I honestly never expected to be updating according to schedule this time, this is a true miracle. This chapter has been written in the form of patches that were ultimately put together, some of the scenes were written a month ago and most of it I just wrote in a day like psychotic maniac and it has been edited, deleted, started over; long story short: it was mess BUT, I have my amazing Yui to thank for the motivation because GOD, she has made the most amazing drawing of Claire, that you guys can check out here:- : / / kigamin . tumblr post / 145474062869 (no spaces). I still can not believe actual fan art has been made for this story. THANK YOU YUI. Secondly, I have to thank one of the most important and awesome people in my life, Aqib, I don't even know where to begin and how to even express what you mean to me but this story would not even exist without you and neither would I (trust me guys, he is like the heart and soul of my confidence, my inspiration and my everything). Now, hopefully, since my exams are over, I'll bombard you with chapters! (but don't take my word for it please, I suck with promises.)
My wonderful betas, all of you who read, review and follow, you don't know how much this means to me. Also, guys, people who PM me don't need to apologise after every sentence or feel nervous; for the new readers who do, you have to chill because I feel like I'm literally the most dorky and approachable person ever, I guess? So, feel free to send me a message anytime.
I don't get why you're still reading my rants instead of the chapter but since you are I must warn you, it has way too much drama. So, dig in? Oh, and Ramadan Mubarak!
Chapter: 21
"Mitigation."
The first and foremost thing that happened to me as I stumbled out of my car in the morning was that someone saved my fall by seizing my arm an exact nano second before I made contact with the pavement and elliptically enough, that someone was Killua.
I felt my teeth ground together just as I caught sight of him. Not giving it another moment's thought, I pried his fingers off my arm and forcefully pushed his hand away. "Don't you dare touch me," I whisper-shouted, resisting the urge to step on his feet and run away; enraged was a mild way of describing my condition, time-bomb would have been more accurate.
"Don't be dramatic," he retorted, grimacing at me like we had fought over a box of candy.
I reflexively glowered at him but it eventually, it settled into a simple stare on seeing his expression; when a profuse instant of just gazing at each other passed I understood he had something to say and if the guy standing in front of me was the asshole I knew, he wasn't going anywhere until he did.
"What now?" I took initiative, drawing the starting line for him. My voice was rough and almost unrecognizable after the episode of aggressive coughing I had encountered last night. Turned out, my body thought dyspnoea was a successful way to deal with profuse stress.
His eyes attenuated as he processed the change. "What happened to your voice?" It was very clear that primarily, he was trying to delay whatever he came here for at all costs because it would have taken something more than just a slumber to chase last night's events out of our minds; that would be if one of us did get any sleep, I knew I didn't and it wasn't just the dullness of his eyes that told me he didn't either.
"You happened," I enlightened, making very sure he caught the edge in my tone.
He lightly rubbed his jaw with his finger. "Honey," he stated sulkily.
My eyebrows shot up reflexively. "What?"
"For your throat," he clarified when he caught my shaky response.
It wasn't just the fact that I had now officially started my day with a wave of humiliation, but additionally, last night's anger hadn't quite faded away. "I know your whole world revolves around my health, but why are you here?"
After his traditional move of sinking his hands in his pockets, he shifted his eyes to firmly meet my gaze. "I came to apologise, for yesterday," he unraveled as casually as he was recalling a picnic.
Not only did his words leave me speechless, but it took me about three minutes to come up with a bunch of syllables that would make sense to a human. "Really? Exactly what are you sorry for?" I couldn't help the scepticism in my tone.
"The way I treated you," he revealed with absolutely no hesitation. "I didn't mean to—be aggressive with you; I'm sorry if I hurt you."
My mind had decided to answer with a mute ogle but the way he kept staring at my arm clearly indicated he had other intensions. After a few silent seconds I sighed and pulled my sleeve back to my elbow. "You didn't hurt me," I assured, placing my forearm in full-view.
His jaw relaxed on obtaining the knowledge that his grip had done no damage but if he thought I was letting him off the hook withut being the bitch I was, he was very wrong.
"Not physically at least," I added before he even had the chance to say something appropriate.
His shoulders slightly dropped as he sighed. "Listen, last night, I didn't behave as planned."
My eyes widened as I made sense of his statement. "Planned?" I demanded in utter disbelief. "You plan emotions?"
He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth when he realised what he had just let slip. "I meant to say—that yesterday was just a momentary moment of— indecision."
I nodded, trying to push back the rage that was slowly making its way to my brain. "Momentary moment?"
"My judgement was clouded," he backed up while gesturing with his hand.
"Wow, did you just rip that all off from a dictionary? Let me guess, Oxford?" I crossed my arms in front of my chest and scowled at him. I didn't want to lash out on him, but I knew I was going to.
He rolled his eyes. "Everything aside, you need to get over this," he demanded in a concrete manner. "It would be better if you pretended that the last few months didn't happen."
His words left me feeling so hollow and unstable that I had to clench my fists hard to keep that from aiming at him. "Give me a timeline," I advised. "Let me know how far back I have to take my amnesia, I'm guessing, last September? Well, just so you know forgetting isn't gonna change anything; I mean, if I forget everything that happened last year, am I going to get my dad back?"
He froze in place as he wasn't expecting the weight of what I had just voiced.
