chizuru thought bitterly. I'm going home.
Kaoru's grip on her arm tightened.
"Have you no self-respect at all?" her cousin hissed into her ear, interrupting his own chatter. Chizuru's heart sank. "The birds also sing that you keep living with a guy who's clearly not that into you. Does he sleep with you already?"
"What?!" Chizuru exhaled. Apparently, she was no longer accustomed to dealing with his perverse behaviour. We quickly get adjusted to being treated well, don't we? While she desperately tried to think of a witty rebuttal, he continued.
"Oh, you prefer he did. But he doesn't. Hmm..."
Chizuru twitched in anger. How could he mimic Okita's common intonation so well? Kaoru smiled gloatingly and tapped her hand, clenched helplessly into the fist. They approached an entrance and he led her into the dark gap, ensuring that she wouldn't escape at the last moment. Every detail of the entryway was familiar, even the scent of chemical cleanliness, even the sound of the elevator arriving. Yet that didn't help to ease their sibling embrace.
Kaoru practically shoved Chizuru inside the apartment, right into the waiting arms of her parents. The cousins were greeted warmly, and much more loudly than she had expected. Chizuru barely found enough strength to smile.
The cozy dining room was prepared for family supper. It was warm and clean and every detail was radiating well-being. Chizuru noticed a couple of her favorite dishes, ones she hadn't eaten since her departure. If only she was hungry. She still felt Kaoru's grip on her arm. Staff were nowhere to be seen, which meant fewer prying ears.
Chizuru moved mechanically, washing her hands, helping to adjust the napkins, answering casual questions. For the first time in her life, she noticed that neither Father nor Kaoru moved to help the women with the table. Chizuru remembered how she cooked together with Okita, or Saitou-san, or Heisuke-kun, and the memory made her feel better.
Dinner talk moved between steady topics, as if Chizuru had never left home. A storm could sweep the whole of N city away, but Yukimuras would still discuss Father's work in the Health Department ("and he yells, 'I pay you three hundred thousand, so why do you look like you earn sixty?"); arrangements with important people Father had to meet ("you should know the Toudou family better by now, right?"); Kaoru's promotion (he gives a lopsided smile); Mother's socialite friends. People that Chizuru never wanted to know, who lived their lives, travelled, married, bore their children and passed away, their lives reflected in the distorting mirror of small talk.
"So, Kaoru says you turned down Kazama's eldest son?" smirked Mother. Father's wife, Chizuru mentally corrected herself. When the time for tea and desserts came, the wheel of talk finally reached her. And she hadn't recovered from Kaoru's games yet. Souji wouldn't give a damn, thought Chizuru.
"Such folly," said Father, smiling oddly. "Kazama is not the man to give a second chance."
Mother waved a hand. "Koudou-san, don't be naive. I admit, it was was well-played, sweetling. Hard-to-get, yes?" She turned her febrile eyes at Chizuru. "That youngster is known to be picky, but he can't treat a Yukimura lightly. Just you wait, he'll come running for her."
A lazy smile crept over Kaoru's face, but he said nothing. Chizuru shivered at the thought that he could bring up Okita. At the same time, she felt oddly proud of Kazama. Even if for only a short time, he had been her good acquaintance. Kazama Chikage was so remarkable that nobody believed he had been sincerely turned down. She looked down to hide a sudden smile.
Her parents went on about Chizuru's womanly wits. Kaoru was uncharacteristically silent, poking his pie indifferently with a dessert fork. Perhaps he had already gotten in his share of mockery, she thought. Perhaps he had meant no offense earlier. Later she would wonder why she had sensed no trap. When he did look at her, she felt like a small simple-minded creature. That stare reminded her of "Kei-kun".
"I never intended to date Kazama-san," Chizuru finally said, cracking a smile. It was pleasant to be frank for a change. It had been a while since she had started to leave some parts of her life out of what she told her family. Her parents would never understand either her innocent co-living with Okita, or Hijikata-san's social justice war.
Father and Mother only brushed her off. Of course, they started trying to persuade her of her mistake with unwavering arguments. Kazama Chikage was a promising man, an Heir, rich, and not uncomely. So what if she didn't like him? After all, children were not permitted to have opinions. The discussion was heading dangerously toward the very root of their disagreement.
