CHAPTER133
I do not own Skip Beat! Yoshiki Nakamura does.
~~September~~
September15th
Glasses clanged together.
Flamboyant grins thrown at her in a pale face, in a brown one. They looked so damn happy she had accepted to come.
She smiled back, happy to be here after all. For them, for her. For her sanity. To put her foot down on this trashing on her health. Rebelling against her mind, her heart. Giving a good fuck you to her heart harassment. The desolation and torment of her soul whispering like a vile spirit every day, every hour, every second. Call him. End this … Callll…
She had never wished more for the ability to hold her liquor than before. If only she could swallow the sorrow away, like normal people. But Jake was not here. Only Kyle and Kayla. And even with Jake, it had ended poorly, all those years ago. Worse mistake of her life. Sleeping with a friend was a bad idea, especially when it was because you were drunk.
The beat pounded in her ears, debilitating to her senses, surrounding her with … no, not music, no, noise, awful noises disguised as battering music that were supposed to be hot and sensual … but only managed to make you deaf and dumb.
That was not her kind of nightclubs. That had never been and that was why she nearly always said no, when they wanted to go out, knowing they would go here.
Nostalgia of those muted atmospheres in remote bar-clubs where she could play sax hit her, and she sighed heavily.
She pondered her stupidity in joining in the amber the mixture resting in at the bottom of the square drink. Why had she come already?
Ah yes. Because she felt miserable and lonely.
And her friends had made her hold to her promise to come. They had dragged her to the dancefloor, and she had succeeded in enjoying herself and forget about anything else for the whole length of two songs. Before the sheer volume and boombox drilling in her eardrums had made her vacate the grounds to secure her life and senses at the bar, praying all through her retreat, the music would be lower there. And thanking her deities when she found it to be the case.
She had ordered a whisky. She was not planning to even sip on it, oh no.
She would drop to the floor like a hot crepe if she ever did.
But it was what he liked. She knew.
Yes, she was that desperate.
She sat straighter, trying to pull herself together, and her leather pants squeaked against the leather surface of the bar high stool, sticking her to it and making it a struggle to rectify her posture. She would be hot and uncomfortable soon, and she was very grateful to her brain, for thinking about braiding her hair and adding a light-coloured crop top. It would delay the suffering. Even if it had cooled down significantly compared to Summer, the number of people was still making it unbearably hot. She would have taken the necessity of the AC blowing at different spots as an example, if she didn't know it was just a country feature, not a hot place one. Winter would have been the only tolerable moment to frequent nightclubs in her opinion, if it had not been for the number of people and the dreadful music.
Even from here, she could still hear them.
Boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom. On and on, again and again, like exploding slow drills … wearing you down until you begged for mercy.
She ignored how long she would hold before she begged her return home to her friends.
One month and three weeks since they had not seen each other.
An infinity of nightmares and horrors, if you asked her.
She had become a specialist at picking her phone, resisting and putting back in her pocket. Every. Single. Day. Several time a day.
She wondered what he was doing. She hoped he was OK. She wondered how was his work. On repeat, on and on, like a broken clock passing on passing on the same spot instead of moving forward. Always indicating the same number, blocked on one. One number, one area, one moment … one person.
She had waited, in held breaths, for his texts, as if they contained the response to the universe secrets.
They brought droplets of respite to her heart, trickling down like golden treasures in her, each time she saw he had texted, each time he had cared … for whatever reason, to send her a response, a comment. Or to inquire about how she was.
She swallowed them all in thirst, as if she was drinking from the divine cup of immortality. Desperate, eager and filled with bottomless craving.
But for each drop filling her, it carved furrowing trails inside her broken defence, nudging dents in a shield that had already shattered. Pieces she had gathered and had been folding back with the sheer will of her resolve.
Yet, it was like, no matter her control, no matter her determination, no matter anything she did … the magical glowing stream would penetrate her guard like it was made of mud, crumbling at every light blow, every press, every gentle nudge. It would have been made of paper, it would have made more sense. So permeable was it.
