by Marian Tee
And I don’t get it.
I really don’t.
Like any girl who’s been dumped, I’ve done my fair share of imagining what could happen if X and I were to meet again. When I feel particularly vengeful, the scenarios mostly involve X groveling and me kicking him in the balls, over and over. But when I feel particularly weak, it’s just us…forgiving each other. Suffice it to say, my fantasies range far and wide, but not once – not ever – did I imagine it would be the other way around, and he’d be the one making me feel like shite…again.
It’s enough to have my head literally start pounding, and it doesn’t help at all that so many things about him aren’t adding up. When the girls waiting outside the university hall started screaming upon catching a glimpse of X through the windows, to say that I was shocked would have been a vast understatement.
The X I once knew always wore a mask, someone who pretended to be a courteous, charming angel who never lost his smile. This X, however, appears to have stopped giving a shite about what other people say about him. The X I once knew liked to tease and flirt, but the only thing this X seemed to like doing is alternate between scowling and glaring – at me.
I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does. It hurts like the bloody hell actually, but there’s no way – absolutely no way – I’m going to let him put me down just like that.
So enough of this, blast it.
Whatever his reason is for seemingly wanting to hurt me again and again, I won’t give him the satisfaction of showing him that it’s working. I’m stronger now, and I’ll show him that.
Think ojousama. I reach for the pot and pour us tea, and I feel proud when I manage to keep my hands from shaking.
Speak like an ojousama. “Itadakimasu,” I murmur as I place his cup in front of him, and after a moment, his lips move, but what he says is barely audible, like he thinks I don’t even deserve to hear his voice, and…the pain is so much worse now.
Be an ojousama. But when I reach for my cup, I can no longer control my hands from trembling a little. Blast him. Blast him. BLAST HIM. But my inner chaos is ¼ resentment, ¾ pain, and it’s so pathetic that I just want to drink my sorrows away like before.
So I gulp the whole thing down.
His eyes widen.
A moment later, I’m choking.
I’ve forgotten how hot Japanese like their tea. It’s almost as hot as hi---
Him.
Him.
Him.
Hippopotamuses, I almost scream at myself.
“Are you okay?”
Finally, he speaks.
And now I’m wishing he didn’t.
Because his voice---
It’s the one thing that hasn’t changed. It’s exactly the way it used to be, and it’s making me remember things I should’ve long stopped caring about.
Senpai. Senpai. Senpai.
That’s how he used to call me, on account that I’m a year older than him, but somehow he’s turned it into the sexiest little endearment.
Senpai. Senpai. Senpai.
If I close my eyes now, I can so easily pretend that it’s just like before, and oh, I’m so blasted tempted to just do it. Pretend that all’s still okay because the pathetic thing is, even with everything he’s done---
I still yearn for the way it used to be.
“Does it still hurt?”
I want to laugh. Or bang my head against the table. I know he’s talking about my scalded tongue, but I don’t give a crap, and I say jerkily, “Like you care.”
There’s this second of silence---
His expression turns cold. “You’re right.”
Before I can understand what’s happening, he’s already stood up, and by the time I realize he’s really leaving---
He’s already walking away.
Just. Like. That.
Word of the Day: Mecha, n
1. A genre of anime or manga in which major characters pilot fighting robots (e.g. Gundam, Pacific Rim);
2. Most types of Transformers cannot be strictly defined as ‘mecha’ as they are sentient robots that do not require human piloting.
Blog #726
I spoke to my mom on the phone earlier – well, figuratively speaking, that is. I was actually FaceTiming with her, and we talked for about two hours. Or at least it feels like that, the way my jaw is aching right now. My roommate caught me crying afterwards. I know she thinks it’s because of X, and I let her think that.
And yeah, she knows everything about X now – and I do mean everything. Every shameful detail.
Don’t you think it’s funny that I can so easily tell her of how I used to be this boy’s toy in high school but I can’t seem to make myself tell her about what my mom’s going through? It’s almost like cancer’s something to be ashamed of, when I know it’s not. I know – I bloody well know that, but…it doesn’t change the way I feel. I hate it, I fear it, and I don’t want to talk about it because talking about it makes it more real.
And sometimes, I just want to pretend.
Or maybe the right term is to…fantasize.
I used to fantasize about hot guys a lot. It was nothing personal, though, but more of a work requisite than anything else. I needed the right kind of stimulus, and it’s only when I’m turned on that my fingers begin to move and I can start drawing bodies that move against each other, becoming one the way only lovers can be.
But that was then.
Now, hot boys are my greatest fear. They remind me too much of the boy who broke my heart, and oh, believe me, he was – is – the hottest of them all. And the cruelest. It’s made me so paranoid I tend to freeze up when I see a hot boy in my midst. The only ones I’m comfortable speaking to are the ones going out with my friends. But other than that, it’s just pure torture, which is why I’m kicking my head in the right now.
My 10AM class for today is Mecha or robot anime. Mecha to boys is what chick lit is to girls, so you’d think I’d have assumed that majority of the class would be boys. It should’ve been a no-brainer.