"Sweetling, we know, we didn't give you enough space," Father finally said, though somewhat belatedly. "But this absence of yours becomes too long. Why don't you return home, if only for a bit of time?"
Chizuru wanted to refuse tactfully when he added with deceptive softness, "At work, my visitors have started to wonder if I am the relative of that notorious Yukimura from television. Hasn't it gone too far, dear?"
Did you tell them that we are unrelated? thought Chizuru. Aloud, she said, "Father, I'm sure that your professional value completely outweighs my reputation, whatever it is."
A raised brow conveyed his mild irritation. "It does, for now. You know that it was made clear for all public officials to stick to the right side. We are not meant to support liberal propaganda…"
"And besides," Mother interrupted, smiling, "we are worried about you. You even look different now. So skinny!"
Of course, I look different, thought Chizuru. I have neither beautician, nor hairdresser, nor tailor now. Not that I was ever especially proud of that.
Chizuru had yet to learn to tell passive-aggressive attitude apart from sincere concern. She felt a prick of guilt and confusion.
Meanwhile, Mother studied Chizuru critically. "We could have a ladies' day together. Why don't you return home just for a weekend? For a start?"
"That's not likely to happen," Kaoru put in, before Chizuru opened her mouth. His unsettling eyes suddenly landed on her.
She looked at him in a silent plea.
"My sweet sister enjoys living in a house full of men. Your "ladies' day" just cannot compete with alcoholics, leftists, drug-makers and other musicians."
Father stared heavily at Chizuru. His features took on that absent, cruel expression she had feared so much as a child.
Meanwhile, Kaoru was not finished. "Especially her favorite one - a former-detainee-orphan-gambler with a passion for maiming people and lo-ovely green eyes!" Kaoru's hysterical laughter was drowned out by angry exclamations.
…
"Open the door, Chizuru." Kaoru had been mumbling that phrase for the last ten minutes. "The curtain has already fallen."
Behind the closed door of her former bathroom, Chizuru tried to suppress her sobbing. The camel's back had been broken with no less than a war hammer, judging by the outcry of her parents.
"I may be your chance to get out. You want to leave, don't you?" Kaoru knew the right strings.
Chizuru inhaled deeply and dried her wet face. Her hands were shaking. She felt a new wave of sobbing threaten to overwhelm her, and it took several minutes more to calm down. She would never open the damn door except for the promise of release. Her parents had ended up prohibiting her from returning to the headquarters.
Chizuru pushed the latch release and Kaoru crept into the bathroom. She turned away from him.
"H-how could you… What did I ever do to you?" she asked helplessly.
"Now, now… You didn't intend to keep them in the dark forever, did you?"
Later she would think of many suitable phrases about her life being none of his business. She was always wise in retrospect.
"It's far better than them dropping by your house in the Slums, right?" Kaoru continued softly. "It's been awhile since they started to discuss visiting you. I thought it would be better to face them here."
Chizuru shrugged. She was not sure that he wasn't just mocking her again. She started to check her bag for necessities, aiming to leave. Further talking would only make things worse.
Kaoru sat down on the side of the bath and took his phone. "I'm ordering you a taxi. I'll distract Koudou-san to give you some time."
"'kay…" mumbled Chizuru. Her head started throbbing with pain.
"You want to return that badly… Do you really treasure your swamp scum that much?"
"I do," Chizuru answered quietly. She felt too proud and too hurt to lie. A reckless move.
"If so, we could at least make him more appropriate… Oh, here we go." Kaoru finished with his taxi-ordering application and tugged her into the dark hall.
"Don't you dare to lay a finger on him," hissed Chizuru.
"Just kidding, relax," he whispered. "Now take this money - I know you're broke." He shoved Chizuru's coat and a small bundle into her arms and pushed her out the door.
Protesting would attract attention so she ran down the staircase, forgetting about the elevator. The cold air outside was now sweet with relief and freedom.
Chizuru ignored the taxi and trotted to the subway station. She knew better than to go anywhere by Kaoru's taxi.
Sitting in the subway car, Chizuru surrendered to her bitter thoughts again. Useless as always, a wuss, never able to protect herself. She couldn't imagine Okita or Saitou-san being bullied like that. She always tried to be good, she did what they told her to do - where did it go so wrong? When would it all end?