"Yeah, I'm sorry if I'm not able to rewire my whole system and cut you out, and I'm sorry if I don't work according to a plan and I am so sorry that I'm not able to let go, unlike you of course, did you plan all of that too?" This was the part where I was no longer in control of what I was saying or doing.
"What?" he asked in incomprehension.
"Yeah, I mean, I wouldn't even be surprised if you told me that whatever we had wasn't even real; was I part of your plan too? A promising candidate like Naomi?"
His gaze broadened before settling into a vicious glare. "Just shut up."
"Because it's like I don't even know you anymore, or maybe I never did in the first place," I accused senslessly. "I feel like an idiot that for a moment I considered when you apologised, that it would be followed by something more justified like, 'Hey, Claire, I'm sorry for being the asshole I am, you deserve to know why I keep fucking up and pretending that it never happened'."
His gaze narrowed before he eventually looked away. "I'm not here to argue."
"Then what are you here for?" I questioned, feeling my temper surge. "I don't want your apology, what I want is the truth. I want to talk to you, I want to figure this out."
The quietude that followed settled something vague but present in the atmosphere. "Like I said," he asserted with finality. "I don't owe you any explanation." He sharpened his prior words by adding: "And you have no concern and no business in my personal matters."
It wasn't only his locution, but the harshness of his tone left me so aback, I actually flinched.
He sighed as he saw my reaction and just for a moment his face settled into a visual of regret, before he turned around and walked away.
"This was a mistake." I heard him confess barely louder than a whisper, and the worst part was that I didn't know whether he was referring to this conversation or every moment we had.
Gon's P.O.V:-
"Just write it down on your hand," endorsed the blonde girl with the locker next to mine as I attempted to cram the same calculus formula for the seventh consecutive time.
"Uh—that would be—wrong," I apprised indecisively.
She squinted at me, appearing rather offended by what I had just said.
I opened my mouth, giving a shot at saying something compensating; that was when I spotted a very disoriented looking Killua sauntering through the hallway, apparently heading in the opposite direction of where he should have been going. "Excuse me," I absolved absent-mindedly as I approached him.
"Killua?" I called as I shook his shoulder lightly.
He jerked back immediately before he met my gaze. "Gon," he mumbled with a sigh.
"Are you okay?" I debriefed cautiously, becoming aware of the empty look in his eyes.
He blinked briefly before answering. "Yeah—yeah." He nodded in manner that gave off the impression of him trying to convince himself more than me. "I—I have to go," he muttered lowly.
"Where?" I questioned, not sure anymore that he was in his senses.
He stared at me dumbfounded as if he was having a hard time comprehending my words. "H-home," he said after a while.
"You're going home? Why?" I demanded, still deriving no meaning from his replies.
There was a concerning pause before his next words but that wasn't the only thing that worried me. "To feed the dog," he blurted out and looked content with his answer.
"The dog?" I asked slowly. I would've highly considered the possibility of him being stoned under these circumstances if I wasn't aware of its absurdity.
"Uh—yeah, our dog." He shrugged, glacing at me with his hollow gaze.
I held my breath as I looked at him. "Are you an idiot?" I tested.
"Yeah," he agreed with no hinderance.
I cleared my throat as I processed his words. "Uh—yeah, go home, feed the dog."
"Okay," he obliged and proceeded forward.
"Uh—Killua?" I addressed just as he was a few steps away.
He turned back and raised his eyebrows in question.
"Get some rest," I encouraged, hoping he would make it back without driving the car off some cliff.
"Yeah," he repeated in a weak tone and was out of sight.
Approximately two minutes later, as I was still staring in the direction he went, a very unstable and enraged looking Claire stromed past me, her whole figure shaking.
"Claire?" I tried as I followed her.
"Don't," she warned murderously as she faced me for an instant with her eyes full of furious and unshed tears, then resumed her march.
"What happened?" I asked, still tailing behind her.
"Nothing yet," she hissed in a fuming manner. "But your best friend's murder, hopefully pretty soon." She was short of breath and her voice was low and raspy.
"Did you guys fight—" I attempted to keep my tone coaxing. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to show that bastard exactly what he subscribed for," she clarified hysterically.
"Wait, he's not—" She was strolling ahead so rapidly, that it was becoming quite a task to keep track of her between the whole swarm of students.
"He's in history," she interrupted bitterly. "And I'm gonna drag him out by his hair," she seethed through gritted teeth. "Maybe that will serve as a wake up call to his deluded and bastardic mind."
"Okay," I mused as I took into consideration her newly invented word. I grabbed her elbow to bring her to a halt. "Killua went home."
She was about to protest but went still as soon as she processed my words. "That—" she breathed out as if she couldn't come up with a bad enough insult for him. "That—lying, cheating, mother-fucking coward."
I blinked, startled by the intensity of her wrath. "Um—what happened?" I spoke quietly, struggling not to provoke her in any way.
She remained silent for a long moment, just exhaling and inhaled loudly. I could almost see smoke coming out of her ears and was surprised that regardless her arousal, her face was just as pale and colourless as always. "I—" she began. "I—he, last night he—I didn't know and then Naomi—" she halted again, trying to keep her voice steady.
As soon as she mentioned the name, it clicked and I quickly grasped the meaning of her words. I couldn't help the guilt that was surely all over my face.
