I Love Only Him
Chapter One: The End Of Year Seven
"It's time to move on."
"I've tried that." He stared down at his hands. He didn't fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves or pick at his skin or nails. He simply stared into his hands as if it were the abyss of the night sky. His voice was numb as he spoke. "It didn't work."
"It's been a year since you've tried," she observed. Her voice was kind and patient, though there was sadness in it too. She remembered the last time.
He blinked slowly. "That's recent enough."
"Your friends want you to find happiness, and so do I. We want what's best for you. We want you to try again— try and find someone new."
"That's not what I want."
"What do you want?"
He shook his head, silent.
"Do you want to heal?"
He looked up from his hands and met her eyes across the room. Behind her round spectacles, her green eyes watched him, analyzing him. He hated those eyes of hers, they reminded him of Him. Although, in the beginning, it was one of the reasons he picked her. She brushed her perfectly curled blonde hair away from her face. That and her hair. Yes, he had picked her because she had reminded him of his deceased friend.
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter."
"Of course, it matters." Her eyebrows drew close in compassion.
He looked away from her and back at his own hands. He hated that face of hers, always feeling sorry for him.
When he said nothing further, she prompted, "That's maybe the one thing that matters most." She shifted in her seat, trying to meet his lowered gaze. She asked again, "Do you want to heal?"
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he inhaled deeply and stood. He grabbed his coat from where it was draped over the arm of the large, plush chair in which he sat. Her head followed him upward as he stood.
"It doesn't matter," he repeated. "I have tried to heal, really tried. You're my third therapist in almost eight years." His voice began to crack with withheld tears. "I've paid for countless hours of therapy. I have tried all the suggestions— not to mention multiple medications— and nothing is working." Eyes burning, he looked away from her. "There is no moving on for me." He shrugged on his coat. "I don't see the point in this anymore. I'm just wasting your time. Help someone who can be helped." He took a step away from his chair.
The woman stood and intercepted his path to the door. "Eiji, wait."
She stood before him, tall and slender. In the heels she wore, she surpassed him by an inch or two. She reached out a long arm and gently touched his shoulder. "Please stay."
He swallowed against a dry throat. "I'm sorry, Doctor Madison." He shook his head. "I just can't do this anymore."
She gripped his shoulder as he tried to step away from her. "Eiji," her voice was stern, "Those are very serious words."
He shook his arm free from her grasp. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" He shouted. They weren't his words. He would have never thought of them, let alone have spoken them, before knowing Him. "I'm not going to fucking kill myself!"
She adjusted the glasses on her nose. "Why, Eiji?" She asked him, voice steady and low. She already knew his answer.
Eiji shook his head, eyes focused on his shoes.
"Why, Eiji?" She asked again.
"Because He wouldn't want me to," he muttered. Tears pooled in his eyes.
"When will you start living for you, instead of for A—"
"Don't say His name!" Eiji snapped. He looked at her with tear-filled eyes and a red face.
There was a tense pause, filled only with Eiji's sharp, rapid breaths.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking," she told him quietly, her voice sincere. She internally cursed herself for making such a foolish error. She knew how precious His name was to Eiji. He did not like to hear it uttered so casually by anyone other than himself. Even then, he rarely said it outside the privacy of his own place.
Eiji nodded but said nothing.
"He would want you to live for yourself, not for Him."
"I know," he whispered. He wiped tears before they could fall. When he spoke again, his voice was low but back to a normal volume. "But I've tried, and I don't know how."
He zipped his coat and then untucked his long hair from the collar.
He stepped away from Dr. Madison. She grabbed his coat sleeve as he passed. "Please come back next week," she pleaded.
She knew what they had both left unsaid: The eighth anniversary of His death was only two weeks away. He needed her now more than ever.
He gripped the doorknob, pausing to consider her request.
"Please, Eiji?"
"Yeah, okay."
He stepped out into the long, carpeted corridor, gently shutting the door behind him. He blinked back tears as he walked toward the front of the office suite.
"Have a nice weekend, Mr. Okumura," the receptionist called to him as he passed.
Eiji nodded but said nothing in return.
Outside, the New York air was frigid and icy. He was pelted with sleet as he walked down the sidewalk. Within minutes, his face was red and quickly turning numb as ice melted against his skin.
He didn't bother to hail a taxi, nor did he bother to make his way to the subway. He trudged through the wet, sleety streets, hair whipping in the wind behind him.
He didn't go straight to his apartment. Unsure as to why, he wandered the streets for an extra half-hour before finding his way back to his apartment building.
It was something he did frequently. Dr. Madison theorized he did it, among other things, as some strange way of punishing himself for surviving His death.
When he finally made his way inside, his face was devoid of feeling, as were his hands and feet. His nose ran from the cold and his eyelashes were encrusted in icicles.
Before shedding his winter clothes, he took his large, energetic golden retriever, Buddy, for a walk to relieve himself.
He returned even more frozen than before.
