CHAPTER132
I do not own Skip Beat! Yoshiki Nakamura does.
AUGUST– part2
Misery.
Him.
He began small. Little steps. Both for his sake and hers.
For his, so he could handle the drop.
For hers, so that, if he had been wrong–though he doubted it–, if he had … it wouldn't be too harsh on her. She'd be able to contact him anytime, to ask for anything, to say anything, and if him … stepping back–wording it any other way rammed him to the ground too much–didn't sit well with her, she would be able to stop it, him. If she noticed. If he was even able to do it.
He still didn't know how. Just not reaching out, not rushing to her to demand explanations, to beg her … was already him hitting the brakes with as much strength as he had.
He started by coaching himself. First, only into not attempting to call her. For now. He allowed himself texts. But if he heard her voice… If he did…
Since when had he not heard his voice?
Two months?
No, it was less than that. It was barely one. It felt like much longer. They would be in September soon. Barely two pairs of days at most.
The backlash was so hard … because she had still been responding every single one of his texts… He guessed it would have been worse if she hadn't.
He nursed a glass as he sat on his bed, in front of his luggage. He didn't have any time left.
The sheets rubbed him wrong against his thighs. The square drink felt slippery in his fingers. The pendant she gifted him felt heavy above his chest. Something he was playing with, as if in reassurance.
Light was too big of a burden, so he stood in the dark. The headache was there but not toppling to pounding, for now. Yet, he knew if she were aware of how he had been taking care of himself, he would have gotten the scold of the century.
But she wasn't there.
He had set a quota of texts he could send her. No more than one a day. Or a few if he waited a few days. He had managed three without.
He picked his phone like a man would grasp at last buoy floating in a very salty dark ocean, void of any signs of life, and his body landed on the ground.
How could you feel so ill over the lack of someone? How could you feel so dead inside when the regular beat continued to hit your thorax inside your chest?
He had been surviving pretty well being 'friends', he thought. He had survived her absence the five past years before she came back. How was it so much worse?
How had their closeness made the defect of her presence so much more acute?
Like a puncturing void in his life, crowded with a cavity only pain seemed able to fill.
His dreams consisted of delusions where she embraced him with aching softness, and nightmares where she left or was overcome by revulsion at his intentions. When they weren't acting his most longing desires or traumatic ones … enacting every fear he had, to set her at the centre of them. He had been forced to use concealer to hide the purple under his eyes, so much his sleep loathed good old rest.
And during the days, his mind only thought of her.
Her smile. Her amusement and her scowl when he was teasing her too much, unaware he meant most of his teasing.
Her joy, the bright life she emitted at every instant. The gold of her eyes when they crossed his. Her locks waving under the Californian sun, undulating under the hot breeze. He picked up his script, trying to memorize his lines, not to send a text. To linger another hour, another quarter without relinquishing.
He did not succeed.
'Are you okay?'He typed and sent, as he toppled his glass to finish it. His alarm clocked glared its blue at him, making him squint. He hated not hearing her voice. He hated it.
The glass dropped to the ground.
'Can we talk?'He sent next, she hadn't replied yet.
I miss you, he thought. Let me hear your voice…
Let me hear your voice …
please.
He didn't dare to send those thoughts.
He rested his head on his knee.
'Are we … okay?' He sent last.
He fell asleep, too exhausted to hear the phone ring … with her name on it.
When Ren woke up and saw she had called, and even left a vocal, and he had missed it all … he nearly lost it. The anger he felt there turned him hesitant to listen right away.
And he couldn't even call her back now, it was the middle of the night for her in England.
He feared his reaction to hearing her message, not sure he would be able to contain it, even in public. He had to leave for work soon, so, with frustration building, he set up to listen in the evening, hoping it would help to emphasis his new attempts at resisting her siren call.
He marched through the day, doing his interviews, his last modelling gig before his decision … one objective in mind. To get through this day.
