I do not own Hana yori dango, just wanted to write a small story.
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Ch. 6 His glass
The figure on the bed shook with great remorse, tears tumbled from the corner of his blood shot eyes as he relay what had happen during the day.
Mr. Domyouji your wife has-
Please John, tell her I am unable to take her calls right now, I-
She's in the hospital right now!
The exasperated secretary had come bounding down in the hall in a racket, and had shouted in distress upon reaching his office. He gave his usual reply in a thick voice of longing, he could not possibly answer to her right now, not right now, and not when he was so guilt ridden.
He thought his heart can no longer plummet anymore, believing that it was crushed long ago, but he was wrong. The room had for a second contorted in its form, spiral curves nauseated him and he felt sick again.
His hand shook from the familiar wretched feeling he gets when shocking news reach him. The worried secretary lunged forward, prepared to catch his fall. He leaned wobbly against his work desk; news had once again shaken him to the core.
Wha-what?
He rasped out thickly, everything, everything in his life seems to be unraveling too fast.
The secretary could only silently bow his head, avoiding confrontation with his desperate eyes.
His eyes that no longer carried warmth and the past brilliance he once had, now it was saturated with pain and confusion of a desperate man wanting to grasp reality.
What did you say!
Soon confusion and fear subsided, and he grappled with anger, the raw emotion that he had became all too familiar with. The man flinched in response. Then with the pressure of tension, he stuttered out careful words that seemed to have been rehearsed for quite a few times.
S-she's in the hospital in Japan, the only thing I gathered from the doctor was that sh-she had been clawing herself with h-her own n-nails.
The flight to Japan came too slow. The reality of the situation did not dawn to him until he reached her hospital door. John's words were constantly running over his mind.
Clawing her self
Clawing herself with her own nails.
The sickening image came to mind, he felt the familiar sensation of fear. It choked him to tears.
Why the hell was this happening?
Anger over took him once again. It was the only concrete emotion that he could feel comfortable tempering with. It was the feeling that he had pushed away long ago, allowing only compassionate emotions to fill him. The spectrum of emotions he felt over the few months was too overwhelming for him to handle. This whole onslaught of pain and horrific event took a hard toll on him. It took away his life.
He was seething, harbored anger for himself, anger for the way he had acted. He remembered, he remembered all too well what had happened in the seemingly distant past.
The moment he found out about the suspect and details on how the man had mercilessly shot his beloved wife, anger over took him once more. He was again reminded of the groveling man, the man who had all too soon vowed revenge with his sinister cackle. He relived the past. That horrid afternoon of bloodshed and fear, fear in that he was about to lose something too precious, too beautiful for him, their dream. The haunting past was like a life time hand cuff, it gnawed at him constantly, reminding him of the extent of a man's uselessness in such a situation. He was incapable of protecting his own wife and child.
That hurt him.
When the agent had confirmed his suspicions on the ex-business associate, he had almost torn apart the office room. It was that man that carried a bit of craze in him; it was he who was behind the plan to bring harm to his family. Boiling over seething anger and suppressing the urge to kill anything in sight, he became another man.
His entire body seethed for same bloodshed of the enemy, the killer, the murderer, who had robbed him of precious meeting with his unburned child. They robbed him of his happiness and life. They robbed him of her smile.
After anger, guilt and remorse followed. It consumed him whole. Doubt coursed through him. He was really the person at fault. If he had been more kind, if he had perhaps granted the half-crazed man some personal advice, perhaps things would have run differently, perhaps the man would have not resorted to this.
It was the 'what ifs'.
He was often reminded of Tsukushi's forgiving ways, but he was adamant to be merciful. He was a Domyouji, and his bloodline would not allow him room to be sway by his wife's forgiving nature. His entire being refutes the idea of a lenient punishment to those who bring harm to his family.
Information that the gunman and the suspects were found had roused his suppressed hatred for revenge. In the heat of the moment, he had flung the glass cup against the wall with flaring rage, shattering it to pieces as he tries to appease his mind. When he had managed a few breaths of calm, he turned and found himself staring at a strange yet familiar man. The handsome face was taut over with strain and pain. The man's malicious eyes were filled with murder intent; a crazed glint gleamed in his eyes. The foreign yet all too familiar black curls and dark brow took him by surprise. He was staring at himself in the mirror. It was the hateful man that he had vowed to seal away since the night of matrimony.
A sardonic laugh rumbled through his whole being, remorse and guilt found their way into him, as he wavered in his stance. Gripping tightly and scornful of his twisted thoughts, he held onto the rim of the sink. Closing his eyes he recounted over and over what he could have done to reverse the irreversible. He felt only regret. And now he was a monster.
The whole idea of forgiveness seemed too good to be a reality in his mind. He could not fathom or try to understand what goes on in a saint's mind. Rather, the urge and need to seek justice for his son, for the love of his life, and for himself, had eventually deterred him from such gracious path. And so, he did not believe for the life of him that any of those saints still existed.