"And then—he says to me—" she blabbered incomprehensively.
"Did he tell you that he doesn't owe you any explanation?" I guessed on point.
Her eyes darted to mine immediately and broadened. "How—do you—?"
I grimaced. "That's Killua; it's his defence mechanism tag line, the flechette he throws right between his fucked up and answerless phase."
She leered at me in disbelief until she was clearly on the verge of tears as she clasped a hand on her face and maffled a sob.
My eyes widened abruptly. "Claire—" Oh, God. She was about to cry.
She pressed her fingers to ger eyelids. "I'm not gonna cry," she protested, trying to convince me and still unaware of the fact that her cheeks were now wet.
I couldn't help but acknowledge the sinking feeling in my heart as I watched her. "Come on." I gestured backwards with my head. "Let's get you what you need."
She rubbed a side of her face with her palm and sniffed. "What?"
"Something to drink," I unraveled. "And the explanation you deserve."
Claire's P.O.V:-
I sucked in the chilly morning air as Gon led me up on the top bleachers, holding two cups of hot chocolate. We were surrounded by the quotidian hazy and cold setting as he sat down beside me and handed me the paper container.
"Thanks," I mumbled, putting my free hand in the pocket of my coat. "Enlighten me," I invited.
He glanced at me and lightly rubbed his jaw. "Do you know why there's always a dead-end with Killua?" he debriefed casually as if he was asking for my opinion on the weather.
"Because he's an obstinate, indecisive, irritating, fucking mule," I replied easily.
A corner of his mouth lifted up. "Close," he hinted, taking a sip of his drink. "It's because he can't open up."
I looked at him, my stare abruptly glued to his. It wasn't just the fact that I had no answer to that, it was awareness of the consideration that he was right and moreover to the point of a simple knowledge dawning upon me. It was obvious, veracious and unsettling: I didn't really know Killua.
Because as I contemplated Gon, the flashes of devotion that occupied his eyes as he talked about Killua, I felt humiliated and unscrupulous. How in the name of hell and beyond was I the person fit to be judging a boy about whom I was familiar with nothing but a faded ghost of his identity.
I didn't want this. I didn't want to hear this and I didn't want to admit any of this. I shook my head heavily, slurping down all of the burning liquid down my throat and expiring like an outraged, wet bull-dog. "I just want to know why a lightning ensuing thaumaturge, a.k.a Killua, needed a condemned pair of keys to barge into some shitlord's shit hole of an apartment which I am positively sure is made out of things commonly known to man like...let's say wood or bricks?"
Gon blinked at me and his jaw slightly twiched.
I decided pretending and avoiding yet another opulent topic of my idiocy, which was basically just levitating over my head, screaming, 'you're a jackass, you're an asshole.' would be best for my dopey excuse for an ego.
"You're not jabbing through this the right way," he chuntered defensively. "If you just look at it from Killua's—"
"Oh, I'm jabbing through this the direct way," I apprised, crushing the paper cup between my fingers. "And of course you're gonna take his side and squirm here and there until you find a good enough excuse to hide the fact that your best friend is a male demon slut, a liar and a potential dick," I burst out, fuming as my grey matter constanltly chanted, 'side-tracker, side-tracker.'
His mouth fell open and he flinched. "That's not—okay listen," he convinced. "I don't know how to explain this to you, I—" he paused and took a deep breath. "When we first came here, the plan was simple: find the man and get the information he had about Ging. But we decided to start with the sidelines: his apartment, his office; actually finding something there was honestly a long shot but we didn't want any unnecessary commotion. Approaching the man himself was the last option." His finger absent-mindedly traced the lip of the cup in his hand. "We were counting on getting everything done unnoticed and as quickly as possible." He broke eye-contact and gazed intesly at the sky. "And then..."
"And then what?" I interjected, straightening my shoulders.
There was a halt of a mere second before he spoke which drove me to another level of insanity. "Killua started making excuses, ways to stay longer." He peered straight at me as he spoke this time.
"Why?" The plain word seemed so fragile coming out of my lips.
Gon raised his eyebrows at me as if I was missing a vital point in our existence. "Because of you," he clarified like it was the most evident thing in the space-time trajectory.
I was unable to describe the alien feeling coarsing through me as I processed his words. Because of you. The sentence chimed over and over like an undeniably pleasant breeze across my face. Killua started making excuses, ways to stay longer. Because of you.
"You know that the world can turn upside down, but Killua will never be open about what he feels. He's like a masterpiece made for complicating things, just to keep dodging the truth. He wouldn't admit it," he recounted with the hint of a smile on his face. "He would go on and on about how we should take time, observe and then, propping in the pole of royally shabby mitigations, he told me he was trying to get the keys to the man's apartment from someone." The expression on his face was a blend of irritation and scepticism.
"Wow," I backed up, feigning the act of being highly impressed. "Dazzling I.Q." I gave him a thumbs up.
Gon gestured with his eyes in agreement. "He knew just as precisely as hell that he wasn't fooling anyone, but he tried to convince himself that it was all very reasonable and everything was working out." He sighed. "He believes in torturing himself for letting people down, and I swear I have no idea why he does what he does, I can only assume. That's the Killua version of penance," he summarised, looking weary.
My eyelids flickered as I attempted to grasp his words. "Self-abasement, that's what that kind of intimacy is for him?" I demanded, feeling somehow upset.