He abandoned his shoes at the door. There they sat, with ice melting from the soles onto the welcome mat. In the kitchen, Eiji stood in damp socks, illuminated by the light of the fridge. It smelled faintly of food from last week that had begun to rot. He grabbed a bowl of takeout from the night before and threw it in the microwave. He stood numbly in the kitchen, staring at nothing in particular, as he waited for his food to be reheated.
The only sound that filled the small apartment was Buddy quickly eating his dinner as if someone would take it from him if he didn't finish fast enough.
It had been months since Eiji had been this bad. In fact, just a few weeks ago, Dr. Madison had noted he was making some real progress. Upon her recommendation, he had been working to try to make some friends that were unattached to Him. Perhaps it would help him move on. He had joined a pilates class on Saturday mornings at a nearby gym. He was friendly with several of his classmates, though there was nothing deeper there. Still, it was progress.
But two weeks ago, he had stopped attending altogether. Dr. Madison noted her concern during the previous visit, not that he cared. By that time, he'd already fallen into the deep funk he was currently in.
It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone, the same regression had plagued him around the death date last year, as well as every year before that. Though in the early years, he had far fewer episodes of happiness in the interim.
The microwave dinged and Eiji turned to retrieve his food. He sat at the small wooden table in his kitchen. There was a phone sitting there, plugged into an outlet. Eiji checked it for the first time that day. On the screen were countless notifications, most of which were from a very worried Sing. He ignored them all, setting the phone down without so much as opening it past the lock screen.
After four bites, he abandoned his dinner, putting the Tupperware back in the fridge. He traded his food for a beer. Before making his way to the sofa, he slipped on an old flannel that once smelled of his friend but now smelled only of Eiji. He made his way to the lightless living room. On the wall was a photograph of his fallen friend who seemed to smile at him in greeting, though Eiji knew it was just a trick of the light, or lack thereof.
He released a long exhale as he settled on the couch. He snapped open his beer and took a swig.
His phone buzzed across the room, but he didn't even consider getting up to check it.
"I'm sorry," he told the boy on the wall. "I don't know how much longer I can do this." Tears slid from his eyes. "I can't do it anymore, A—," he stopped himself from saying His name. "Why did you have to leave me?"
In the following week, Eiji filled his days with his photography work. He worked late hours in an attempt to keep his brain distracted. He made sure to take Buddy on at least one long walk each day, regardless of the temperature or precipitation. In the evenings, he barely ate, though he drank his fill of alcohol.
Sing continued to text and call him; Eiji responded just often enough for Sing not to worry about his demise.
When Friday came, Eiji decided to keep his appointment, for His sake, not his own. He begrudgingly walked into his Friday slot with a layer of snow on his coat and in his hair.
"Walking again?" Dr. Madison asked when he arrived.
Eiji shed his coat and hung it on the hat stand near the door. "I thought you'd be happy I came."
She gave him that smile of hers that was too concerned to feel genuine. "I am very happy you came, Eiji."
He brushed the snow off his hair and rubbed the fog from his glasses. "I can't promise I'll make it through the whole visit."
"That's quite alright. I am happy for any time you can spare."
He huffed at her choice of words. They both knew time wasn't the issue here.
He sat and said nothing, waiting for her to speak as she waited for him to do the same.
"I do not have the energy to start today," he said, breaking the silence.
She nodded. "Very well." She folded her hands in her lap. "I'm worried, you look like you've lost weight since last week."
"Since when are you concerned with my weight?" Eiji scoffed.
"And you're walking again," she continued, ignoring his remark. "Which means you're undereating and exhausting yourself. Working long hours too, I presume."
He shook his head in vague annoyance.
"Are you drinking again, too?"
Eiji sighed but said nothing.
"Eiji?"
"Just one beer each night," he told her quietly while staring into his lap.
"And wine?"
An image of his late friend filled his memory. He could remember Him, drinking wine and impressing Eiji with His ability to accurately deduce the date of the bottle.
"He's the one that liked wine."
She paid this remark no mind. "And stronger things? Whisky, vodka, bourbon?"
Eiji shifted uncomfortably in the plush chair. "Yeah, okay, I've been drinking again. Just after work."
"And after walking?" For hours at a time, went unsaid.
Eiji nodded.
"So you work all day, walk, skip dinner— I'm guessing— and, what, drink until you fall asleep?"
"I am eating," he argued.
She crossed her legs. The buckles on her ankle boots jingled as she did so. "What have you had so far today?"
"I— I haven't had anything yet."
"It's 3:30."
"I haven't been hungry yet."
"What's on the menu for dinner?"
He pictured his apartment fridge. He still hadn't been shopping since last week. The fridge smelled of rotting chicken and vegetables, though he hadn't had the energy to clean it out. To make it worse, he ran out of leftovers two days ago. The truth was he last ate the evening before last, and even then all he'd had was a bowl of white rice.
Eiji shook his head. "I haven't thought about it yet."