She felt relieved thinking that everything would end someday. I would smile; yes, I would smile. Once I was no longer here. I wouldn't care anymore. I'd have no body and no soul to feel pain. No one would spare a single thought if I disappeared. Tears creept down her cheeks again, but she ignored them.
A pair of girls - all decked out in black - sat down across from her. They exchanged glances and pulled out their phones to capture the moment. The next day, Chizuru would find her tear-stained face in social media feeds. Another small trouble to deal with.
The phone in her pocket showed some signs of life. Chizuru ignored it. No one would waste a damn thought if she disappeared. Chizuru thought of all those disgusting people around her. Even the pack. They only hired her because their producer told them so. They never really wanted her with them. They wanted a doll with a violin. A devil's instrument. Okita was the first to oppose her enrollment and - damn - wasn't that just honest?
And the fans. Had she not tried her best? She couldn't stop recalling all those comments on the net. How her legs were unsuitable for her stage dresses. How her hair and face were all wrong. How she must have slept with someone to be taken into the band. How she "dared to look at Sano-san with those eyes," when in reality she had been trying to suppress her laughter because Okita had been whispering obscene stories into her ear. He always seemed to enjoy putting her on edge - was that even healthy?
And why would she even return to the headquarters now? Who cared? Okita was never home anyway - what if he didn't really want to share the house with her? She would go… She would go to the Bar Mile. Kaoru's money burned in her pocket. Her first intention had been to throw it away, but her new train of thought was taking her towards the Bar Mile. When a train of thought and an actual train move in the same direction, what's not to like? She just had to waste that useless money in the most despicable way.
The Crossroad was stuffed, as was the Bar Mile, with Sunday night at its best. Chizuru trudged past the rowdy bars and feasting crowds. Her thoughts were a dark tangled mass of wrath and self-pity.
Too loud. Chizuru turned into the maze of side alleyways, drifting aimlessly between bright storefronts and people. She prowled around, swallowing her tears, until she reached the Ford - a narrow street, squeezed between the public area and the Eastern Slums. Behind the last line of taverns and other establishments, the motley rows of low-rise buildings descended towards the river.
They all despise me. Even Okita. I'm so tired. I want no more waiting for nothing.
Chizuru's eyes landed on a cozy basement bar with a pair of stone gargoyles framing the entrance. The bizarre view captured her attention - the Slums' buildings never failed to amaze her with their exteriors.
Everyone gets what they deserve; the thought was banging around in her head. I'm not strong enough to oppose my own family, my cousin and Father. Maybe I deserve to be treated like that until I learn to defend myself.
Chizuru went downstairs to find herself in a stuffy, noisy room. It smelled of smoke and something sour. She sneaked to the farther end of the bar counter, where no eyes would bother her.
The bartender's face was blank - she was just another pale girl with a red nose. Chizuru slowly examined the menu and put her finger beside the mile of different shots of the most poisonous colors. The bartender smirked knowingly and nodded his understanding.
They were bitter, and tasted foul and acrid on her tongue. But Chizuru kept swallowing the harsh liquids. Kaoru's money deserved to be wasted as uselessly as possible. Soon, she felt lightweight and the walls started to sway with every move of her head.
"You." She heard someone on her left. "Got something?"
"The Moon Road." The bartender lowered his voice. "The Water of Life…"
"Damn, not that shit again. Mix us the Moon Road, dude. A sure thing, yeah."
Chizuru raised her eyes from the tabletop. Beside her were two scruffy men in their thirties. The bartender disappeared into the backroom and soon returned with a tiny cup.
"Better served with liquor," he instructed. The men giggled affirmatively and left. The bartender noticed her staring. "Anything else for the lady?"
"That water o'life though…" squeaked Chizuru. "Show me."
Kaoru's money deserved the ugliest possible purchase.
…
If truth were told, Souji had no particular reason to sleep out that often. Sometimes, it was his need of money that led him to the streets. And just as often, it was his craving for adventures. That day though, he actually worked, meaning that he had visited Hajime to run through their stuff before rehearsal. A narrow couch in his friend's living room seemed more welcoming than a long ride back to the Slums. He was a homeless boy. How else could he replace the absence of home if not with adventures?
It wasn't that he felt uneasy sharing a house with the girl, no.