The answering look that he gave me said enough. "He's complicated, that's how I'd outline him; he has a tacky mindset and he looks for the slightest excuses to hate himself."
I could somehow feel a hint of Gon's dedication towards Killua radiate near me and it wasn't anything short of over-whelming. Whatever these two boys had, and I refused to regard it with such an ordinary term as friendship, it wasn't from this world at least; it was something thicker than blood and deeper than bone, it was too real to be defined. "You should write a book about him," I suggested, attempting to lighten up the mood.
He gave me a shy smile as he stared at his feet. "He's a remarkably intense guy," he asserted. "Five years, and I've seen him forge himself into the person he is and trust me, he's worth the roller-coaster he offers."
I shook my head as I tried to ignore the prickling sensation in my eyes. I wasn't completely sure what did and didn't make sense anymore.
"D-do you feel like crying?" he asked cautiously. "Or—do you need a hug?" he added tentatively.
My exhale broke into a laugh as soon as I caught the intense fear in his preposition. "I'm not gonna cry," I assured him. "But I will take you up on that hug," I wrapped my arms around him and sighed, watching my misty breath materialise and twist off.
His hold was very gentle yet very grounding at the same time. Sitting next to Gon made me feel like a fused bulb, slowly being revived by the sparks emanated by the brightest light there was. "Thank you."
"For what?" he asked surprised.
"For being you," I decoded, drawing back and meeting his eyes. "For being you in a world full of people like me." My voice was incredibly rough, but honest nonetheless.
He raised his eyebrows and surveyed me amusingly. "If the world really was full of people like you, Claire," he roved, standing and holding up his long forgotten drink. "It wouldn't be as horrible as it is. Don't lose yourself judging and degrading your humanity, because you're genuine, and that's rare."
Before I had the chance to say something or even recover from his words, he had already decended and was way past the range to hear me. A breathless laugh escaped me and I bit my lip, thinking if even only a fraction of what he had said about me was true, then God damn it, I had a lot of ammends to make regardless of it meaning that I would have to be the one to give up my pride.
I extracted my cell phone from my pocket as I sat with legs crossed on the driver seat of my car. I basically just kept chewing on its cover until I assembled enough courage to scroll through my contacts and dial Killua's number.
With every beep, I swear, my whole circulatory system went insane and punched forward a rush of adrenaline to assist my already unstable brain. He didn't pick up, and I wasn't expecting him to; but contrary to my instinct, I didn't hang up, instead I transfered the call to voice-mail.
I had to take a very deep breath before I could find my voice. "Hey," I grated out weakly. "I know you're listening." I sighed, repeatedly pressing the window button as I watched the glass go lower. "You skipped school today," I acknowledged like an idiot. "Which you do frequently these days and—uh—but academically it's—very...not good." I exhaled nervously and bit my lip. "I just—about—I'm sorry about last night and today. Don't worry—I'm not here to rant on a string of meaningless apologies because that's sort of become our cliche: me fucking up, you fixing it, me apologizing for it and you...pushing me off." I cleared my throat hesitantly. "But—I am sorry for one thing, and that's not understanding you or more precisely not trying to understand you." There was a small pause in which I just let my words sink in. "I know I don't deserve you I don't wanna be without you; this is not right, this isn't the way it should be and it's making no sense. I know I'm selfish and...easily blinded by anger and..." I huffed, picking the appropriate word. "...and most probably falling in the category of the world's biggest asshole and—" madly in love with you "—an idiot but—it's not, I mean—it's not that I've hidden these parts of me from you, I've always been this way, it's just—every single one of my flaws just goes away when you're with me and—" I heaved a sigh and my voice was firm when I spoke the next words. "I don't wanna stay away from you and I don't want you to run away from me. I don't know about—this concept of an after-life or nine cat lives or whatever the hell that is but—all I know is that we have one life and we have to seize the moment," I said quoting his words. "I'm not wasting this one shot at whatever we have by trying to stay away from you or chase you. Talk to me, we can work this out—I don't care if every child of Satan is after me because I'm with you—I don't care, I don't care, I don't care." The repetition of the last line seemed to ring on for a while, like a faded echo. "I wanna be with you and—I'm coming over," I informed subtly as I ended the message.
It was a cascade of my own words that was flowing over my head as I started the engine and pulled out. For me, principally, this was the part where I was sure I had fixed everything; one little patch, where I stepped down for him and to me this was the apex of sacrifices. Little did I know that I was in for an eye-opener and things that involved me and Killua could never not be convoluted.
The rest continued in a blur and before I knew it, I was walking up the stairs towards his apartment. I raised my hand to knock, but something about the unusual silence in the hallway told me the door wasn't locked.
As soon as I put my fingers around the knob and pushed the door open, an inconceiveable sight unraveled itself before me.
The first thing my mind registered was the absolute disarray mantelling the whole living room; not even a single thing was in place. The second thing that made its enterance in my awareness was the trail of clothing tossed all over the floor in diminishing successions: a pair of black jeans followed by a button-down shirt and a sweater, accompanied by a pair of boxers lying in close proximity to an inky, ruffled bra.
Only then, did I acknowledge the bare-chested, messy haired figure that was seated on the couch with an unlit cigarette between his lips, observing me with an unpretentious look.
