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…
My eyes fluttered open.
"What's it like out there, anyway?"
"Just gorgeous. Wilderness as far as the eye can see. Perfect for hunting."
I was in a room, lying in a bed but not my own. The walls, pushed back and rising high above me, were pastel pink with a down feathery white ceiling. Flecks of the down slowly floated past me, landing on my lap and nose. A massive window was behind me, with glinting rays of sunlight shining down onto the comforters. No furniture, save for a cherrywood nightstand and a matching rocking chair tucked in the corner. I looked down at my body to see I was wearing a simple white nightgown with spaghetti straps, short frilly cuffs and a flowing blouse bottom that ran down to my ankles. Airy, and so smooth to the touch. My fingers ran through the fabric over and over as I stirred in the bed, my feet rubbing together.
"Lots of gunfights? The Wild Wild West?"
"Nah, not as many as you'd think."
Who is that?
I flipped the comforter off of me and rolled out of bed, dropping face first to the carpet. My fingers dug into the fabric as I woozily climbed to my knees, taking a step forward, gripping the bed frame for support. My feet felt sore, like they had been walking around on gravel barefoot all day. I hobbled to the door, my back aching, and twisted the greasy knob open.
The door dropped down to an inky black staircase, widening as it descended into the abyss. No hallway, no other rooms. Just an endless stairwell spiraling down into an unknown darkness.
"You gotta see the skyscrapers they got over there. Makes Tokyo look like a playground."
"Hah, I bet."
The voices were coming from downstairs.
I gripped the rail and slowly inched my way down. As the light from the room faded and I descended lower into the still darkness, I began to notice a funny curling smell, something pungent but not quite unsavory. An artificial sweetness, orange citrus or some other fruit. I tried to peer over the railing of the stairs, but only the abyss was there to greet me.
I stumbled down the last step and turned the corner.
A massive living room with the same cherrywood furnishings; a heavy dining table, chairs, a bookshelf crammed with trophies and textbooks. To my left a patio window with that same harmonic sun glowing in the bedroom, streaming soft rays of light down on the carpet. To the right was some sort of kitchen. In the center of it all, under a twinkling chandelier, was Kazuma and my father seated at the dining table. A massive banquet had been spread out, a white tablecloth with candles and plates and utensils. My clean-shaven father was standing behind Kazuma, pointing down at a large scratched black binder. They were wearing tuxes.
And they were smiling.
"That's the Texas Commerce Tower," my father said, tapping on some photo on the page. "I had a friend who worked maintenance there back in the 80s. He took me up there one night when they were fiddlin' with the window washing rigs. Man, what a view. A thousand feet up, the whole city turns into a sea of lights."
Kazuma was peering down at the binder, awestruck. "Wow. I've only been up the Tokyo Tower."
"Hah, the Tex'n Commerces 'bout the same height."
I stood in the entry of the living room, speechless.
My father glanced up at me and grinned, closing the binder and setting it aside. "Good morning, sweetheart!" Kazuma looked over at me and did the same, spreading his hands out. "There she iiis! How'd you sleep, baby?"
"I–"
Kazuma pushed the chair closest to him back with his foot, beckoning me over. "Come on! Sit! Breakfast is here, look." He got up and gestured to the table, pointing stuff out. "Eggs, bacon, sausage. The toast is almost ready, we got some orange juice…", he looked back at me, still unmoving. "What is it?"
I took a hesitant step forward, my fingers gripping the sides of the nightgown. "Wh-why are y'all doing this?"
Kazuma glanced over at my father, and back to me. "Huh?"
My father cleared his throat, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Uh, sorry we didn't wake you sooner." He tugged on his shirt. "I was just showing Kazuma one of my old photo albums from Houston. But, anyway, you'll get to see the real thing soon enough."
I walked closer to the table, sensing a trap, peering at the banquet. "See…what."
