Iba screamed herself awake once more, it was the 3rd night in a row that she had the recurring dream, the only problem was it was getting worse and worse, she would look at the person and slowly, the face would get more and more contorted and as she ran through the synagogue she felt someone touching her shoulder, she would trip, get up and run into a room, then realize that the room was just another set of stairs or hallways, until finally she came face to face with a wall and woke up.
It was all she could do not to call into the store each morning, and say that she wasn't fit, instead she would often get up, fill up her bright blue kettle and put it on the stove. The kettle had been with her all these years, it had a handle that had rusted, broken been glued back in place and broken again. It was the only constant in her world of fighting the odds, within minutes, she would prepare a dark roast coffee and sift through the many hundreds of emails she got, watch the news or listen to the radio.
In the past two weeks, Iba had gotten over 500 requests to co-design with various companies across all of Japan; however, she denied every one of them. Not because she wanted to be a snob, but because of the danger of leaving Tokyo, by far it was the most secure town in all of Japan, although the 4th Ward was a war zone, she could not choose to risk her life away from the stream of consciousness that is Tokyo's underground.
Iba wakes up the next morning, Saturday, the one day she reserves. Her mind immediately flocked with thoughts.
"Shower, groceries and call Yomo…" Iba mutters her list and pulls herself out of bed, turning off her alarm and cranking up the radio, beginning to sing along.
Memory Memory now
You are nothing but a
Memory Memory now
You're burning out
Utsurikawari iku sedai koutai
Atooi wa shinai shin sedai
Memory Memory now
Go on and f*ck yourself
As Iba stepped out of the shower, her phone buzzed.
"Yello?" Iba balanced the phone on her shoulder as she pulled on a pair of jeans.
"I'm outside, let me in," the voice was deep and reminded her of many unhealthy nights spent watching TV and fooling around in her grandmother's living room.
"Rude~ I was about to call you, give me a second to put some clothes on," she put the phone down, tied up her hair, and pulled a tank top on, then ran out to the door.
Yomo looked at Iba from head to toe, scoffing and slipping past her through the doorway.
"I haven't seen you without makeup in… I don't know, a good 10 years?"
"Yeah, well get over yourself big guy, I just didn't think it was all that important for going to get the groceries." Iba nodded towards her spotless kitchen, and laughed lightly.
"You know, I've always thought that you looked prettier without all the lipstick." He was at least a head taller than her, but it didn't bother them, as Yomo, moved in, he leaned down, holding Iba's head in one hand, and her side in the other, pushing her against the doorframe, but he still hesitated.
"And it's not in the way, so what's stopping you?" She stared him dead in the eyes, arms relaxed, ready for one of the best things she missed since she had left.
"You'll see," he moved in farther, kissing her with one part lust two parts pent up anger, moving both his hands to her hips and lifting her up, pushing her hard against the door frame, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and arms around his neck.