I guessed it was the denial of what I was witnessing that rendered me unable to speak as I stared back at him vacantly.
It was about a minute later that Killua resumed the ignition of his cigarette and let out a bored, smoky exhale. "I'm sure you're familiar with knocking because there's this thing known as privacy," he commented casually.
Abruptly enough, my gaze darted between him and the shut door of his room as I was suddenly blown by the ferocity of impact with which my head was pounding. It was with that punch that I realised this was the first time in my life I felt so humiliated yet unable to cry. "Why did you do this." The words didn't even come out as a question, just a weak, breathless plead.
His eyebrow arched as his eyes held and impishly unabashed glint. "Come on," he remarked sportively. "I have the right to perversity and fucking up without regrets."
Promptly, the hollow and stricked knot in my chest was replaced by something intensely more acute and devouring: scorching and severe rage. "Shove that pervesity up your ass," I seethed, my fingers gripping roughly at the door frame. "Let me show you what regret is," I bluffed in a mentis manner. Just before I slammed the door behind me, I saw the way his eyes widened as he took my words into consideration.
The distance between the elevator doors was shortening as he made his way down the hallway and towards me, still shirtless. It was practically shut as he forced his fingers through it and upto the zenith of impossibility, he pushed it open again. "Get out," he ordered.
I pressed my back to the end and insanely punched all the buttons at once.
His jaw hardened as his eyes glinted with challenge. In one rapid motion, he propped his elbow inbetween and flung himself right inside as I watched the doors seal with a loud thud.
Several seconds passed before I processed the fact that the elevator wasn't moving. A bit hysterically, I attempted to press randomly down the board.
"Don't bother," Killua recommended. "It's stuck."
An involuntary whimper sounded in my throat as I registered his words: I was stuck in a jammed lift with a half-naked asshole. I took out my phone, like my life depended on it, which right now it kind of did and just as I was about to fish out my mom's number, it buzzed informing me I had just received a text.
I tapped it open only to see the meaningless digits and characters displayed before me and froze. Since the past few months, I had been remorselessly throwing my mobile around, that was the reason I wasn't surprised by the abnormal behaviour it had been showing recently. But as I stood in this suffocatingly small place, which seemed to be closing in on me, it finally dawned upon me what the matter was.
My teeth gritted faster than I looked up at him. "Is that what you've been doing?" I demanded venomously. "Tracking my phone?"
He blatantly stared back.
"Of course, like the idiot I was, I didn't even consider how you knew where I was last night."
"Can you blame me?" he questioned indelicately. "Who wants to take risks with a person practically radiating of suicidal behaviour?"
My mouth fell open at that. "I'm not—IF I WANTED TO KILL MYSELF, I WOULD'VE DONE IT ON THE NIGHT I FOUND OUT WHAT YOU ARE!" I bellowed as I forthwith hurled my cell phone to the floor and smashed the screen with my boot, specks of glass covering parts of the ground.
The only thing that filled the silence after the commotion was my laboured breathing. When I met Killua's eyes again, they were charged up with not only over-whelming anger but subsided vacancy. "What I am?" he repeated my words, astonished, breaking them down one by one.
"Yes," I spat back, losing control of my actions. "A monster, a killer."
His gaze was now eclipsed with aggression and fury. "How dare you," he hissed.
"Oh, I dare, I do. Can you deny any of it?"
His jaw hardened and the muscled of his neck were threateningly pulled back. "Do you really want to play the blame-game with me, Claire?" he pricked. "Because, I think you know very well where you stand."
I gaped at him and let out a breathless laugh. "So, this is what it's all to you, a game?" I debriefed incredulously. "Pointing fingers until one of us wins the conversation? And you have the nerve to look me in the eye and tell me that we're on mutual positions on this matter? Killua, you killed a man in front of my eyes!" I reminded. "I forgave you, I never even mentioned it!"
He blinked, his lips slightly parted. "You forgave me?" He laughed once without humor. "You forgave me?" he asked in disbelief.
I was literally shaking with wrath. "Yes," I confirmed. "Murdering someonemight not be a big deal to you but—"
"I saved your life—that man nearly killed you," he argued back in an exasperated tone.
"Because of you!" I shouted. "All because of you! Everything was your fault from the start."
He clasped a hand to his forehead and took a step in my direction. "Are you even listening to yourself right now?" he clamoured.
"Are you denying it?" I burst out. "Didn't you murder his family?"
His eyelids shook at those words. "It was an assigned—" he commenced before breaking off. "Stop it—just stop it," he ordered, his tone becoming lower. "Don't speak about things that don't concern you, especially when you know nothing about them."
"Things that don't concern me? What about my life?" I countered. "Why the hell did you walk in when you knew it wasn't right?"
That was when he fell silent and just gazed at me.
A very small part of me knew that I had crossed the line, but regardless, I kept scowling back unflinchingly.
"Trust me," he spoke camly this time. "It was the worst decision of my life."
"You know, losing my dad wasn't the worst thing that happened to me. Meeting you was." My own prior words, so similar to his flashed through my mind in a blur.
All of a sudden, I went too still. Right there, for the very first time, I found out what heart-break was. I felt every part of me crumble and fall into a dark and endless pit. My hand moved on its own, aiming for his face but he effortlessly caught my wrist.