His brook of words would infiltrate every safeguard and security she put on, reaching her even behind the deepest confines she could find. Through distance and absence.
And it was not the lone issue she had not anticipated when she had made a hasty shameful retreat, gathering bits of her to hide away from his gaze … his hands, his lips … from him.
Gone was her capacity, her power … to handle, to withstand … withdrawal. Where had gone to the self-control she owned during the five years she was gone? Where had her capacity to endure distance disappeared?
Her body kicked her butt with frustration every single instant … that night pulsing in her veins like cocaine in blood.
Her eyes stung with the desire to delve into his eyes, to witness his divine smile, his cheeky dimple when he teased her, to embrace his high feline and so-deliciously muscled stature with her gaze.
Her torso longed for those rare hugs she got, the touch of strength wrapping, enveloping her, making her flesh ache with the vacuity of its presence.
She felt depraved, in the barest most raw kind of way.
Sometimes, she felt the echo of his voice … as if he was with her … laughing at her … with her. Low and warm, the rich chuckles rumbling and entering her, just under her ribcage. As if his laughers had possessed her with their life … and now it was gone, she felt like the warmest part of her sun had abandoned her.
Even her nose missed him.
She had found herself sniffing the clothes she had absolutely robbed from him, sleeping with one, and carrying on in her purse. And once his odour had erased itself from the high-quality fabrics, she noticed her nose would sniff away … randomly … unconsciously sometimes, even. In search of his scent.
Worse, it would 'activate' each time a smell would even remotely remind her of his own, it would seek it out like the worst kind of addict. She found herself more than once led by her nose to an unknown place, just in hope to sniff a scent longer … because it reminded her of him.
She stared at the amber in the glass, violence building inside her. How could you yearn for someone that much?
How can I miss him so damn much?
She still heard his voice that night.
Kyoko … he had whispered.
Stay … in my arms.
She still saw the emerald gaze, bright and glowing with joy as they played in the ocean … in his pool, on his parents' basket court.
His lips on her skin.
His hands on her hips.
Caressing. Strong and firm. Precise. Overthrowing.
She pulled her phone. Groaned, put it back in her jacket, zipped her jacket up. She would boil from the inside out. She was ridiculous.
She wondered what he was doing.
It was mid-afternoon in Australia, where his latest job had taken him … he was probably working. Blinding everyone with his superb acting skills, and bewitching every woman, and maybe even men, around with his smile, his body … his kindness.
She hit her head on the bar glass counter. Her forehead buzzed with pain, but maybe a concussion would keep him from her thoughts a couple of hours.
Kayla came back to see her rubbing her head, and proposed her to come back to the dancefloor, but she declined. She could see the moment her friend noticed the place was not succeeding in its purpose for her, and she wrapped an arm around her, hugging her shoulders against her.
She appeared to be struggling with something, but then a defeated sigh escaped her, and she said.
"You are allowed to leave, you know. Go home and rest, you depart early tomorrow, right?"
Kyoko could see it had cost her. That her friend didn't really understand why she was unable to have fun in those kinds of places. Or why she was the way she was.
But she was making good on her efforts to behave, and Kyoko was grateful. She returned the hug.
"Thanks."
She called a taxi.
But even the time it took it to arrive proved to be too long, as her eyes glazed over couples dancing together … smiling at each other, twirling in each other arms.
She paid her drink and went out, saying goodbye to Kyle in passing, and pulling pen and notebook out, she began to write in the cold vacated night, as she bid her time. Alone, but infinitely happier than inside, surrounded by joyful people. Loud and having fun.
Her pen continued to scratch paper all the way home in the taxi, using the words as anchors to another reality…
As if ink could entrap and cloth her in a world where her eyes could land on him.
Away from this loneliness she was seeking out so much, she was folding herself in, like she lost herself in the blanket of the night, hoping to find no one … because it would only remind her of him.
And his nonexistence in her reality right now.
She exited the taxi in a relieved rush, her fingers aching to drum on cords to press sounds into silence out, even as her mind felt the build-up of another, urging her, longing to be written. But her heart was not ready. Tonight awaited another.
