Chapter Text
My last words hang in the room like a noxious, hostile gas. A part of me regrets them but another is glad I finally said what I’ve been thinking for days- no, weeks. A reckoning is coming and my broken heart quickens at the thought of it. Takumi and I are both breathing deeply as we glower at each other and when he speaks, there’s a nasty edge in his voice.
“You know, I decided to stick around after Iwanako left.”
“Stopped.”
“Right, stopped.” He hesitates. “I didn’t have to do that.”
I snort. “What’s the difference? You’re going to leave me anyways.”
He scoffs. What, I’m right. Ever since that heart attack, ever since waking up from surgery that ‘saved’ my life and left me scarred, that’s the pattern I’ve seen. When my “friends”, my parents, saw that whatever compliments and motivational speeches they‘d tossed at me didn’t work, they stopped coming. They stopped, and went out of the door, abandoning me here as a lost cause.
Takumi’s stare feels like a drill, brimming with irritation. “Fuck off and get over yourself for a bit, will you? You always take out your crap on me.” A brief moment of realization flashes over his face, and he bites his lips. “I’m not your therapist, alright?”
It’s not like I wanted them to care about me. I’ve lived on my own for years, and that’s fine by me. I squint at him, and sigh. He saw what happened. Am I the bad guy when their attempts at convincing me that I’m not broken and ‘it’s all in my head’ don’t work? Should I just let them trample over me and tell me what I should feel? Of course not. So why is he angry?
Why was everyone angry the last time they talked to me?
Two weeks after I woke up from the coma, Shin and Mai said they were stopping their visits. I don’t remember what excuse they gave me, but it didn’t matter anyway. It was clear that Shin was itching to drop the pretense of politeness and get out of there, which was fine by me. He and I didn’t get along well anyway and that had only gotten worse since the incident. Yet somehow, he dragged Mai out the door with him. The two of them often argued, and I was always the one who had to stop them from escalating it. When did they start getting along?
Then some time passed before my parents stopped coming at their usual schedule, only dropping in at their leisure. Every time my dad walked in, he’d look at me and shake his head. I don’t know what to make of that; was he disappointed? Regretful? Sad? When the doctor was telling me about this condition I have, this thing in my chest, my mom was crying. After they left the last time, I kept hoping they'd come back and be with me, show emotion for me like she did. But no, it didn’t seem like it. I never thought I’d miss them.
No; instead, I miss the parents they could have been.
And now, Iwanako too has stopped coming. A week has passed and she hasn’t popped in this room once. She’s responsible for how I am, and she’s running away.
Bitch.
A part of me is glad everyone’s gone, but the other part wishes they had tried something else. Who am I to them? Just another guy? I can’t help but remember all those times I was there for them, did favors, helped with their studies. And they abandoned me the moment they noticed that their words weren’t getting through. They didn’t know that it did get through; it just didn’t work. I’m disabled now. How can things be alright?
I don’t want to be disabled but I definitely don’t want to be treated like I’m disabled.
Takumi’s somewhat hostile stare meets mine before I break off, looking elsewhere so I don’t escalate things. An argument is the last thing I need, even though a part of me wants it.
Being here is the last thing I need.
I ball up my fist. I want out. I want to get out. The only “reason” I’m still here is because they’re tweaking my medication, but can’t I do that at home? ? I want to do something - no, scratch that, I need to do something. Instead all I got are words that do nothing but tell me that I can’t live on my own anymore, reminding me that I’m different. Pitying me. They’d sit there, on that sofa in the corner, and say, “It’s all in my head,” or “Get better,” or something like that. As if that’d work.
I don’t know what would have worked, but I know it’s not that.
“Ah shit.”
Takumi looks around, as if looking for someone that might catch him for swearing. After a moment staring at the antechamber of this ward, he turns back to me. “Iwanako might’ve fucked off, but you barely knew her anyways. Don’t take it too hard.”
He doesn’t get it. He’s known me for the last twelve years and he doesn’t get me either. I don’t care that I barely knew her. I care that she put me in this place and now she’s abandoned me. She should take responsibility for what she did.
I thought that all the antics we’ve been through, all the times we’ve teamed up against anyone messing with us, would be enough for him to know that I don’t take lightly to people refusing to take responsibility for something they had done. And she’s the one to blame for everything that has happened to me.
Everything.
I stare at him, hoping he will get the message. His face is as straight as ever; puzzled, confused, but not backing down, not understanding.
Just go away. You’re just like everyone else.
“What about you?” I ask.
The question seems to have taken him by surprise. “What about me?”