"The first time that I let you hit me was the last, do you understand?" He spoke barely louder than a whisper, his other hand holding my shoulder against the edge.
"I hate you."
His reply came fast and genuine. "The feeling's mutual," he assured.
And this, I figured, was what disorientation felt like, for I had said this to him once before. My legs seemed to have vanished from below me. Was this how it all had felt like to him?
Instantly, his glare faltered and I percieved the humid sensation trailing down my cheek. I abruptly freed myself of his hold and violently swiped my palm across my cheeks.
He pulled back and pressed his palm the metallic board. With absolutely no hinderance, the elevator doors parted and were wide open.
I was aware that it was a very long moment that we just kept looking at one another. Today, we both had broken boundaries and bruised each other. This was the very prominent end of all of it.
I stepped out quietly before tuning back to face him. "This," I emphasised, wiping my eyes. "Is the last time I've shed a tear for you. This hurts way more than it's all worth."
He didn't answer or maybe I didn't stand by long enough to get one, but it was as I walked down the hallway that his words from the prior night came to me clear and consuming: I'll make you hate me, I promise. I swear, I'll make you loathe me. He had kept his promise.
It was on the last day of finals, when I ambled down the school hallway with a zillion papers clustered in my hand. Briefly stating, the school was a mess these days; if you kept walking straight for seven light years through every corridor, you wouldn't find a single bare space on the wall that wasn't sticked up with gross and colourful posters.
For a person my age, graduation should have been a great deal; for a person having the same mental derrangements as me... not so much. Predominantly speaking, I was basically a step away from freedom and yet here I was still wondering why I had run out of cereal this morning.
Barbarously stuffing all the sheets and books in my locker, I dug out my insanely whirring phone, predecessor to my terribly destroyed previous one; it turned out that when you told your mom you had litearlly smashed your cell-phone out of anger, she was most likely to end your spending priviledges and set an allowence, which was a completely new concept to me and I should add that it was not fun.
Swiping the screen, I saw that I had received eight texts: the first seven from Naomi; one reminding me to buy my cap and gown, another asking me if I had sent all my invites, a thread of other messages recounting what had happened in the last episode of a tv show that I had missed; and the last was from Gon, asking me what a Gobbledygook was.
I had decided not to wreck whatever grain of empathy that joined Naomi and me, mostly because she never even remembered the instalment of her little drunk confessions saga and partially because whoever these matters were related and lead upto was no longer in anyway a part of my life. Or at least that was what I recited to myself eleven times a day.
I scratched my head with my thumb and reflected on the matter.I was trying to delay holding the ugly gown in my hands for as long as possible and moving apart from all the meaningless shit, my only family consisted of four people: my nonna, my mom, my cranky groom-to-be neighbour and my two months old sister whose life-goal consisted of striving to poke out people's eyes with her prezel sized fingers. The only bonus was my uncle, who lived abroad, so that was that. In short, I had an army of people coming to my graduation.
"It's a type of sandwich. You should ask for it in the cafeteria." I replied to Gon trying to keep my face straight.
His answer came almost immediately. "Is it good?"
"VERY." I tapped the send button and just for a second imagined the scenario of Gon asking the mean lunch lady for a 'Gobbledygook' play in my head.
"Okay. I'm getting lunch, do you want something?" the innocence of his response made me feel like a sinner.
"A gobbledygook for me too, thanks." My eyes slightly twitched as I typed and headed forward after shutting my locker.
Composing my cynically gloating face, I knocked lightly on the baleful sandy painted door and poked my head inside. "You called me?"
Mr. Isawa simply nodded from his desk as he heeded to the files in his hand. "Come in," he invited, pointing towards the chair in front of him.
I stepped inside and took the seat, awkwardly passing a hand through my hair in the quietude that followed, in which he just glanced up at me. "Uh...are you gonna say something or is this a staring contest?" I joked.
"I wanted to ask for your speech, since I'm the one who has to scrutinize through it. You know how teenagers these days enjoy quoting pop song lyrics or strongly implied sexual content." He was peeked at me through the spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.
My eyebrows quirked up in incomprehension. "What speech?"
He repositioned his glasses, his expression incredibly amused. "Your valectictorian speech."
"Oh, that," I mumbled picking at a piece of string on my sleeve. "Wait," I breathed as my head darted up. "VALEDICTORIAN?" I vociferated.
His signature smirk sparked into place. "Don't tell me you didn't know."
"What—how—was it supposed to descend upon me by mystical means?" I demanded outraged.
He held his hands up. "You have the highest score in your class, I thought that dropped the hint. If I would've known, I might've sent you pegasus or something of the sort."
I clasped a hand to my forehead. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? You're telling me now because you knew I would've—" I broke off immediately as I realised just what I was about to say.
"You would've what?" he questioned casually. "Changed your grades?'
My face went blank. "You—how do you..."
He waved me off. "Some stories are better left untold," he advised. "You were saying?"
I gaped at him. "You—you, I'm sure there are many other people who'd want this..." I paused to pick the suitable word. "...prestigious opportunity."
"Why not you?" he debriefed, very interested.
I bit my tongue and pressed my fingers to my temple. "Okay—the last time, I stepped on stage—I cataclysmically got a whole event cancelled...you don't want that with graduation—people want to get out of here with good memories not a barf show."
