by Amanda Sun
A monster. The shadows chasing him to the Torii outside Itsukushima Shrine—was it all real, then? Some sort of vision of the past? I’d thought it was just a nightmare.
“We don’t know much about his parentage, but he might have been an illegitimate heir to the throne. Or, if the rumors were true, his father was something far more sinister.”
“A demon?” Keiko laughed. “That’s just a story though.”
“Deshou,” said Nakamura, smiling. “I guess it couldn’t be true, could it?”
It could. It was. They had no idea what they were saying, but I did.
The Demon Son. Close enough to the truth about me. But I couldn’t accept it. I would run from myself, just like Taira had.
“Yuuto,” came a harsh whisper, and I looked over. Satoshi was nodding his head at my paper. I looked down, startled by the sprawling mess of ink. The letters on my page were so badly blotted that they curled out in strange shapes, completely illegible.
“Too much caffeine,” I whispered back. I lifted my hand to show him how it was shaking. And I exaggerated, because Satoshi was the only one who suspected anything about me. I had to overdo it so he wouldn’t think anything was actually wrong.
“Right,” Sato said, rolling his eyes. “Lay off the good stuff for a bit, yeah? Nakamura will kick you off the kendo team if he sees you like that.”
I gave him the finger and he grinned while I turned the page in my notebook. But inside, my heart was pounding.
The letters weren’t blotted from a shaky hand. I was losing control.
When the bell rang, we stood and bowed to Nakamura before he left the classroom. I stretched as everyone started on today’s cleaning duty. Satoshi lifted his chair and threw it at me. I barely caught it in time.
“Jeez, Yuuto,” he said. “Still out of it?”
“Just aspiring to be like you,” I said, flipping the chair over and slamming it onto his desk. Tanaka Keiko pushed between the two of us, pressing a mop against Sato’s chest.
Sato sighed. “Again?”
Tanaka smirked. “What, you’d rather have bathroom duty?”
“On second thought...” he said, grabbing the mop from her.
My keitai buzzed and I reached into my book bag for it. The kendo warrior charm swung back and forth on the strap as I flipped the phone open.
“Myu?” Sato guessed, rolling his eyes. He leaned the mop against the wall while he lifted two more chairs onto desks.
I stared at the text.
“Shiori,” I said.
Sato’s voice went quiet, full of concern. “She okay?”
Shiori and I had become closer since Kaasan’s accident, when I’d promised to look out for her. She used to hang out with Sato and me all the time in junior high. Not so much lately, since I wanted to keep her safe from him. I smirked at that—the Demon Son, keeping Shiori safe from a harmless thug like Sato. But the real problem for her wasn’t Sato or even me. It was the morons tormenting her every chance they got.
I shook my head. “I gotta go.”
“Damn. Why can’t they leave her alone?” Sato and I were used to the texts from Shiori now, pleading for help from the latest confrontation. We didn’t know who they were—students at her school, most likely—but whoever they were, when I found out, they’d see just what kind of monster I could be.
No. I couldn’t give in to the darkness, not even when I wanted to. Not even when it called my name.
“Cover for me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Sato said. “But then you’ve got to come with me Friday night.”
“Why?”
“Backup. In Ikeda. There’s this guy I gotta meet up with, and—”
“Damn it, Sato!”
He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with a shrug. “Those are my terms, man.”
I glared for a minute. “Sometimes I really hate you.”
“Same here,” he smiled, and smacked my arm. I waited until Tanaka’s back was turned and then slipped out the door of the classroom, hurrying to the genkan to put on my shoes.
“Yuu-chan!” I heard as I pulled on the second shoe.
Not now. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to see her, but I had to help Shiori and I couldn’t exactly tell Myu that. She stood in the doorway, her foot dangling just above the top stair. As usual, she’d pulled the waist of her skirt too high to show off her legs. A thought buzzed in the back of my head that I should be upset about the rest of the guys at school seeing her like that, but I was more worried about Shiori right now. They were making her life a living hell again, and I had to get there to stop it.
“Myu,” I said. She smiled and descended the three stairs, walking toward me until she was so close the hem of her skirt pressed against me. So did the rest of her bare thigh.
“I thought you had to clean today,” she said. God, she smelled good. I had to stop myself from pulling her closer.
“Sato’s covering for me.”
“I have Debate Club, but I saw you in the hallway and thought I should say hi.” She pressed herself against me as her lips found mine, and then my thoughts went all hazy.
I pulled away for a minute. “Hi,” I managed, then pulled her back for more. Yeah, shallow, okay? But I wasn’t made of stone. The tips of her glittery fingernails ran through my hair as I tried to control the part of me that wanted to shove her against the wall and do things to her. She knew it, and her hands started to roam, making it even more difficult to fight.
A muffled giggle behind us broke me out of it. We both looked over at the first years, standing on the steps with their hands over their mouths. Normally I wouldn’t care—gossip about Myu and I sucking face kept away the darker rumors—but one of the girls reminded me of Shiori. Damn it. I stroked Myu’s face with my fingers.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” I said, and started to walk away.
She grabbed my arm and the jolt of it shocked me back. She pulled me behind the wall of cubbies and kissed me harder. Shit. She was not making this easy for me.
