My Dearest Morphine

Chapter 9: Preoccupations


People often describe a coma as a sleep-like state where you are oblivious of your surroundings. To me, it was more of a death, a complete blackout. I woke up as a new woman, a more dependent and miserable woman.

I expected to wake up in a hospital, or even in Mr. Hiiragizawa's mansion, as I remembered that as the last place that I've been to. But when I rose up again, the room was not what I had expected. It was a small studio, filled mostly with books on one side and kitchen appliances on the other. The size of the studio was pitiful; what was left of the room could barely fit a bed and a portable closet. The white ceiling was tainted with yellow marks as if the roof often leaked when it rained. The worn-out carpet was of a disgusting khaki brown color and the walls a plain and hypnotizing white.

I walked tentatively to the bathroom but got no further than a meter from the bed before I collapsed on the ground, my knees too weak and unused to support any weight at all. I spent the next thirty minutes on the ground, stretching my muscles one by one, as if I had been given a strange and new body. I winced in pain, biting my lower lip harshly, as some of my joints cracked audibly enough to send shivers up and down the rest of my body. Yet somehow, feeling pain for the first time in a long, long time relieved my senses.

I was alive once again.

I wanted to get off the carpet as soon as I could but didn't dare to move my body just yet. So I sat there on the ground and observed the room a bit more. Even I, who paid all her bills off donations from patients, was able to afford a shelter much more… pleasing than this. Whoever lived here must have been very desperate.

But somehow, the room felt so cozy. All the antique furniture, although there was very little, emitted a strange aura that resembled that of a perfect home. The walls seemed to hide many mysteries and the used kitchen stove still held remains from all the delicious meals. Fear never struck me, even though I was unsure where exactly I was. No thoughts of being held captive against my will, or someone taking advantage of my previously half-dead state ever came across my mind. The studio seemed so safe and like a sanctuary.

The studio only had one window, sitting tall on the wall, near the ceiling. It was a lonely sight, so lonely that I was drawn to peer out of the window. What was outside was even more revolting. The streets were dirty beyond imagination, as if nothing but rats and other sorts of vermin resided there. Indeed, whoever this studio belonged to was desperate and poor, someone with no class and no standard of living. I scoffed silently—and hypocritically, although I did not realize. My mission was to help the unfortunate and poor people yet the sight of them repulsed me.

I diverted my attention to something less revolting, the books in the shelves. They were ancient, the covers and binding thoroughly worn out. Whoever lived there must have learned everything about the world from books for it seemed to be the only important objects that occupied the room. The bookshelves stood right in the center of the room, obstructing view and space to walk. The only chair in the room was positioned three feet away from the bookshelves, just enough space to extend one's legs. I scanned the book titles and smiled to myself. They were about gardening, all sorts of magic, philosophy, and psychology.

A sense of relief overcame me, but at the same time, my heart began beating. Why was he in a place like this? He had such a huge mansion all to himself, and he had a wife who earned enough money that her philanthropic donations were known worldwide. They were the last people I expected to fall into poverty.

Another thought came over my mind but I suppressed it willingly. There was no way…

I frowned, scrutinizing the books even more closely. At the center of the shelves stood some books written by the man himself, Eriol Hiiragizawa. I reached out for a random book and flipped to where he left the bookmark.

The page was designed perfectly, with letters neither too big nor too small, a perfect size for reading. The words flowed in a surprisingly manner. His prose rendered the difficult and intricate ideas that he discussed in the passages actually quite understandable. He explained in detail, in common language, and inserted just enough personal commentary to keep the reader amused but not veer off track. His writing was flawless, so different from when he normally spoke or how his actions portrayed him. In his writing, Eriol Hiiragizawa was the most humble philosopher ever, debasing himself as he explained rudimentary concepts step by step. I had never seen patience like that in him before. With me, he was always rushing me, asking me what happened, and begging for immediate aid. An odd sensation rushed over me. Never had I met a man who considered readers, who were perfect strangers, closer than people he actually spoke to. Perhaps, he is simply shy, I told myself, attempting to reassure my doubts. After all, I was trapped in his house.

I had no money, no personal possessions, and no physical strength to travel to anywhere. So I had to put up with whatever Mr. Hiiragizawa could offer me. I scanned the room once more. It wouldn't be much, I told myself. Even though I knew that a rather dimmed future lied ahead of me, I was content with it simply because I had stayed alive. If I had stayed in the coma for a day longer, I would have been completely dead, my body entirely used up, and my soul too weak to remain in this world.