His gaze didn't alter and I somehow knew that neither did his decision. "I believe we were discussing the content of your speech," he remused as if the prior argument had never happened.
"Are you kidding me?" I asked exasperated. "You're telling me that I have to deliver a whole declamation in front of thousands of people looking like a teletubby?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Impressive wording, tell me more."
I scowled at him. "You are aware that I barely have two days til graduation and last time I checked, I wasn't Shakespeare," I whisper-shouted.
He rolled his eyes. "I can help you, if you want," he offered.
"I'd rather choke myself but thanks," I blurted back.
He sighed and returned his attention to his papers. "I might have written a potential sample, it has very nice ideas and guidance on how you could shape your speech," he baited.
I crossed my arms around my chest. "So, are you gonna hand it over or just brag about the fact that you used words with more than four letters in them?"
"I don't have it with me," he notified, scribbling on the sheets.
"Why?" I demanded accusingly.
"Because I find that it is not a vital organ of my body." He was stuffing the pages in his briefcase now.
"Okay, so where is it?"
"Most unsually, I tend to keep my possessions where I dwell," he apprised with a taunting nod.
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whenever you have it then," I finalised as I moved towards the door.
"I must remind you, you have to submit the speech to me by tomorrow; not forgetting that after I revise it you have to rehearse it."
I gawked at him. "So what exactly are you proposing?" I enquired with my eyebrows raised.
"It would be quite rude if I didn't ask you to come in, especially after you offered me a ride," Mr. Isawa catechized as I parked outside his apartment building.
I sucked in a breath through my teeth. "Trust me, it would sound ruder when you actually did and I said no, so let's just get this over with." I clapped my hands and tried not to make eye contact. God, I was so quirky today.
He arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure—"
"Yeah, nailed on," I assured. "Can you just get me the damned speech so we can both just pretend we don't know each other?"
His eyes settled into a sceptical look.
"Okay, that wasn't funny but whatever." I chewed on my thumb.
It wasn't just that I already had an unpleasant and nearly fatal experience of accepting a teacher's offer to 'come inside', which I did and it was accurately cringe-worthy, but I had frequently heard some nasty stuff about this guy and it wasn't just his axe-murderer beard that kept me on my guard.
He shrugged and ultimately got out. "I'm not coming back down for you," he stated.
"What?" I opposed, sticking my head out of the window. "I thought exercise was healthy for the hoary dudes."
He turned back and took a squiz at me, then resumed his pace.
I huffed as I exited and sauntered after him. "I'm gonna be waiting outside the door," I informed.
"Fine by me," he accorded.
"And I get to hold your umbrella," I constrained, attempting to sound fierce.
He snorted and handed over the handle without hesitation.
As I climbed into the elevator with him, I couldn't help but wonder how this vexatious old man could in any way be holding information about Gon's father.
He caught me surveying him and I instantly dropped my gaze.
"I'm presuming you are currently and as of recently, constantly troubled," he decoded casually.
I struggled to prevent myself from rolling my eyes. "I see you went all out with the using your whole vocabulary in a single sentence thing," I retorted as I fidgeted with the zip of my jacket.
He didn't break his gaze and my words seemed to go by unheard. "And if I surmise further, I would guess by a very intricate relationship," he scanned accurately.
I stared at him struggling to appear unaffected. "Who are you, the pope?" My voice came out way more aggressive than I had intended it to be.
One of his eyes twitched. "Behind your anger, are you hoarding regrets?"
I blinked, resisting the impulse of using the umbrella in my hand. "I didn't ask for an extrospection but amazeballs," I mumbled monotonously as I motioned with my hand.
"Denial," he commented further. "I might consider that as a confirmation."
Okay, not only was I running out of my spectacularly jocular comebacks, but this man was creepily digging through my mind like a book. I forced out a unconvinving laugh. "What am I supposed to be denying?" I needed extra restraint here to stop my nerves from joining in.
"Whatever you are trying so helplessly to cover up," he countered.
"Is that what you ultimately learn in philosophy? Annoying the shit out of people?" I murmured, rolling my eyes.
"Well, they get frustrated only when you're hitting a sensitive spot," he nudged, trying to keep his face straight.
"Whatever," I countered, stressing on the word.
"Are you changing the subject?" he challenged.
"There is no subject," I enlightened.
"You're doing it again," he poked.
God, it was horrifying the resemblance his attitude had with Killua's. "On which floor do you live?" I side-tracked, darting my gaze elsewhere. "I think I'm going to grow a beard by the time this thing stops."
"And now, you are looking away," he specified with a smirk.
I shook my head as I squinted at him. "I have a hard time believing you're older than seven but that beard is definitely a century old," I confessed, nudging the doors with the pointy end, duping myself into believing that would somehow speed it up.
He didn't reply right away, instead his eyes scrutinized mine like he was trying to decipher something barely lurking around my irises. "I'm going to be inferring..." he mused pensively. "...that you are in love," he conjectured informally, like we were discussing the national debt or what to have for tea.
My face went blank instantly and my answer came out loud, heated and immediate before I had even the slightest chance to even consider it. "I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH HIM!" Damn it, damn it, damn it to the deepest pit in hell.
The incredulous and vaunted expression that flashed on his face was devoid of any verbal comment but held a perfect timing with the opening of the elevator doors and God knew I couldn't have been more grateful.