It always takes two or three punches to get through to him. Suicidal overconfidence. I wonder why I even hoped. “When is it your turn to ditch me?”
He looks at me, incredulous, then, “Fuck you. Like I said, not your therapist. If you took your head out of your ass for a moment, you’ll remember that I’m the only friend you’ve got at the moment. You want me out, I’m out. But I’m not leaving unless you kick me out.”
“Be honest with me, Taku,” I say sarcastically. He’s right though. He’s the only friend I got, and the only friend I ever had that stuck through with me, through thick and thin. And I don’t want to kick him out, no matter how much this sense of growing hostility screams he’s useless now. Yet the gnawing thoughts keep pounding on my door and before I know it, I’ve voiced them. “Shin and Mai stopped, my parents stopped, Iwanako stopped …”
He clicks his tongue, staring at me, a challenge in his eyes. He clearly wants me to keep going and suddenly I’m not sure I want to.
“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, I gotta say that you’re making me think about it right now.” Again, there’s a brief flash of recognition as he realizes what he just said. He kneads his forehead in irritation. “Look, do you want me to go get you a strawberry milk and we can sit this out for a bit? I’m going off too. Not a good look for me either.”
Strawberry milk? Where did that come from? I didn’t reply, but he takes it as one anyway as Takumi gets up and starts to leave.
The sight of his back reminds me of them all.
I pick up a nearby handkerchief and throw it at him. He pauses, and turns back, but I’m already lying down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. He shakes his head, and quietly exits the antechamber.
He’s right. Takumi’s the only one I have right now, as it always had been. Twelve years have passed since we first met, and we’ve been together, through thick and thin. He was the son of a neighbour who was friends with my parents and always welcomed me as if I was their own. I didn’t mind it when I was younger. He didn’t either, from what his parents told me; the first time I appeared he was enthusiastic to show me his rock collection. They said I was so surprised for such a friendly first impression, that they were shocked to see me laughing before joining him.
Later on, we discovered that we were in the same elementary school. Not surprising, as I look back, since we’re in the same neighbourhood. He was an active kid, and so was I, at that age; as soon as school was over we would run out and play around in the nearby park, running around chasing each other. When we moved on to junior high, he tagged along, and we started playing football with others he managed to befriend. By that time I was realizing how alone I was whenever I returned home, and took upon myself to manage my own life. Takumi told me that I should rely on him more, but seeing how much he and his family had done for me, I always refused his offers. And I took pride from that; I’ve lived alone, ate alone, worked alone. I learned everything about taking care of myself, my house, and schoolwork, from the ground up. All my parents ever gave me were the pocket money they’d leave at the table in the morning, and a place to live. I never really see them often, and when I did, it’s always dinner when they have the chance of coming home early from work.
I don’t blame them. They worked hard, and where other boys and girls, teenagers, of my age, were oblivious of what’s outside of their scope, my parents worked hard against the declining economy. They said it was the declining economy, but I know too little about it to contest it. But the effects of my worries became visible; no I didn’t worry much about their work, but rather the many routines one would expect of an adult, not a teenager. Things like groceries, dinner, keeping up contacts, always occupied my mind. Some teachers said I’m far more mature than other students in their care. Some classmates said I’m too withdrawn, too reclusive. My only closest friend who bothered to know was Takumi, accompanying me wherever I needed to be. I didn’t mind him, and I didn’t mind the many times he just went on and on, words constantly pouring out of his mouth. It was fun listening to him, and to him it was relieving; not many can withstand how talkative he can get. I could. We were like brothers.
Some commented on that too.
And so we moved on to senior high.
And here.
I lost a lot. The doctors said whatever condition I had that caused this … thing, in my chest, was genetic. I was born with it. I rack my head to recall the thousands of lectures the head cardiologist must have given me at this point. I don’t remember what it’s called, but I do remember one thing; it built up, like stacks of dead trees in a dying forest. All it took was one jolt, one short sharp shock, and everything would be lit on fire. It was that heart attack, caused by Iwanako’s unexpected confession. The fire burned away my old life, and in its ash I’m choking in it.
What’s it called again?
Right, arrhythmia.
I slam my hand against the railing of the bed, shaking it. Nobody understood what I felt, when I first woke up. When I was told of my condition. When the head cardiologist came in and said that everything you’ve done before, everything you aspired to be, is gone in a flash. I was looking forward to joining my bandmates at a performance by a famous band that week, as celebration for finishing the second year’s final exams. Then that letter appeared in my textbook.
Nobody understood.
Nobody.