"What's in the fridge?" She asked knowingly.
Eiji nervously twisted his hair over his shoulder and began to run his fingers through it. It was still wet from his time in the snow.
"I need to go shopping, actually."
"Hmm. Since when?"
"Huh?"
"When did you run out of food?"
He ran a hand through the ends of his hair. "I—" He didn't finish the thought.
She let silence surround them for a moment before continuing her questioning. "What did you eat yesterday?"
Eiji pursed his lips in discomfort. "I— Okay, I've not been eating that great."
"What do you think He'd say about that?"
Tears flooded Eiji's eyes. "He'd hate it. Not that He has any room to talk. He once starved Himself at Golzine's."
"Why would you do something you know that He would hate?"
Eiji's chin dimpled as a tear slid from his eye. "I don't— It takes too much energy to eat."
"Eating is what gives you energy, Eiji. Could you buy some microwave meals since you don't have the energy to cook?"
He wiped his eyes. "What's the point? It all tastes like dirt."
"And the alcohol?"
"I don't drink it for the taste," he said, voice low and shaking as he bit back tears.
"Are you feeding your dog?"
His eyes shot up at her. "Of course."
She had been the one to convince him to adopt a puppy a few years back. A puppy would give him something to throw his love and attention at. And when things inevitably got hard, she hoped a puppy would continue to give him a reason to stay on this earth.
"Why do you consistently treat Buddy like his life is more important than yours?"
"He's an innocent dog, he's never done a thing wrong in his life."
"That makes him more worthy of food?"
"He'd still be here if I hadn't written that letter," he said softly, completely ignoring her question. More tears burned his eyes.
"Eiji," her tone and demeanor shifted. She leaned forward in her chair, elbows finding her knees. She talked softly, gently. "I know these past few weeks have been really hard. And I know we both know what next Tuesday is…" She reached out and placed a careful hand on his knee.
It took everything in him not to shift his leg away from her meant-to-be-comforting hand. It seemed to burn through his pant leg, branding his knee.
"And I also know we both remember last year…" She patted his knee and withdrew her hand. "I'm worried about you, as are your friends."
"How would you know what my friends think," he scoffed.
"One of them called my office just yesterday. They're worried, Eiji."
Eiji's eyes met hers, angry and glossy. "Sing," he said knowingly.
She nodded. "He said you're barely answering texts and completely avoiding his calls. He's worried."
"Chh. He's fine."
"He was crying on the phone."
Eiji pulled his eyes from hers. He glanced at his coat by the door and contemplated leaving. But her next sentence reclaimed his attention.
"He said he's worried you'll kill yourself."
Without warning, Eiji began to cry, this time more than a few silent tears. He choked out a sob. "I won't," he managed to say.
He caught a glimpse of tears in the doctor's eyes. "But you want to," she inferred.
He nodded violently. "I've wanted to for years," he whispered almost angrily.
She scooted to the very edge of her seat and leaned forward so she could grab his hands. "I know. So you should be very proud of yourself for still being here. Sometimes simply living is the hardest task of all."
His head fell to the arm of his chair as he sobbed. I can't do it much longer, he desperately wanted to tell her. But he said nothing. The last thing he wanted was to be admitted to the psych ward for a second year in a row.
She held space for him as he cried. When his tears slowed, she spoke again. "I am going to call you a cab when you leave here today. No more of this walking," she said tenderly. "And once you're home, I want you to call Sing." She squeezed his hands. "Not counting today, we're only three days out from Tuesday. You need someone to take care of you at least until then. Please let him stay with you, Eiji. He wants to help you."
Eiji shook his head. He pulled his hands away from hers. More tears came.
"Eiji. Why would you disagree? You need him, he wants to help you."
"I'm— I'm scared he's in love with me," Eiji choked out.
She pulled away from him, sitting up straight before settling back into her chair. "Would it really be so terrible if he was?"
"I can never love him back. I don't want to love him back."
"He knows that, Eiji."
"He's asked me to move on before. More than once," Eiji said softly through tears. "But I can't. I'll never love someone else."
"Trust me, even if you've never explicitly told him, he knows. He knows that, Eiji."
Eiji cried but said nothing further.
Dr. Madison looked at him sadly. It was no secret she too wished he could move on and find happiness in someone else, but deep down, she knew he would never love again. He'd pushed himself previously to branch out, go on a few dates, but nothing had ever panned out.
The best he ever did was to manage three dates with the same man. Dr. Madison had been so happy for him at first. It seemed things were going really well between them. Eiji seemed to really like the man. On the third date, they were intimate. Eiji tried to drink himself to death directly after. It landed him in the hospital, followed by a short stay in the psych ward once he was medically stable. He swore it was an accident. No one was too convinced. That was last year, the week before the seventh anniversary of His death. Eiji hadn't seen anyone since.
"I can't love anyone else," Eiji repeated.
"He knows," she said for a third time. "He just wants to take care of you. Let him love you anyway."