“Myu,” I warned.
“Come on,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down my arm. “Let’s go to a love hotel.”
“We can’t,” I said, struggling for reasons why. “You have Debate.”
“So I’ll skip,” she giggled.
“I’m broke,” I tried, looking at the clock that hung over the door.
“So your house, then. Come on, Yuu-chan.” She leaned closer, her breath hot in my ear.
It was enough to jolt me out of it. What the hell was I doing? Without even trying, I was destroying everyone around me. Shiori couldn’t rely on me, and Myu would get dragged into whatever nightmare this was that I was living. The ink was a danger to both of them just by being around me. The Demon Son. That was me, and I’d rather arrive at the gates of Hell alone than bring down someone like them.
I hated this. I hated myself. What the hell was wrong with me that I couldn’t live a normal life?
“Muriko,” I snapped. “I can’t, okay? I have to go!”
She looked like I’d slapped her when I used her full name. It was a harder rejection than I’d meant it to be. She stepped back, her eyes cold.
“Go where?”
“Cram school,” I lied, but my hands were shaking again. I was a mess. I couldn’t deal with this right now.
“Fine,” she said.
“Myu,” I said softly, touching her chin. “I’ll call you later.”
“No you won’t,” she sighed, pushing my hand away. And then she jumped back, slamming her back against the wall as she cried out.
“What happened?” I panicked. “Are you okay?”
Her hands were shaking. She turned them slowly.
Her nails, once bright and glittery, were coated with dripping black ink. It trickled down her fingertips, pooling in the creases of her hand.
Shit.
“What the hell, Yuu?” she shrieked. “Where did this ink come from?”
“I don’
t know,” I said, but she stared at me like it was my fault. I couldn’t pretend to be baffled. It would become another rumor with the first-years nearby. “Must—must have leaked from my bag,” I stammered. “I have a bottle of ink for cram school.” I grabbed for my handkerchief and wiped the black ink off. It was no use. The silver glitter on her nails was tainted a dark gray.
“I’m sorry,” I said after a minute, “but I really have to go.”
I’d only walked a few steps when she spoke behind me.
“Yuu, why are you drawing at cram school?”
I stopped. “What?”
“Because I told Keiko, and she said you used to be in calligraphy with her brother, but that you quit because something happened. Something weird. And that you don’t draw now.”
Oh god. It was starting. So Tanaka Keiko knew who I was after all.
“Nothing weird,” I said. “I just left school because of Kaasan’s accident.”
She took a step forward. “But Keiko said—”
“I don’t care what she said!” I put my shaking hands on her shoulders. “Who are you going to believe, Myu? Tanaka or me?” She looked at my fingers as they trembled on her skin.
“I don’t know anymore,” she said quietly.
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s nothing, okay? It’s nothing.”
“But—”
I left without another word, the door closing behind me with a soft snick.
Running from myself, like Taira in the dream. But I didn’t have a choice.
Shiori needed me.
Chapter Seven
Katie
We were crammed into the plane like sardines. I could barely cross my legs without bumping the seat in front of me. It didn’t seem like a very glamorous way to start a new life, but then again, I didn’t really want to be starting over anyway.
I’d been at the gate half an hour early because Linda had worried I’d miss my flight. Maybe she’d really just been afraid that I’d never leave.
I stared out the plane window as New York drifted away. Had it really been five months already? I couldn’t believe I’d made it so long without Mom, like some kind of twisted new record. But there was no going back at the end, no way to stop counting the days.
This was my new life, whether I was ready or not. I just had to wait quietly for time to heal the wounds. So far, time just pressed on them until I felt like I was suffocating.
Half an hour into the air and already my world was foreign. Almost everyone on the plane was Japanese. That or expat English teachers returning from brief visits on American soil. Across from me a pair of senior citizens took off their shoes and pulled comfy slippers from their carry-ons.
“Tea, miss?”
I looked up. The stewardesses stood over me, a pitcher of cold green tea poised in one hand, a stack of plastic cups in the other.
“Um, no thanks,” I said. She nodded and then the brief moment was over, and Japanese flowed off her tongue as she asked the next row and the next. A blond man two rows in front of me answered her in Japanese, and it dawned on me that she’d spoken English to me as a courtesy. I was supposed to be speaking Japanese now. It wasn’t like I hadn’t studied my brains out since October—what little brain that could focus—but I felt small, suddenly, small and lost in the Japanese around me. So much for lists of fruits and vegetables and animals. I hadn’t really learned anything after all.
“I’m doomed,” I said to myself, slipping my head into my hands.
For a while I flipped through the movies, then the TV stations. There was a Japanese variety show where a jumble of guests discussed times they’d tried to blurt out two words at once, creating new combo words. Apparently it was hilarious, because they all giggled and the audience applauded. I stared at the bright kanji scrolling across the bottom of the screen. I could read a lot of them individually, but I couldn’t put them together. It was like trying to put together some awful puzzle when I only had a few of the pieces in my hand.
I shut the TV off and looked out the window. My breath caught in my throat—the land had already disappeared, and sunlight gleamed off the ocean below us. Just like that, my life had slipped away.