Hajime would usually grumble at his unannounced visits, but let it slide. Souji believed that his friend would let him know if he was unwanted in the blink of an eye. Reserved as he was, Hajime was nowhere near a pushover. Shortly before he'd been convinced to move south - not without Souji's active involvement - he'd already had a mixed reputation, reinforced by an infamous brawl with some official's son. By then, staying in his native city had become strained.
Hajime was very polite, well-mannered and reasonable. Yet, under his calm surface, there was a steel will.
Souji was sort of a savage and so was his friend. At that very moment, the latter was pointing an accusing finger at the computer screen.
"Do be sensible, Souji, this part is not suitable," stated Hajime, interrupting his thoughts. "And you'd better pay more attention to our work, if you are going to visit me thrice a week about it."
"Yeah, pay more attention!" echoed Hijikata-san's voice from the speakers. He had attended their small meeting virtually.
Souji glared at the messenger window and said, "We could make Sano-san sing one of those extra verses we rejected earlier. Or rework it into a solo line. Several decisions, bad to worse."
Our work at it's best, he thought. They wasted days sewing together all the pieces, just to find them weak. Then they would constantly remake them until everything clicked. Producing tons of horrendous ideas along the way. Gods, he felt so tired.
Hijikata-san was presenting his opinion on the matter, when a low atonal screech broke into their back-and-force.
Hajime narrowed his eyes at Souji. "What is it, semuta music?"
"Harsh noise." Souji smiled, picking up his phone. "Chizuru-chan!" he said cheerfully, grateful for the distraction.
"Yo, dude!" an unknown male voice exclaimed. Souji's smile withered. "The girl here, she may need your help! Emergency contact and all. A'right-a'right, here's your cell!" The voice had melted into the street background noise before Souji could get a word.
"S-ji." The voice was hers, albeit hoarse.
"Yep, I am. What's up?"
"S-ji…" Her mumbling was barely audible.
Hajime let a bit of irritation slide into his glare as he watched his friend listening in confusion. Souji raised his free hand to his neck and made a particular gesture, meaning that his interlocutor was drunk to the extension of spacing out. Hajime stared at him in disbelief.
Collecting himself, Souji said firmly. "Chizuru, listen to me. No, stay put. Listen. Where are you now? Mhm… Okay... Chizuru, what do you see around?" He stood up and nodded at the direction of the door.
Hajime stood up immediately.
"What's the problem?" Hijikata-san asked.
"Onis? Which onis?" Souji's voice tensed up. "Chizuru, listen to me-" If that was Kazama again, he was going to give her a piece of his mind.
"Darn," muttered Hajime and grabbed the phone himself. His free hand was typing an explanation to Hijikata-san. "Yukimura-san, what sort of onis do you see? How many are there?"
Souji was already lacing his boots. They swiftly turned off the lights and went down to the yard, trying to talk Chizuru out.
The damn car needed a good five minutes to warm up. Souji's fingers tapped the wheel restlessly. He had no idea where to look for the girl in a city of three-million.
Stone-cold sober, Hajime continued asking stupid things in the delirious tongue of the drunk. The onis were grey, there were two of them, they had red eyes…
"Gargoyles then," said Hajime. "To the Crooked Mile," he whispered to Souji, before turning his attention back to Chizuru. "Yukimura-san, talk to me. Don't leave the onis, alright?"
Souji pressed the accelerator and the car started off. He was at his worst as a driver, speeding up and ignoring the road cameras. They could choke on their fines, for all he cared.
…
"Sweet sister, you father is to marry again, he may expect you to behave. Don't let him down."
"Honey, this is my daughter, Chizuru."
"Your goal is to make the maximum of her studies. We're off to Amsterdam for a week, don't indulge her, teacher."
"Sit straight Chizuru, elbows off the table! Everyone's waiting for you!"
"Quit talking nonsense, sweetling, you're such a dreamer."
"The rumors say her father's a sociopath. A power-hungry freak, gods be good."
"Don't be a cry baby, sweet sister. You are too spoiled. Why does everyone give you so much credit?"
"What?! Scared of darkness? Nonsense! You don't want me to see you outside your room again."
"I am no tyrant, but know your place, girl!"
"She's so clumsy and she's always alone. Such a wallflower. Better avoid her company, she obviously doesn't like us."
"Chizuru!"
"Poor strange girl, one pill and you are free…"
"Chizuru! Chizuru, wake up! Damnit!"