I had no intentions of running away, but questions swarmed in my head. How long had it been since I was gone? My heart began accelerating as if I had a gun pointed to my face. "No…" I ignored how hoarse my voice was, overwhelmed by a rushing train of thoughts. What if… What if I was asleep for a year? For a decade? What if all my patients who depended on me had nowhere to go to? They'd be suicidal! All of them were indeed suicidal. Without me, even the most sympathetic relatives would send the patients to asylums. I had betrayed them. I yearned for a mirror, to see my face, perhaps filled with wrinkles but after searching the entire studio inch by inch, found no mirrors. The tiny window did not receive the right amount of light to display my face either. I looked down to my fingers, examining my hand, and luckily found not much change, except for the lack warmth. My fingers traced across my cheeks, my forehead, my chin, my eyes, my lips. Everything was still tender, as they were before, but something seemed different. All of my features were cold, emitting no heat whatsoever.

Left with nothing to do, I continued to read the book that I had picked out earlier, examining Mr. Hiiragizawa's thoughts more in depth. I was always interested and intrigued by his strange logic. Even though he was completely secluded and spoke with no one except for his wife, he seemed to understand human kind in general extensively. At first, I told myself that he had probably made many strange acquaintances in his past lives so he had learned everything about human psychological and philosophical ideals. But, he did not seem to be the kind to have friends at all, even in his other lifetimes. Perhaps, I mused, he simply had the power of observance of a god. He always seemed to gaze into the distance in a dazed look, always pondering about something profound, too complicated to share with Kaho or me. I remembered my first impressions of him, of his arrogance and eccentricity. His arrogance, somehow, was justified by his genius ideas, his perfect writing style, and suave fashion. No one else, I admitted, could still be so traditional in the twenty-first century and pull it off with such an extraordinary style. People loved him for his eccentricity so I supposed that he had a right to be arrogant. He was in high society too and probably had never faced hatred from anyone.

My shoulders slumped slightly. He was so different from me. I was shunned since birth because of my mother. I was not intelligent at all. All that I could do was comforting people because of the gentle manners that I had learned from the monks who kindly (and grudgingly) adopted me into their monastery. Every step that I've taken was to build up my reputation, to erase the consequences and troubles that my mom had stirred. I hated my life. I hated my mother. I hated the fact that I had to pay for something that I had nothing to do with. Yet, part of me felt guilty; maybe, as a child, I had power to stop my mother but never had enough courage to do it. Was it my fault that all those people were dead? And now, all my patients were also hurt because of me…

It was a perfect moment to cry, especially for a young woman like me. If I didn't cry, it would seem so inhuman of me. But I just couldn't do it. My reservoirs of tears were completely empty. In fact, I had never shed a tear for anyone or anything before. Perhaps I was simply too cruel to commit such an act that portrayed nothing but vulnerability and anguish. Perhaps I was cursed with the inability to display such a state. I was meant to be ruthless, yet I was educated in the gentle manners. I never felt true pain because I was too preoccupied about fixing my past. Nothing made sense anymore.

Suddenly the front door clicked open and was flung against the wall with a violent slam. The newcomer, whom I predicted to be Mr. Hiiragizawa or his wife, didn't even bother to apologize for the sudden intrusion. Oh, right, I thought to myself, I am the one intruding in his home.

"You're awake!" a low voice exclaimed.

"Ah, Mr. Hiiragizawa," I began but was cut off.

"Don't ask me any questions just yet," he cut in as he rubbed his forehead in frustration.

He seemed flustered and impatient, as if he had just suffered a rough day at work—Wait a minute. Since when did Eriol Hiiragizawa actually work? I gazed at his appearance and frowned. He seemed to have aged so much. His previously soft although worn out look transformed into something rusted and rotting. His eyelids were tainted with fatigue and his previously white skin was tanned several shades darker. He even took out his glasses and put on contacts. His smooth hands, unaccustomed to physical labor, were now used and roughly textured.

"How are you feeling?" he asked with a strange kind of concern. I could not tell if he meant it or faked it.

"Better than before, I suppose," I answered, "although I felt nothing before."

He nodded in understanding and finally walked into the room and closed the door. He deposited a bag that he had in his hand in the claustrophobic closet near the door and relaxed his shoulders a little.

"Are you hungry? We can go out for dinner."

My eyes widened in surprise. Multiple feelings rushed to my head at the same time. Going out? Eriol Hiiragizawa hated the outside world! Another implication pricked at my brain but I dismissed it. He had never cared about my hunger before. He sounded so nice, his voice sweet but not syrupy enough to repel my attention. Mr. Hiiragizawa could have easily summoned food from thin air, I guessed, but I couldn't figure out why he didn't do it. Why go through all the trouble of going out?