I rushed out like a maniac and tried to keep my expression composed. The rest of our walk to his place was silent and awkward. He came to a halt in front of a black door bearing a gold coloured label that moulded into '5 E'.
I was so endorsed in my thoughts and embarrassment that I nearly ran into him at his abrupt pause, but made a save at the last milli second.
"I'll wait here," I reminded him as he offered me to come in with his silent gaze.
"Of course,"he answered casually as he unlocked the door and was out of sight.
It was about just a minute after he went in that I heard the shattering of an object from inside and what I clearly perceived as a maffled shout.
My whole body went rigid before I even became aware of it. Burglars. My brain shot at me. Was someone actually in there? I fidgeted with my phone, arguing internally whether to call 911 or not because I suddenly considered the possibily that he might've just knocked down something by accident and maybe this was a whole misunderstanding.
If I called the cops and the situation was a false alarm then that would be so goddamn humiliating. But what if there really was an impostor in there? Right in the middle of this mental wrangle, I did the most idiotic thing one could have come up in any predicament: I sneaked inside.
The apartment was large and quiet. If there was one thing I had learned from tv-shows, it was that you should never call someone out loud in such circumstances. Trying to keep my body from shaking and silently looking around, I registered some noise.
It was after I basically flew noiselessly under a table that I realised it was a person speaking, and the voice was awfully familiar.
"Lock the door," Killua ordered and from the room in front of me, a very confused looking Gon emerged and headed towards the enterance and obliged.
I shrunk backwards, vanishing from his line of vision. Not completely sure of what I was doing or why.
"Okay, old man," Killua spoke in a calm manner as Gon reapproached him. "This is how it's going to work: I'm going to untie you but if you make a single sound without my permission, I'm going to start cutting off your fingers; one noise, one finger and if you try making a scene, an arm goes and if I find out you're lying or trying something sneaky, I'll make sure you live the rest of your life with a pair of crutches. Long story short: the more you co-operate, the more appendages you get to keep."
His disturbing words were followed by a heavy quietude in which I could hear nothing but my unstable breathing.
"Clever, Mr. Hayashi," Isawa commented in an amused tone. "You, I never suspected."
"So you were suspecting, someone," Killua probed lightly.
"Of course, whoever you had search my office, didn't do a very good job with leaving behind no trails; although, I am considering you must've checked my apartment and since there was no clue, I am positive you were involved directly."
I heard Killua scoff and saw Gon's face turn into a particularly deep shade of red. I abruptly recalled the night I broke into the surveillance room with Killua, and Gon was the one who rummaged through Isawa's office.
"How can I help you?" Isawa demanded as politely as if he was asking what kind of tea they'd like.
"We're interested in some particular information, that you seem to have," Killua clarified subtly.
"Regarding what or whom?" Mr. Isawa's voice acquired an edgier tone.
"Ging Freecss," Gon disclosed firmly.
There was a long pause in which Gon's features became dark and serious.
"The resemblence is impeccable," Isawa remarked astonished. "Are you his son?"
Another silent interval passed in which I was certain, Gon was looking at Killua for approval.
"Do you know his whereabouts?" Killua interjected.
"I'm afraid I can be of no use to you in that matter."
"Cut the crap," he interrupted in irritated manner. "I'm not expecting you to be aware of his current location but since Ging Freecss is harder to catch than smoke and you happen to be the only person to have accoplished such a feat, I think you might be more than pleased to lend us a hand, before I separate it from the rest of your body," he added venomously.
Another standstill moment passed before Isawa spoke again, as calm and unabashed as always. "Like I said: I can't help you."
There was a loud banging noise that had me flinching back against the wall. I could doubtlessly tell that Killua had lost his temper.
"I don't have time to deal with your shit. There was a reason Ging and another member of the zodiacs withdrew from the election, probably the same reason why there's a bounty on his head and all I know so far is that you're the person who managed to capture him; so, either you tell me everything fast or you watch me as I render you unable to speak again and I should warn you, you're testing my tolerance, and my patience doesn't live far."
I found myself holding my breath when Killua's outburst didn't yield any answer from Isawa.
"SPEAK!" Killua roared outraged.
"Killua," Gon blandished, worried. "Take a breath."
I heard Mr. Isawa laugh and prayed for the sake of this whole building that I was imagining it because I could see the murderous expression on Killua's face almost too well.
"If I were able to aid you in any way, I would," Isawa redeemed calmly. "But since you don't seem to believe me, I'll elucidate that contrary to what's public belief, what you heard is not true."
"What are you saying?" Gon debriefed perplexed.
"I never caught Ging Freecss," Isawa confessed with no hesitation. "Ging Freecss came to me."
The interval that followed should've been one packed with suspense, if it wasn't for the sudden commotion that had taken place: my cell phone started ringing furiously in my hand.
I was so starstruck by the order of events playing out before me that I couldn't even remember how to decline the call, it was after a whole minute worth of struggle that I managed to shut off the noise and take a breath of relief, but it was short-lived; because as I looked up from my phone, Killua was staring down at me with what wasn't simple enough to be defined as incredulity.
The best part was, I didn't even know how much anger he was charged with after our two-months prior, disastrous, encounter. I guess I was about to find out.
As conviction clashes then surrenders before declaim,
enigma becomes the smoke that rekindles the flame.