But it’s not, so now I’m pacing outside the classroom, desperately searching for the guts to open the door.
“Nosebleed Girl?”
Riiiiiight.
Have I mentioned that I’ve acquired a nickname in the last 24 hours?
I whirl around just in time to see a tall, dark-haired guy coming up to me. He has a piercing on his left ear and what seems like a dragon tattoo snaking around his left arm. When he reaches me, he has the most ferocious scowl on his handsome face, and his voice is deep and scary when he asks in Japanese, “It’s you, right?”
Gulping, I say, “H-hai.” First X, and now this stranger who looks like he beats up people for a living. Why do all Japanese guys seem angry at me for no reason?
“You’re in Mecha, too?”
Oh, worse and worse. If there’s more like him in my next class, I think it’s best if I just drop Mecha and ask for another elective---
“I’m Seiji, by the way,” he says gruffly. “My girlfriend Momo says you’re in one of her classes.”
Girlfriend. Seiji has a girlfriend, and as this dawns on me, I start to relax. This Seiji can’t be so bad if he has a girlfriend with a cute name like Momo, right?
Looking up, I say uncertainly, “I don’t think I’ve met her yet.”
“You haven’t.”
Then…how does Momo know that I’m in her class? I consider asking Seiji but when he starts to scowl again, I decide against it. I kind of like having my head attached to my neck, so you know what? If Seiji says it is, then it must be so.
The second warning bell rings then, and Seiji opens the door. When he sees me hesitating behind him, he raises a brow, asking, “You coming?”
“Umm…”
After a beat, he says gruffly, “There’s nothing to worry about. Everyone here’s cool.”
And so they are.
Even though the boys-to-girls ratio in our class turns out to be 29:1 literally and it’s my w
orst-case scenario come to life, I somehow manage to survive 90 minutes in their company. For the most part, it’s all thanks to Seiji. As soon as we enter the class, he declares that I am his and Momo’s “imouto” or ‘little sister’ and so anyone who messes with me will be messing with him and his girlfriend. I’m not sure why, but it’s like the boys are more afraid of the threat of Momo going after them than Seiji. It’s weird but cute, and so when Seiji asks if I want to join him and his girlfriend for an early lunch, I eagerly say yes.
The cafeteria in our building is on the fourth floor, and the surrounding panoramic windows give us a nice little view of Shinjuku beyond the walls of Tsubaki. We part ways to buy our own food and when I return to our table with my bowl of ramen, a girl is already seated next to Seiji.
She’s a black-haired beauty, with big dark eyes framed by the longest lashes, pink rosebud lips, and alabaster skin. She’s also wearing a silk kimono to school, and when she sees me frozen next to her table, she immediately and gracefully rises to her feet.
A split second later, I see a flash of silk---
Momo kicking her boyfriend under the table---
And then Seiji winces just before coming to his feet as well. “Dammit, Momo.” He gestures to me, saying with a grunt, “Nosebleed Girl, meet my girlfriend Momo. Momo, Nosebleed---”
Another flash of kimono, the silk of her sleeve dancing in the air, and when I see Seiji wince again, I realize she’s just elbowed him.
“Momo, this is Katerina Chariot.”
“Thank you for the introduction, Seiji.” Momo’s tone is extra sweet. I’m guessing it’s a non-verbal promise there’d be more flashes of silk when they’re alone, and I’m beginning to understand why those boys in our Mecha class are afraid of Seiji’s girlfriend.
When we take our seats, I don’t even have a second to feel uncomfortable. Momo’s gone out of her way to make me feel welcome, and when lunch is over, it’s like we’ve known each other for years. As Seiji walks us to our next class, which turns out to be the one I’m sharing with Momo, I ask her how she knows I’ll be in it.
Momo appears surprised. “Alexei told us so.”
My footsteps come to an abrupt halt.
Seiji grates out something in Japanese, too fast for me to follow, but I have a good idea what it is when I see the dismayed expression that falls on Momo’s face. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Kat---”
I shake my head, saying quickly, “It’s okay. I was just surprised.” I force a smile. “What exactly did he tell you guys?”
“Nothing that you should even worry about.” Seiji’s girlfriend is quick to give her assurance, but her expression remains distinctly troubled. “Alexei is a friend of ours, and he simply asked us to look after you. He seems to think you might not feel comfortable when you realize you’d be the only girl in Seiji’s Mecha class.” She bites her lip, and after a moment continues reluctantly, “He also asked us not to let you know about…this.”
Her words swirl around me. They seem to make sense. But at the same time they don’t. How can it, when the guy who’s asked his friends to look after his ex is also the same guy who walked out on me last night?
Forget what you heard, I urge myself. Even if what Momo’s just told me is making me wish for the impossible---
If I want what’s good for me---
I should just let it go.
But when my lips start to move, the words that come out are the words that I shouldn’t but needed to say.
It should’ve been a five-minute walk from my school building to his, but the way my heart is simultaneously aching and hammering against my chest has slowed me down. It’s already been ten minutes and I’m nowhere closer to my destination. Even worse are the memories; ever since he dumped me, I’ve never let myself remember the times that…we were okay. I’ve only allowed myself to dwell on the bad stuff and built a mental wall to hold back everything else. But that barrier’s gone now, and the memories are weighing me down---
Keep your shite together, KC.