The chill fresh of vast midnight and ocean and its beyond welcomed her in their embrace again, and she imagined the blue arms pixie-dusted with stars, were the comfy solid ones of the lover she ached for. Bled for.
And for one instant … it worked.
As if the tapestries of the sky and the sea-shaped make-believe arms were real…
… and she felt Ren's arms around her.
Then, she was alone again.
Her legs carried her inside before emptiness swallowed her whole, and Snow strutted after her as she changed and dropped in a cushion with her guitar.
Then she started to sing.
'Lying there,
Hoping to feel something,
Hoping fun is a mindset, a thing,
I see laughs, I see smiles,
I see holds, I see dancing
& I want a part of that,
I see passion, fusion,
I see teasing, I see flirting
think of you,
I see emotion,
Longing in eyes,
I see people, I see couples,
Locked hands and embraces,
Tiny pecks and kisses
& I think of you and want a part of that.
My body is the ocean,
My heart the isle,
Lost in deep blue melancholy.
I see smiles, I see kisses,
I see couples.
I see … Love.
& I want a part of that.
Blasting music in my ears,
Strangers by the thousands,
Friends by my side,
Some'd say that's Fun's name
Yet,
I wanna cry, I wanna scream,
Let me out.
I see the nightmare, I see the static,
I see the unalterable, the impossibility.
Let Me Out.
I think of you
& I want a part of that.
Too much crowd, too much joy,
Let me out.
I don't wanna see.
I think of you
& I want a part of that.
I don't wanna see.
All I can see
Is I cannot see you.
I think of you
& I want of a part of you.
I want a part of you.'
The last strings vibrated as her fingers glided on the cords one last time, before the music vacated the room. Wobbling on the last notes as tears fell.
She stood and went to the hanger, zipping down the vest, she picked up her phone.
'Hi. How are you? I hope I'm not bothering you… I guess you are probably working right now… But if you are not…'
The response to her text came fast.
'I'm on break, why? You're OK?'
She called him.
§§§
They had just finished the latest scene, and to his frustration, the day would end soon. That was his struggle with being in another country. He could not book as many gigs as in Japan, or even America. They just didn't know him enough. And it was not he complained, the days were already quite demanding as they were. His character was the villain of the story, and quite the Machiavellian, bringing many scheming scenes to the shoots, which would become taxing when they happened on the same days.
Yet, even tired, it was still not quite enough to keep him busy, so he couldn't think, feel. Something he was really trying not to. Even knowing he should. Ren didn't know just how to approach the new situation, and how to act.
He was not an agreeable companion to the poor souls working with him these days, he knew. He was polite, but barely, if ever, joined discussions with his colleagues. And never out of studios or sets. An asocial of the worst species, that was what he was.
He was too grumpy and depressed to care.
Unfortunately, the day was proved to finish especially early today, seven p.m. at most. Maybe even earlier. And to bout, he was on break for at least the next hour.
He had been in the middle of replying propositions for jobs, and mails from Yashiro, as well as a couple of fan letters, when he got her message.
'Hi. How are you? I hope I'm not bothering you… I guess you are probably working right now… But if you are not…'
He stared in shock at her message, not having expected to hear from her until he would text her again, which he had tried to keep spaced, despite his abandonment on really giving up. Maybe something urgent came up, and that was why she was texting him.
He replied fast.
'I'm on break, why? You're OK?'
To his startle stupefaction, her name appeared on his phone, indicating an incoming call, and he nearly dropped the little machinery.
He picked up the call, as worry seized him, wondering what sort of emergency could make her call him.
'Kyoko? Is something wrong? You OK?' He asked, not even bothering with formalities as his brain tried to assemble reasons why she could call so out of the blue.
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and he wondered if in his distressed longing he was now hallucinating calls from her.
'Ahh.' Came out from the other end, proving him wrong, after all. 'I'm sorry, nothing is wrong.'
The spark of joy that settled in his chest both from her state not being endangered, and finally hearing her voice again choked him into silence. Yet, his mind failed to make sense to her words. How could nothing be wrong if she was calling?