When he reached his home, he dropped in his living room, a weird sort of frustrated anguish had settled inside him during the day, as he feared the worst, as much as he hoped for the best.
That was until he heard her message.
'Ren? Hi … I'm– … I'm sorry. I had to call after reading your message, I hope I'm not bothering you or didn't wake you–… you are probably asleep right now, but I–… I just–… I was worried … are you okay?'
You know that if you had the slightest struggle, I–he could feel her caring warmth in her tone.
' … well, I–I would rush to your side–with your permission–and beat up whatever or whoever is causing you trouble…'
A chuckle escaped him at the grumbling voice echoing in his ear, heating up his bones for the first time in forever.
'What you said … I'm not sure that– ' The message cut, signalling the end of the vocal, and upon verifying, he noted it had not been the only one. His thumb pressed to hear it, like a junkie, hoping to prolong the effects. That her voice would last just a little longer.
'Hi again … gosh, I hate those messages limits …–she made a clearing sound, the tone frustrated–'I'm sorry it got interrupted…'
'What I meant to say is … well, I'm certainly not angry … but I'm sure you knew that, so…
I've been … busy, and you too … but–… you saying this…
I mean, it is beyond ridiculous I would be mad at … it doesn't make sense that I would ever–she mumbled softly, and he was grateful the phone still caught it as life seeped back further into his chest hearing her words–… I'm just…'
She cleared her throat again.
'I have been dealing with–… with stuff … and I know …–she sighed–I know I have been a little distant–he snorted at that, a little, remembering how depraved of her presence he had been–… but I … I certainly would never blame you for it.'
'I'm sure you know–there was a shudder in her breath as she paused, before adding in a lighter voice–… I'm mostly incapable of being mad at you.'
Do I? He snapped bitterly in thoughts.
He could hear the edge of amusement over the phone as she spoke, a reluctant smile pulled at his lips.
'Even when you tease me mercilessly.'
The line cut again, and he went to the last message.
'Hi again, sorry for bothering you with so many vocals.'
He sighed at her line of thoughts. You are not, ever.
'Anyway … all that to say … I thought maybe something was going on … and I got worried and…
She was driving him nuts. How could she have misconstrued it to that level?
'I mean, if you are alright, that's good … Great, even … just… 'Thought it odd … the way you said this … and– …'Her remaining mumbles were too low for the phone to pick, and all too soon she was saying goodbye.
'Anyway … just tell me if you are alright … and I'm sorry I worried you…'
'Have a good night…'And after a hesitation.
'Bye … Ren.'
He stared at his phone for a while. Tempted to grab it and call her instantly. Stretched between two insanities, begging for a respite. Tempted and tempted, and tempted.
But he didn't. Instead…
He was the one to text this time.
'I'm okay. Nothing is going on.
I was just worried about you…
But if you are just busy, then … all is good.
Have a good day.'
Something… Something held him back. Something.
He stood from his couch. Frozen and pacing at once.
It didn't change anything. Even if she cared, even if she didn't know about what he felt … had never guessed … even if she truly … was just busy.
He had to detach himself.
He couldn't … couldn't go on like this. Couldn't live like this.
He had to.
He had to do … something.
Anything.
He couldn't go on like this.
He was worrying her.
His parents had looked sick just seeing his face after she left.
He had heard their growing concern over the phone. Until he switched to mail these last ten days when he realized he would not be able to fool them over the gaping abyss in his chest anymore, if he talked to them.
For his own sake, for hers, for his parents … he had to pull himself together.
He had to.
He applied both hands on the wall facing him, the frost of the decision he needed to make battling the warmth that had just crammed its way back inside. Just from hearing her voice. Just from hearing her concerns. Just from … her. Being her.
Logically speaking … he knew.
He knew.
He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew.
He knew.
It was time.
He should initiate the first steps on the harshest summit he would have to climb. He should begin to … he should attempt to … to move on.