I reach the top of the steps leading to his school building and force myself to stop. The memories threaten to overwhelm me, and my fists clench as I feel my body actually starting to sag under the weight of it. I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself not to break down.
They’re just memories, KC. They’re done and over with. They can’t hurt you.
And when I open my eyes, I realize it’s true. Memories are nothing. Or at least they can’t ever compare to the painful reality of him, standing right in front of me.
Yuki.
Even the sound of his name in my mind is like a drug, my heart craving and fearing it at the same time. I watch him step out of the school building, knowing I should look away – even if just for a second to let myself breathe. But I can’t. I just can’t. There’s a sick sensation throbbing in the pit of my stomach, telling me that if I so much as blink, he could disappear---
And I can’t risk that.
A male upperclassman comes after him, causing X to turn away and giving me more freedom to stare at the boy I used to love. He’s dressed in a thin V-neck shirt and denims, but somehow this low-key look only makes it worse for my heart. I don’t like the way the sleeves outline the muscles in his arms, don’t like the way his jeans mold too closely to the powerful length of his legs. He’s sexy enough with every inch of him still covered, blast it, so does he really have to know this much skin?
When the upperclassman finishes talking to X and walks back inside, my brain blanks out, and I freeze. Do I call out or walk up to him? Do I wait? Do I---
But a second later, it’s no longer my choice. I watch him stiffen as if someone’s stepped on his grave, and before I can move, he’s already turning around.
His gaze clashes with mine---
And that’s all it takes.
I don't care if he cheated on me. I don’t care if he dumped me. I don’t care if he left me.
I still want him in my life, in whatever way possible.
Oh, KC. You’re just as foolish as his fan girls, after all.
I take a step forward, but he doesn’t even let me say his name. He starts walking away, and pain grips my chest when he strides past me like I’m invisible.
“Stop!”
And I find myself walking after him.
“Don’t you hear me? I said stop.” A part of me can’t believe he’s making me do this, but the other part of me doesn’t care. I just want him to…
“Stop!”
And still he keeps walking, and the world starts to shimmer. It’s the kind of magic that only tears can bring.
“Please.” My voice starts to tremble. “Stop.” And so does my body. “Yuki.” I’ve never even let myself think of his name, and even in my dreams, it terrifies me. But now I’m gambling everything on it---
And it works.
Yuki is no longer moving, but he doesn’t turn to face me either, and bloody hell, but it has me torn between crying and laughing again. Oh, Yuki. Only a god would tear a girl’s heart into pieces and then expect her to run after him.
My knees knock against each other as I slowly make my way to him. With every step I take, a part of me waits for something to stop this from happening, for someone to interrupt us, just for the fates to prove I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.
But nothing happens, and gradually the inches between us fade into millimeters, until there’s no room to change my mind. Once again, azure meets emerald in an untouchable second, and oh. This part never changes. He’s still the Ursula to my Ariel, and the sheer beauty of him takes my voice away.
Time waltzes by, and sunlight flickers between us. I draw my breath then draw another. “So…”
“What do you want?” The hardness of his voice is jarring and incisive, smashing the whitewashed grip of nostalgia on my reality.
And just like that I’m back in the present, and I remember the most painful truth: the only boy I’ve ever loved…no longer wants anything to do with me. It’s in the way
he looks at me, talks to me. The way his entire body is so tense, like he can’t wait for me to disappear.
Why? Why are you like this? Why?
I see his jaw harden, and it’s only then I realize that I hadn’t just cried the words out in my mind. They’re out in the open, like an exposed wound I can no longer deny.
“Why should it matter?” he snarls. “And shouldn’t this be the other way around? Shouldn’t you be angrier with me?”
“G-good question.” And this time, my laughter wins over the tears, but the sound comes out ugly and choking, and it only makes his jaw start ticking.
“So why the fuck aren’t you?”
“Because I can’t.” Again, the words are out before I can think them through, and again they’re not making me look any stronger. It’s the opposite, and if all he knew earlier was that I was hurting, what he knows now is worse.
But I’m way past caring.
Lifting my chin, I say haltingly, “I k-know what you asked Seiji and Momo---”
He cuts me off with a mocking laugh. “And that’s all it takes for you to forgive me?” His voice turns scathing. “One nice little deed and it’s enough to wipe the slate clean?”
“Why are you being like this?” I demand shakily. “You would never have asked your friends to check on me if---” I manage to stop myself, but the cold contempt in his gaze tells me it is too late.
“Since you seem to need me to spell it out – no one,” he stresses in a hard voice, “is asking you to figure out anything. But if you want to know the truth, then it’s that I made a fucking mistake. I wanted you to have Momo as a friend as a way of making up for dumping you. I never thought you’d be stupid enough to read anything else in it, and that’s my mistake.” His voice becomes grim. “That’s all this is. A mistake. Is that clear enough for you?”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Mistakes like me don’t have the right to.
Word of the Day: Goukon, n