Slowly, Chizuru cracked her eyes open. Cold electric light from the street blinded her for a second. Someone was shaking her far too roughly, his voice ringing in her ears. Kaoru again? She twitched and tried to break out, mumbling incoherently, but once she recognized Okita's face, she stopped struggling and went limp in his arms. Okita looked terrified. He lifted the girl to her feet, cursing under his breath. The ground swayed under Chizuru's legs and a wave of dizziness shook her. Chizuru made a desperate effort to turn away from Okita as she threw up her supper into the nearest snowdrift. Tears of humiliation sprang into her eyes. Never had she felt so miserable. She wanted to crawl into a hole so that no one would ever see her again.
"Hajime-kun, have a handkerchief? Here, Chizuru… Don't turn away! You're not the ugliest drunk girl ever, believe me."
Okita helped her stay on her feet while she desperately tried to hide her face. Her heart was going like a rabbit's.
"Your body is getting rid of… whatever you consumed. That's good." Saitou-san was merciless in his attempt to reassure her, though he certainly meant good. "Your eyes are all red," he observed. "Pupils are dilated too."
"True," muttered Okita. "Did you take something?"
Chizuru managed a nod. She wiped her face and tried to untangle herself from Okita's arms, embarrassed. The surroundings swayed before her eyes. How did she end up on the street?
"You're in no condition to move by yourself." Okita quickly got back to business. "Let's get into the car and then I'll go break some necks. Whoever sold you this shit-"
"We can visit them together tomorrow," Saitou-san said quietly. "Yukimura's safety is more important right now."
"Yeah…" Okita said with a frown. "Hajime-kun, could you bring the car around? I'll stay with Chizuru-chan."
Saitou-san nodded and deftly caught the keys Okita threw to him. Without as much as a word, he disappeared into the alleyway.
Chizuru was breathing heavily. She stopped struggling and leaned on Okita, still dizzy. He was warm, steady and safe, unlike everything else around her. Her memories were vague. She had made new friends. Some people who were as eager to lose themselves. She remembered some hands touching her, her thrill and fear. Somehow, she had ended up on the street. Truly, it was a miracle no one had followed her. She must have been an easy prey. Chizuru shook her head and caught Okita's stare.
"What the hell did you drink?" Okita asked studying her face. Was he angry? She couldn't sort it out.
"The water of life," Chizuru said in a feeble voice. Her eyes felt sore; perhaps some vessels had burst.
Okita cursed and mumbled, "I'll kill him. Let's find a warmer place until Hajime-kun comes." He tugged Chizuru to the nearby bar. It was the very place she had recently left, but she was too exhausted to resist.
Without any remorse, the bartender watched Okita settle Chizuru on a sofa. A bunch of freaks perked up when the golden girl returned with a comrade. Comrade's glare cooled their blood in an instant. When Chizuru was steady, the bartender quickly appeared to offer "something else".
"Tea." Okita looked at the guy, as if watching an annoying insect. "Black tea." He turned away, putting an end to their interaction.
Chizuru was stuck in the corner of the sofa. She was looking at the floor, trying to focus her eyes. Seemed that she had walked through the looking glass and managed to return. In her mind, embarrassment was offset by the feeling of relief at having avoided major trouble. If her friends hadn't found her in time, she would have been gone by now. In comparison with the rest of the city, the Slums were an underworld of sorts; at the same time, they obviously had their own underworld. Chizuru couldn't even start to imagine what it looked like. Her entrails being sold at dawn seemed to be the best prospect.
Okita looked uncharacteristically baffled and didn't rush to start a conversation. Neither did Chizuru so they let the silence stretch. At one point their eyes met and they both hurried to look away.
…
It was about three a.m. when he understood that he was not going to fall asleep that night. Staring at the ceiling proved fruitless. For a moment, Souji was even tempted to open the books Hijikata-san had once presented him. They had lain untouched near his bed ever since his move. He couldn't put into words what irritated him most about those books - probably the knowing smile on Hijikata-san's face that had accompanied the gift. The they-all-think-they-know-me feeling. Finally, Souji wrapped himself in his blanket - the nights were freezingly cold - and trudged to the opposite room to check on the girl. Surprisingly, she was sound asleep. A peaceful sleep, totally unexpected after such a busy night.
Where was justice in that? In all fairness, it should have been him sleeping peacefully, not her. Oddly enough, she was company of sorts, so he sat down on the floor in the corner of her dark room.