I stared at my clothes and for the first time found myself in strange garments. I almost laughed to myself for not realizing it before. I was in a man's dress shirt and boxers. They were certainly his. There was a strange feel to the clothes that was comforting. I realized that the clothes smelled like him, of a musky and masculine scent. He probably expected me to blush in surprise but no color rushed to my cheeks. A curious thought, however, did bother me.

"Why aren't I in Kaho's clothes instead? Her clothes would definitely fit me more."

As he looked down to the disgusting carpet, I realized that I stirred up an uncomfortable subject, if not the least favorable one. I cringed as I watched him suffer a little. He looked like a young child who had just lost his mother. A sudden urge to walk toward him and hug him came over me but I was still unable to get up without hurting myself and a part of me was unable to show pity for him. He brought it upon himself, my consciousness repeated over and over again, you are not guilty for making him speak about it.

He seemed to have suddenly noticed my awkward position on the floor and decided to help me up as he searched for an acceptable reply.

"Kaho's things are gone. The house burnt down." He spoke in short, choppy sentences unlike before. And after I've read his eloquent writing, the man who stood several feet from me seemed like a completely different person. Also, his voice was emotionless, indicating something extremely wrong. I dared not question him further although my questioning gaze urged him to expand on his previous thoughts. "…I set the house on fire."

"What? Why?" I exclaimed immediately in shock. I knew his strong bond with his mansion. Why in the world would he ever want to damage that bond? It was the only thing he had left from his ancestors. It was worth a fortune for Pete's sake. I grumbled to myself, wondering if this was another kind of entertainment for rich people. They seemed to do extremely wasteful things.

"It was an accident!" he exclaimed, his voice coming to an alarming volume and tainted with nervousness. Something about the way he trembled made me doubt his guiltlessness.

I had never seen Eriol Hiiragizawa in such a state. He was so guilty, so distressed, and so regretful. If I was in my normal state, I would have reached out for his hand immediately but at that moment, my emotional weakness would not have been able to support it.

"It's not your fault," I tried to reassure him but his body began trembling even more. His eyes did not shed tears but all the other parts of his body responded as if he was crying.

"How did it happen?" I asked although he showed no intentions of answering. "Just nod or shake your head, alright?" I added, understanding his speechless state. "Was it magic?" I had expected to be magic. Perhaps he simply lost control of his power for a second. It could have happened very easily but as I kept thinking, something didn't make sense. If it was magic alone that did it, he should have been able to clear the fire in an instant.

He nodded his head slowly. "Was it only magic?" I asked. "Were you in control of your magic at the time?"

He shook his head as I expected. Ah, so Eriol Hiiragizawa went through intense emotions as I lied in my coma. Suddenly, I froze. This was Eriol Hiiragizawa that I was speaking to, the man who cared about no one but his wife…

…His… wife. My eyes widened once again.

"Where is Kaho?"

He froze completely, even his trembling suddenly disappeared. He became as rigid as a board. Even his eyes couldn't roll in their sockets. For a few minutes, I dared not ask anything more. Slowly, too slowly, his body relaxed little by little. I then chanced my luck although I truly shouldn't have.

"Where is the baby?"

He was just about to open his mouth and speak but when he heard me, he closed it again. Aghast, in shock, his breathing became extremely irregular and he paled alarmingly.

"H-how do you know a-about the b-baby?" he stammered as he finally spoke once again. Reaching for some physical support, he leaned against the side of the bed.

"Kaho told me," I looked away, "when I dined with her on that day. I couldn't tell you before because you could barely handle the fact that you were siblings. Having a baby together was simply out of the question. That baby defied everything that human kind existed for… peace, prosperity, and goodness."

"The baby… the baby was good," he said with his still shaking voice. "They told me that the baby was a girl. A darling little girl," his voice began trembling even more. My heart nearly stopped as I watched him pitifully. "I was going to name her Clementine, after Kaho's deceased and darling mother."

I replayed every word that he had said slowly in my head and found something that wasn't right. "Why… why 'was'? Where is the baby now?"

"With Kaho," he said.

"And where is Kaho?" I pressed in immediately.

There a long and dramatic pause where he must have thought about the consequences of telling me, although I already had a huge hunch on the answer. My heart already began to soften for him, pitying him more than I had ever pitied my other patients.

"They are dead."

It was then that, without further contemplation, I recognized Eriol Hiiragizawa as possibly the saddest man on earth.


Author's Notes: It has been a while since the last update.

Well, you knew that Kaho was eventually going to be out of the way but mhm…

I personally never liked Kaho's character – she was too perfect, and in the same sense, too flawed. I based Eriol's relationship with her as how I saw it so now you see my rationalization.

More explanations in the next chapter!

Please review! It'll make you update sooner!