I’m sorry, Mom. I’m leaving you after all.
It was stupid, maybe, but I couldn’t help it. I closed my eyes to keep in the tears.
There wasn’t much to do on a fourteen-hour flight. For a few hours I dozed, bumping my head against the window every time I started to get comfortable. Mostly I stared at my hands, trying to figure out who I was, who I would become. What sort of life was waiting for me?
Only a couple hours left to go, and suddenly the plane lurched forward. I grabbed the armrests and stared out the window. No one looked too alarmed. Another bump, and I felt this one deep in my heart. I was never one for roller coasters.
The stewardess who’d offered me tea noticed my expression and scurried down the aisle toward me.
“Just a bit of turbulence, Miss,” she smiled. “Nothing to worry about.”
I nodded, but my knuckles were white as I grabbed at my seat. Something was off.
Wouldn’t the captain usually warn us if this kind of turbulence was approaching? Put on the seat belt sign or something? But the flight attendants only mumbled to each other, their faces concerned. The plane dipped once more. This time the seat belt sign lit up.
Something in my heart buzzed, like an electric eel slithering through, and then a warmth spread through me like my blood had caught fire. At first it was just uncomfortable, like heartburn throbbing in every vein, but it surged until I felt like I was burning, like I would turn to ashes right there.
I unbuckled the seat belt and lunged for the bathroom.
“Miss, you can’t get up right now!”
I ignored her and locked myself in, gasping for breath.
What was happening? I stared at my hands. My skin looked pinker than usual, and my face was flushed. Some kind of fever? But I didn’t feel sick.
Great. Two hours from landing and I was having some sort of heart attack.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face.
Maybe it’s better if you’re sick. You don’t belong anymore.
No, that was stupid. Mom wouldn’t want that. I didn’t want that, not really. I was just scared, that’s all. Some sort of panic attack.
I pressed my fingers against my wrist, trying to find my pulse. And then I realized something horrible, something terrifying.
The plane dipped in perfect time with my heartbeat.
I gasped. And then suddenly the heat fizzled away, my cheeks paled and my pulse slowed. All that was left was the buzzing feeling, like I’d had a good jolt of electricity through me.
What the hell?
The stewardess knocked on the door. “Miss?”
I yanked a paper towel from the wall and patted my face dry. I opened the door and mumbled an apology.
“You’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said, slumping back into my seat.
“Let me get you some tea,” she said, and she hurried away.
The pocket of turbulence slowed with my heartbeat, and then everything was as still as before.
Had I imagined it? Maybe it felt like my pulse had matched it because every bump had thrown my stomach for a loop. It was strange, though. I knew I should’ve asked for help instead of locking myself in, and yet something in me felt the incident had been something to hide. Maybe I was just afraid to face whatever it was, that there might be some real problem with me.
Everything on the plane seemed so vivid, the lights too bright, the fabric of the seat too rough. Everything came into focus, like I’d been sleeping all this time and had just woken up. I guessed it was just the aftermath of a panic attack.
“Here you go,” the stewardess said, handing me a plastic cup of cold tea.
“Thanks,” I said, and I took a sip. It tasted like mulled green beans, bitter and strange but not completely awful.
I looked
out the window as Japan unfurled below us. It was a different world, the colors somehow more saturated and the air denser than home. The cars looked different, even if they were ant-sized from this height. Streets had white kanji scrawled on them in paint; stop signs were triangular, and everyone drove on the left. It was like life filtered through a warped mirror.
This was my life now, and I could barely recognize it.
Chapter Eight
Tomohiro
“Shiori!” I shouted as I neared the courtyard of her school. It was a private girls’ academy, but I didn’t hesitate, just plowed straight through groups of girls in their crimson blazers and tartan skirts, past the open iron gates and toward the door of the main building.
I flung the door open. Their genkan wasn’t as old-fashioned as ours. Instead of shoe cubbies, rows of beige half lockers filled the room.
A few of the girls looked up at me with wide eyes, but I ignored them, weaving between them like they weren’t even there. On the other side of a row of lockers I heard the muffled sobs.
“Shiori?”
The sobbing stopped.
“Tomo-kun?”
Shiori was the one person I had let get close to me, because despite everything that had happened—the accidents, the accusations—she had never doubted me. If I could just protect her, maybe I wouldn’t have to accept what the nightmares repeated, that I was destined for nothing but destruction and death. If I protected her, my life could have meaning. I could fight what I knew I was.
I looked down the next row of lockers and found her sitting on the floor in a slump, surrounded by crumpled white papers. Her locker door hung open, the corner of it warped in a new and ugly dent.
“Are you okay?” I said. I crouched down beside her, and my movement sent several more of the white papers tumbling from her locker. She shook her head, the tears streaking down her face as she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
I picked up one of the crumpled papers and unfolded it. Giant kanji scrawled across it, childish names like dirty slut with Shiori’s phone number scrawled at the bottom. You don’t need a kotatsu table to keep warm. Call Shiori! She’ll sleep with anyone! It was the filth of washroom graffiti, juvenile really, but Shiori’s petite frame shook with sobs.