When the grey light of dawn started to creep along the walls, items acquired shapes and textures. He could observe. And so he did.
What bothered him in his half-asleep state – another odd thing – was how round and curvy she was, from the round tip of her nose to her round knees under the blanket. If someone were to draw the two of them together, the picture would show her small curvy frame and a pile of broken diagonals, towering over her. He smiled at the thought.
The fact that he had found her drunk in some savage place didn't affect him all that much. He remembered Kei-kun saying that alcohol destroys brain cells, so that memories become vague and then disappear. After that, he tried many times to drink enough to get rid of his memories, but it never worked. He stopped when he became even more of a nuisance to Kondou-san than usual. Or so he believed.
If the girl was trying to get rid of some memories this way - well, he could relate to that, at least.
…
Chizuru cracked open her lids, headache throbbing slowly behind her eyes. It took her time to recognize her room and her bed. She was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, now wrinkled and smelling of smoke.
Water, I need water. She sat up in bed, scanning her room for slippers, and then froze, mildly abashed. Okita was staring at her from the opposite corner, wrapped in his blanket and completely noiseless.
"No," gasped Chizuru. "Not you." She'd already had enough lecturing the day before.
"That's some way to say good morning." Okita's lips twitched. He nodded towards a glass of water placed on the coffee table that served Chizuru as her workstation, ironing board and eating area all at once.
Chizuru thanked him and took the glass eagerly. She finished the water and lay back down on her bed, unable to hold herself upright. Nausea and headache took away her ability to fret.
"Look," Okita said slowly, "You gave me a piece of your mind when I wasn't at my best behavior-"
"And now you'll give me a piece of yours, so that we'll be even." Chizuru couldn't help but smile at the prospect.
"Do I look like such an idiot?" Okita asked with displeasure. "Listen…" he started and paused again. He examined the opposite wall with Chizuru's clothes hanging on the rope and then blurted. "Never do that again."
Chizuru glanced at him in surprise.
"At least, not alone," Okita continued. "You have exactly the right company for doing these things, don't you? Mmm, have you seen Hajime drunk?" He found a way to turn the thing into a joke.
"I guess…"
"No, that wasn't a drunk Hajime."
"I haven't seen you drunk, though," Chizuru responded hoarsely, with a smile.
"Nothing really different," he told her immediately. "The finest one is Hijikata-san, though I'd rather you don't go alone with him. He often needs assistance himself."
Chizuru chuckled.
"I mean… damn." Okita turned away.
"I get it, Okita-san," said Chizuru. "Thank you."
That change from 'S-ji' back to 'Okita-san' was expected, but still rang unpleasantly in his ears.
"Anyway, what exactly happened yesterday?" he asked, pushing himself beyond the usual boundaries settled between them. They could spend hours talking about everything but themselves and their personal affairs.
"Ah, that…" Chizuru averted her gaze in confusion. "My family…" Thoughts were lazy and slow in her head and it took her a moment to find the right words. "They made it clear how - um - unwanted my behavior is. They locked me in my room and then he gave me that freaking money-"
"Not so fast, Chizuru," Okita stopped her. "I'm not the brightest crayon in the box, you know. What happened first?"
After she finished telling her story, trying to complain as little as possible, Okita was silent.
When Chizuru started to worry about his lack of response, he said, "I met a person once. He told me what surviving meant. He loved history and anthropology, all that shit." Okita pursed his lips, remembering something, and then continued. "He told me that only those who are capable of solving problems can survive. Not the blunt, nor the rich, nor the strong - those who solve problems. And this one is yours. Damn, I kinda suck at comforting people. Don't even know why I remembered that."
"No, you have a point," answered Chizuru. It seemed to be the first time that he had shown any concern for her, which was important in itself. Putting that aside, Okita was right. She was neither blunt, nor strong, but it didn't mean that she couldn't solve her problem.
"And besides," Okita muttered, "your family is just a bunch of strangers who happened to be there when you were born, you know? That means nothing."
"They aren't the people you choose," Chizuru said slowly, and he nodded his agreement. She couldn't ignore the feeling that he spoke from his own experience.
...
Dropping by for dinner, the pack was rather amused to find Chizuru still in bed.