That night was a storm. Thunder crackled across the sky; rain began pouring down on him as he stood on the balcony lost deep in thought.
Tsukasa?
His wife soft voice seemed too distant, too far away.
It was like the happiness that he lost too long ago.
His wife had carefully wrapped her pale arms around his soaked body, planting a deep kiss the back of his shoulder, she laid her pretty head against his wet back.
A deep breath escaped her, and she tightened her hold as she whispered her undying love to him.
He breathed in deeply; the lingering familiar unique feminine scent of hers filled his senses. It came like a pang; it was too cruel to him. To bathe in her beauty and love while hiding the solid truth that threatens to break them apart.
Too beautiful, too pure, she was innocent. And he was tainted; he was tainted with hatred and the thrilling idea of revenge. It was the hatred and revenge that she had always hated.
Her grasp on his shirt tightened, willing him to speak, to say something.
He knew. He knew what she wanted, but at the moment, he was too guilt conscious about his faults to give her what she needed. The tender love for her submerged into his heart, he wanted to hold her gently and delicately as he had done these past few months. He wanted to whispered the comforting promises that he pledge to her night and day. He wanted to give her everything and bathe in her love as he had always done.
But he could not forgive himself.
These past few months of ignorance, of lies he told to himself. He had directed his blamed to others, cowering away from the real truth. The suspicion that had always haunted him, lurking behind him, waiting, waiting for him to drop his guard, waiting for a way to dive in and tell him. To tell him the veracity of the past. To tell him the truth.
And now he comes to realize.
He was the true murderer of his own happiness.
He grieved at the loss like no other; he must carry on with the burden of knowing that the loss was due to his cause. It was he who had caused their happiness to vanquish in an instant.
He struggled with the truths for months, pained at the times when he averted from her clear and confused eyes. He knew he was hurting her, but his conscious would not allow him to taint her with his eyes. He was guilty, and she did not know.
Yet again, he felt the naked vulnerability he had once felt in the hospital. It sickened him. He retched. Acidic sour smell of the content he spilled lingered in air of the bath room. He looked up into the mirror, frightened to see how the once prideful man had been reduced to. A handsome but empty man stared back at him. The hollowness in his eyes was clear-cut cold. There seems no end to the pitch black darkness that his eyes had an affinity for. He stared and could do nothing but be pulled down the bottomless well. There was no more anticipation of a ground. He felt the familiar nothingness and the odd sensation of falling. Endless falling, then absolute fear gripped him.
Tsukasa!
His eyes widen upon hearing his wife's voice. He surfaced from the black hole, and breathed heavily into his lungs. Life came back to him, but so did the emotions. The pain, the remorse, the grimness and the guilt he had too often dwindle on. Very much perplexed at the realization that he was groundless to be able to give her the usual moral support he once did. The emotions and complexity was beyond even he could comprehend.
And so he did what he could do for their marriage to survive.
The only thing he believed that he could do.
He avoided her.
He wanted to avoid the fearful confrontation.
He wanted to avoid having thinking about the present.
He wanted to pretend that everything was okay.
Each night was daunting to him, as if he was a strong man who is now reduced to a child; he missed and desperately longed for his wife. But the thought that he would risk spilling the truth that is bursting to be told, prevented him from going to her. The idea that he may face her repulsion devoured him. He feared himself, feared that he would tell her.
Each time his eyes met her's, each contact of skin, he felt the sudden need to tell her, he wanted to face her and tell her the truth. But when her sweet clear eyes, reflected nothing but innocence and love, focused its attention on him, it may him quiver in fear. He was too scared of the consequence.
He could hear his conscious urging him to spill, but his heart and mind stubbornly pushed it away.
He only hoped that another day goes by without her knowing.
That another day passes without her realizing the truth.
He needed to have just another day to be with her,
He wanted to know that she still loved him as much as he loved her.
It was a secret that he felt he could never tell her.
And so another day became a week, a week soon became a month, and when the season finally turned spring, he realized his greed and selfishness was eating him up.
He had to go or he'll spill.
Life with her oblivious to the truth
or life with her knowing and hating him.
Hell broke loose,
And he left.
Left it all behind for New York.
Space was needed,
he needed desperately to pull himself together, to think more objectively,
For her, and for him.
So he left,
He never picked up her calls, fearing that the sound of her broken voice will again pulled at his heart string.
Fearful that her voice will have him spell bounded by love, and he would fly back to her.
Fearful that his longing and addition to her will soon take it's effect, and get the better of him.
He feared himself,
His most formidable foe,
the monster of hatred that will eventually consumed his soul,
Leaving in nothing in its wake.
But an empty shell.
His glass broke, cracks formed and shards litter in a mess.
-To be continued-
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