Kazuma cut into his egg yolk, scooping it with a spoon and spilling it across the hash browns. "Well, we gotta get dressed soon anyway." He turned back to my father, pointing with his finger. "Remember, the flight leaves at four and we still need to pick up some earplugs." My father just nodded and walked into the kitchen. Kazuma took a big bite and a gulp of the juice, waving me to sit down.
I sat at the table, staring down at the plate set for me. Sunny-side up eggs, a pile of fried potatoes, a tall glass of juice. A slab of pork chop dripping with grease. A slice of pie with a dollop of melted whip cream dripping down the crust. I reached for the fork.
But as I swiped for it, the utensil vanished, ghosting through my fingers.
"But listen, hun." Kazuma turned to me in his chair, but he was no longer smiling. His bright face seemed sickly, constrained. Heavy swollen bags under his dark eyes. He leaned forward and grabbed my hand softly, tapping my palm, tracing his finger in a circle. "You need to wake up."
What? No. No no no please.
"Huh?"
"Hey, hun, I'm sorry but they want you to wake up."
IDONTWANTTO
"Come on, Natsuki."
"Wake up."
…
My eyes fluttered open.
The jail cell was cold, beige-painted cinder blocks with a concrete floor, drain in the center with a stainless steel sink and toilet. I was lying on a concrete slab hanging to the wall, a thin sleeping bag of a mat and some mud-brown tweed blankets to cover me. The bars of the cell looked out onto a small lobby, a row of police terminals with drab-faced officers standing around, staring at computer screens or talking to people. Near the front a gray-haired woman sobbing, being consoled by a female officer. Two gruff, more muscular officers were assisting an elderly drunk into the lobby, dropping him down onto a reception chair. A third, scrawnier officer dragged his two smelly duffel bags of belongings past us, heaving as he lugged them. The smell of a fruity floor cleaner was overwhelming in my nose, and I coughed.
Kazuma was crouched down beside me, pushing my shoulder. An officer stood behind him, his hands on his belt, lip pulled back in muted disgust.
"Hun."
I groaned, turning on my side. "Mmmhh…" I became acutely aware of the dull ringing in my skull, and some sort of bruise swelling on the back of my head. A migraine.
He sighed. "I'm sorry."
"Where are we?"
"The police station. You were knocked out by the recoil. Hit your head on a wood scrap."
"Recoil–"
Oh. Right. That wasn't a dream. I, Natsuki Tamura, murdered my own father.
And I would fucking do it again.
Kazuma bit his lip, and glanced back at the officer. "Can you bring her some water, please? A few minutes of privacy?" He nodded, dismissive. "Thanks."
The officer looked Kazuma up and down, said nothing and walked out of the cell. He shifted closer to me, kneeling down at eye level. His hand slowly stroked my hair, playing with my earlobe.
"What…", my mind flatlined. "What's going on?"
"The club is here, I saw them, but I haven't been able to talk to them. They've been questioning me for two hours now. It's…", he looked at his watch. "Almost ten o'clock. My parents are here."
"What are they saying? The police."
"They're…", he trailed off.
"They've just been asking me why you did it. How we know each other, Yamaku, the club. What happened tonight. Everything. I told them we're dating and that your father abuses you and you just called me from my parents' party I was at and that you said he was going to kill you."
Commotion in the lobby. The old drunk was being picked up from the seat and dragged to a cell, his head hanging low, drooling.
"And just that I sped over to your house, he fought me and somehow you got a gun and shot him. I've told the story like a dozen different times now."
I now noticed Kazuma was cleaned up somewhat, his head damp and combed back, his face washed but swirling with bruises and cuts. A plain white tee shirt and loose fitting khaki shorts tied with a skater belt. His hands were bandaged up, blood soaking through the palms. His fingers trembled, awkwardly lacing and crossing them together, unsure what to do with them.
He was scared. My God, this is what I did to him. I'm responsible for all of this.
"I think they're trying to see if I'm lying or not."
"Are th–I…I don't…"
"They said they haven't charged me with anything."