By that time, the teapot had moved to her room, along with a fair third of the headquarters' food and tableware. Okita was sitting at the head of the coffee table beside Chizuru's bed, preparing tea. It was evident that they had been sitting like that since morning, whenever that morning had started for them. Chizuru had taken a shower and changed her clothes to get rid of the alcohol stench. But she still felt nauseous and unable to get up.
The pack filled her room and suddenly it seemed no bigger than a match-box. Saitou-san quietly occupied a place near her feet. Heisuke-kun - already in his Christmas sweater despite it being only early December - was squeezed between Shinpachi-san and Sano-san by the opposite wall. Of course, they started to fool around, congratulating Chizuru on her first major hangover. However, it was clear that they meant no offence and Chizuru laughed along with everyone. They never judged her. Well, especially after she stopped being Serizawa-san's artificial infusion into their precious fraternity, but who is without sin?
The story of her drunk adventure put her in their Hall of Shame forever, according to Sano-san's comment. She left out the details about the Water of Life in order to spare them from worrying. Okita and Saitou-san said nothing about that either.
"It was our initiation and you passed," Okita said and everybody laughed. Chizuru felt better now, though she was nowhere near settling things with her family. Trying to lose oneself in drugs had proven useless.
"Everyone needs to loosen up from time to time," Sano-san said reassuringly, wrapping up the discussion of Chizuru's adventures. "It reduces the distance between people, too."
"Even Yamazaki loosens up sometimes," added Okita. "Or so it's said."
"Even Yamazaki-kun has issues," declared Shinpachi-san.
Heisuke-kun chuckled, but said nothing.
We all seem to have issues here, thought Chizuru.
Hijikata-san couldn't possibly miss them when he arrived later, since the house shook with laughter. He even settled himself by the door between Okita and Chizuru and took part in their feast.
Heisuke-kun looked troubled by his arrival, but Hijikata-san acted as if nothing had happened.
"We kinda seem stuck in a bad movie these past weeks," Shinpachi-san said to Hijikata-san. "I can't help but expect bad news again."
Heisuke-kun managed an affirmative nod.
"And I just wanted to have this cup of tea in peace," grumbled Hijikata-san.
"We have checked into some information about Itou-san," said Saitou-san. "Strangely enough, he doesn't seem to have a steady professional background."
"Kondou-san says he graduated from N university," Okita put in.
"So what? If you finish university to work as a waiter, what level of education is that?"
"He's not a waiter-" Okita mumbled stubbornly. It wasn't like him to get involved in common discussions. As far as Chizuru knew, he preferred to keep his opinion to himself and mock the others. However, with Kondou-san involved, he became unusually talkative.
"He's not an employee of a reputable company either," retorted Saitou-san. "Not a business owner. Most likely, he lives on some kind of personal income."
"Why is Kondou-san so positive about him, then?" Heisuke-kun asked.
Shinpachi-san squinted a knowing eye at him and opened his mouth to answer, but Hijikata-san didn't let him get a word in.
"Kondou-san will have an opportunity to test his skills soon enough," Hijikata-san said gravely. "Kondou-san's doujo was audited by the tax authorities this morning. We occupied his space for quite a while several years ago. Seems that everyone affiliated with us can draw their attention."
Okita's face acquired such a lost expression that Chizuru wondered what had hit him hardest: fear for Kondou-san, or pain that he hadn't been first to be told such important news.
...
Author's outro. The chapter is named after the song 'Thy Serpent Tongue' by Psyclon Nine.
Thanks to Eliz1369, Shell1331, HakuSaitoSan, Melmelx3 for your reviews, as well as to everyone who favorited and followed the story) I've answered everyone via private messages, but - again - I want to emphasize that your support is very important for me.
Some words about the sources of inspiration. Credits and eternal gratitude to Anna-Varney Cantodea. Some of Chizuru's thoughts were heavily inspired by "Somnambulist's Secret Bardo Life" lyrics. I often use my favorite verses and lyrics to express important moments - mea culpa. Also, I credit Wystan Hugh Auden - a remarkable poet who needs no introduction - for inspiring some of narrator's musings. And Oxxxymiron - for Chizuru's narcotic stream of memories.
Feel free to check my tumblr (kurokiorya) for this chapter's illustration. It features the moment when Souji and Hajime find Chizuru on the street.
This chapter was terrific to write, both hard and engrossing. I hope you enjoyed it despite delay and the unpleasant topics raised.