He should be moving on.
He should try to mourn feelings that would stay buried anyway. That would never come to fruition. Since he couldn't stay in limbo … since he was reaching his limits…
He should accept defeat.
His head banged against the wall.
But … I can't.
The screech of his soul against it rang in him like an agonizing howl of a monster … refusing to die.
I can't.
Even if there was no hope.
It will destroy you from the inside out, his mind whispered to you.
His TV flew to the ground, the screen exploded on the ground, and black shards propelled everywhere.
I refuse.
A pointless fight that will only make the pain endure, reason came again.
His movie shelf was the next to rush into the opposite wall, imploding in transparent sprinkles of glass and wood fragments, as he threw it. The low table followed, adding to the glittering shavings on the ground in a whirl of detonating crashes and blowing bangs. Alcohol case shot into the door.
Even so!
He launched his fist to the wall, and it went through it, mind plagued by visions of her. Smiling at him. Laughing. Eyes aglow by their characteristic spark … Ablaze in a furnace of golden life.
I can't.
Hugging him, warm. Enacting countless characters, giving life to them. Blushing. Chasing fairies. Chastising him. Cooking. Holding his hand. Playing with him. They are kids. They are adults. Together. He can fly for her. She smiles through her tears, thanks to him.
I can't…. I can't.
He pulled back his hand from the wall.
You'll be alone forever.
His torso bent, leaning on the side of the battered wall, near his bloodied forearm. Lifting him up. Showing him joy and life again. Making him laugh. Welcoming him … his wounds. Standing by his side. Smiling for him, anchoring him. Giving him bravery and selfless affection.
… even so…
He embraced the wall as he slipped down, rushing to his knees … to the floor.
I can't.
He rounded on himself, and rest his back against the vertical surface, needing the support.
She is part of me…. too much…
His sight glazed over the shattered pieces of his flat, an odd sense of relief and relaxation invading his being as he stared at the pit of disorder and chaos everywhere.
I'm … a mess, he thought in self-deprecation mixed with weird amusement at losing it so much. I don't think I lost control of my temper like this since … my teen years.
"Haha…hahaha" He laughed, closing his eyes to the testament of his heart's distress. He granted himself a moment as his torment poured to the surface out … and tears finally cascaded down.
At least, it helped him make the choice.
§§§
Him.
He accepted the shorter movie, after all. He still had to choose how he would act in the future. What would be the best behaviour to observe with her when he would see her again?
Letting go was just … too much of an absurdity for him to be able to. His heart had categorically refused it. But he wasn't sure he could permit himself what was before. What was in July. The close proximity he craved so much…
He was not sure he could endure it.
But if letting go was not an option … what was?
He didn't know.
Between his desperation to see her, be with her … and his crashing control, the lines broken way above what he could tolerate without hope surging forward again.
He had to think. He had to analyse how to proceed. What could he do? What he couldn't? What he wouldn't be able to anymore?
It was what he needed to do.
For now, and as much as he hated it, he would do distance.
Distance. He really hated that word.
But if he could admit to himself he couldn't renounce his feelings, that didn't mean he ignored something had to change. That … things couldn't stay the same.
So, he would do it, since he had to.
It was not like a choice offered itself to him … so long as the risk of crushing their relationships was there … or of hurting her. And so long as he refused to give up on what he felt.
But he refused.
He refused.
He refused to relinquish … even if it was pointless. Even if the knowledge of hopelessness was slowly carving itself into certitude. Even if all of that was true … letting go was beyond his willpower, his strength.
She was too precious.
A compromise was … all he could do.
He left for Australia a couple of days later.
PS: Hey everyone. Sorry it has been so long. Life been a mess. Health issues struck and a friend needed help and well, I'm not recovered yet but here is a little something. I hope you will enjoy this chapter, even if we are right in the middle of the angsty storm. Kisses to you all.
Mimagfan,
AUTHOR OUT.