I was silent.
"Nothing. One officer said I was a victim in this."
He continued, "They keep trying to get me to say you planned this."
"What?"
"I told them that's bullshit, over and over again. I got angry and screamed in their faces, that they don't know you or your dad. That you've been abused for years and he was going to kill you. But they don't know where the gun came from."
"It was that piece of shits–"
"Or who got the drugs."
I propped myself up. "That fucking–"
"They tried to get me to sign some typed up paper that ends my involvement in this. An officer warned me it would be easiest to sign it and forget about you. They tried to say it like, 'you wouldn't even have to testify in court about this', it would just go away."
My jaw dropped, but I winced, feeling a large welt underneath my chin from where he struck me. "Are they trying to say–"
"Premeditated murder." Kazuma's voice was hollow, echoing in this concrete cell. "Manslaughter, parenticide they called it. And God I don't even know what they're trying to say about the gun or the drugs. Whatever that thing you used was, it's incredibly illegal. They kept calling it a weapon of war and told me how insane it was to even own it, that they've never seen something like it. Not in their history of law enforcement or whatever the hell."
He continued, "They're looking for a scapegoat in all of this."
My head thudded against the wall. I felt like crying, but no tears came. I just felt a cold, biting emptiness that swept over my body like a tidal wave. My life is over before it even began. I will never marry Kazuma. I will never have children. This is my hell. I stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, but only the harsh swinging light bulb offered me an answer.
You are fucked.
Kazuma got up and sat next to me on the concrete slab, putting his head against mine and rubbing my shoulder. He leaned into my ear, dropping his voice a tone. "Did he have more guns that you know of?"
"I…I don't know. I just knew about that one I used. He kept it under his bed, it was some sort of collectors item, really rare. I barely knew how to load it from a movie I saw."
"I don't either, but apparently there's more in the house. The police are all over the place, the news, everything. I saw it on TV in the lobby. They're calling it the crime of the fucking century, never happened before. Not in decades."
My voice was distant, staring off. "Oh my God…"
"They just kept quizzing me over and over, like they thought I was lying."
The officer returned with two of his buddies. Kazuma rose to his feet and glared at them.
"What?"
The officer ignored him and entered the cell. "Natsuki Tamura?"
I shakily rose to my feet, assisted by Kazuma.
"Yes?"
"Come with us."
Removing the tweed blankets, I got to see my body in the pale light. Someone in my sleep had changed me into a dingy white hospital gown, with short frilly cuffs and an open blouse bottom.
…
Would you like to read your new poem?
YES. NO.
YES. NO.
The Real and the Fake
By Natsuki Tamura
Who's to say?
What's real and what's fake?
My memories of mother
The glare of Father
Can you ever be so sure
Of the sickness and the cure?
Who's to say?
What's real and what's fake?
From high highs to low lows
Under the glare of the sun
Or the glow of the moon
A rose in bloom smells just as sweet
Who's to say?
What's real and what's fake?
You are not an expert
But neither am I
Oh well, can anybody know?
I guess, one day, we will all find out
on the̷̢̩͋̈́ ̴͓͛ö̷͎͈̓t̶̡͂͠h̴̢͉̓ē̸̘̯r̵̠̃ ̷͙̹̾̅ś̸̺͈̂i̸͙͙͑d̴͕͖͛e̶͎̎͠
…
Author's Note: Hey everyone! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of my followers and readers, I sincerely hope you're all having a great holiday break. It's my understanding that the Fanfiction site has changed the notification system where you have to manually opt-in for email notifications on stories, so if you're wanting to stay up to date on new Love and Literature chapters you'll have to do so in your user settings. This chapter is the beginning of a brand new arc, and new characters and settings will be slowly introduced as Natsuki and Kazuma find themselves fighting against the world and, with the help of the Literature Club, will overcome even the biggest and greatest tragedies.
There will be a happy ending, but things will have to get worse before they get any better. The power of love will get them through this.
Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for what's to come.