'What do you mean? Then why are you– …' Calling me, he didn't finish his sentence. Phrasing aloud how little he thought she cared for his presence was too groundbreaking and harsh realism for him at the moment.
'Are you sure you are OK?'He insisted, choosing to focus on what he could do.
She cleared her throat.
'Yes … I just– … wanted to talk to you.'She said in a soft voice over the phone, demolishing syllable by syllable his whole last month theory about the deficiency of their contacts.
'You just … wanted to talk– … talk to me? With me?'He repeated like a moron, trying to make sense of the world.
'Yes … I'm sorry if I'm bothering you while you are working and you are busy, and I can hang up right away if I– 'She babbled but he remained stunned into quietness, until he began to hear her panic and she started to speak about leaving.
'NO!' He coughed. 'No, it's fine. Please stay.'
A warmer silence followed, and he hurried into asking if she was still there.
'Yes, I'm here.'
'So, you have nothing you wanted to talk about?'He asked after a beat, not daring to really believe it.
'None in particular.' Came her embarrassed reply. She had called just to speak with him, just to hear from him. After nearly two months of shortage, it was like an oasis had just sprung from the ground to offer itself to him.
'I just– …'She said in his ear, and he felt his smile stretch his face to a painful and giddy expression.
'Yes?'He prompted.
He heard her tantalizing respiration turning softer and softer, as she sighed into his ear.
' … I missed you.'
Utter blank and fried sputters in his mind were the only replies as she shot the unexpected arrow right in the middle of his chest.
His fingers clutched the phone for survival, fearing to drown in the rapidly filling tank of emotion zapping his whole spine with cracking nerves.
'I know I've been busy, but it has been a while, and– '
'Oh?' His lips pushed out, and even him could hear the electrocuting glee on the tip of his tongue, numbing his mouth.
'So, I thought I would call, and– … well, how are you doing?'
His head swam and his heart banged with disbelief and the all too warm, soothing confusion.
'In the middle of a well-deserved break after one too-many psychological sociopath scenes.' He replied, impressed he was still forming coherent sentences with the way his nervous system was fried.
She giggled in his heart, bringing back laugh and light with every tingle of her joy.
'Taxing but … coaxing.'She said.
'It is.'
His hand shook.
'So … I really had not done anything?'He asked, unable not to inquire about it again. She had said otherwise. But … it just didn't make sense sometimes. He just wanted to make them alright again.
There was a pause before she spoke again.
'Please tell me you are not still thinking that.'
He struggled to find the proper words.
'Well, I– …'
'You know it's not like that. Never.'Her voice insisted in his ear, and for a second it felt like he could hear her desperation to make him understand.
'I just want us to be OK.'He said, still feeling like she was not saying everything to him, but unable to pinpoint where or what whatsoever.
There was another pause from her side.
'I assure you, you have done nothing for me to blame you.'She said in a light tone.
'You promise you are not angry about anything?'He asked, trying to make sure she was not hiding her true feelings.
'That's super easy,'she said with a light chuckle, 'I'm not angry, Ren.'
He relaxed. Somewhat. The feeling something was amiss hadn't left but maybe he was being too paranoiac after all.
'Okay.'
They talked afterwards. For the whole duration of his break. His day enlightened for hours long after the line cut.
His certitudes were burning … crashing to ashes.
A world of tangled chaos and anarchy replacing them.
PS: Hello everyone. As you can see, I'm pursuing my snowball of angst and longing. But fear not, this misery will come to an end. I'm a happy endings girl, or happy beginnings.
So bear with me while the last symphony of angst is happening.
See you soon, hopefully. But you know, health is a thorn deep into my side and a knife in my back. Unpredictable and always there to reminds its existance at all annoying moments. So, I will make no promise on the rhythm of posting.
You can just know I won't give up this story, unless I'm dead. It will just make me slow, unfortunately.
Kisses to you all.
Hope you are having great beginning of the holiday season, for the ones celebrating. And that winter will go well for everyone.
Mimagfan.
AUTHOR OUT.