They all keep telling me that “it’s all in my head,” and “You should get over it.” I want to. I need to. But just telling me to do it doesn’t help. How? How do I do it? I gave up trying after hearing the same thing over and over, and for the past two months, I kept telling myself that I’m fine without being understood. If I have to stay here for an indefinite amount of time, so be it. Health trumps over all, after all, even when Shin was a bit angry that I’m not coming. I told myself that I’m living a wholly different perspective than anyone around me. Their lives hadn’t been shattered, their futures not stolen. Why would they understand me, to give me the right words of advice? I can stand up on my own. All I needed was …
… I’m not sure what I needed anymore.
Eventually they stop their stale and repeated advice, leaving me alone as they realize their words aren’t working. I’m still left wondering, am I really the bad guy for not humoring them? Correcting them about my condition felt wrong; it’d put them in an awkward spot where no one would want to be, after mistaking the details of someone who just nearly died from it. Should I have lashed back? No, that’d be even worse. Arguments lead nowhere. I thought if I give it time they’d understand what it is like to be me, stranded on this hospital bed, far away from everything I knew.
With this metaphorical paper saying “Disabled” taped on to my back.
I wonder why I even hoped. Now all I have is Takumi.
I need to get out of here. Then, and only then, I can start thinking.
I’m suffocating from everything here; my condition, this room, that damned EKG machine beeping, everyone around me not understanding me at all.
If someone can just understand what it's like to be trapped here, then they could convince the staff that I need a break. A break from sitting in this room. A break from the chlorinated atmosphere of this damned hospital. One short break, from this caging feeling that I’ve lost everything.
And who else can understand me better than him, right?
Someone’s nervous laughter breaks the silence. I look to my right, and there’s Takumi, standing there, uncertain on what to do. When did he get back?
“Sorry I went off on you there,” he says as he takes his seat again. “The nurse kicked me back in, and said if I shout any more she’ll kick me back out.” He gestures with his empty hands. “Vending machine got stuck, couldn’t move the thing forward.”
I sigh, and sit up. Here’s one last try.
“You alright?” There’s concern in his voice. First good step.
“Taku,” I pause. “You’re sure?”
He gives me an uncertain smile, growing more uncertain. He was probably not expecting me to talk out of my own initiative, since for the last two months it was him who starts things off. “Sure about what, man?”
“Me. Can I come back?” Please. You’d know this by now.
He frowns. “I mean, of course, they’ve got to send you back to school sooner or later, right? Where else would you go?”
No. No, that’s not what I meant. Not what I wanted. I shake my head, sighing, before immediately raising a hand in front of his face. He’s closer now, leaning in, and he looked like he was about to speak up again. I know you like the back of my hand. You should know me, right?
“You … Taku. You heard everything.” Everything. What the doctors said, what my parents tried to convince me, what Shin and Mai said before they left. I hesitate. “Right? About me?”
He pushes my hand down. “If you’re going to die, I’m pretty sure they would’ve said something about it. You’re living, or you’re dead, and you seem pretty alive. They can’t keep you here in deadland any longer.” He shrugs.
“How bad can it be?”
No.
No, no, no.
You don’t get it either.
I trusted you, Taku.
I stare at him. I must’ve shown desperation, but I’m done. I don’t want him, if he’s going to be like everyone else. “You too, huh.”
His frown fades, and hints of a glare appear. “Me too?”
“Always with the attempts to cheer me up.” You should know that I don’t want that!
He cocks his head in confusion. “Again, I don’t remember being your therapist.”
I hold my breath, trying to withhold the desire to scream. I don’t want to drive him away, yet he’s just like everyone else. “You should be glad you’re alive. It’s a miracle you survived. You’ll be fine in a short while. Stop worrying; it’s all in your head anyway.”
I’m rambling now, and I don’t care.
“How bad can it be. Therapist. White knight.”
I trusted you, Takumi, and you don’t get it.
“I don’t need no white knight.”
I stare up at him as he stands up. I can feel the tears on my cheeks, but there’s nothing but fire behind my eyes. That fire. “But I thought you knew me.”
He spreads his hands in despair.
“I mean, I don’t know what it’s like to have a heart attack. I broke my arm and that shit sucked, but I have no idea what it’s like to have a heart attack.”
Thanks.
I swing my hand at the railing of my bed again. The pain burns, but I don’t care anymore. “I’m not asking whether you know what it’s like to have a heart attack, but if that’s what you’re going for, just get out.”
“I’m not going for anything I’m just-”
“JUST GET OUT!”
I’m sorry.
“No, not until you explain what you meant.”
I mistook all our laughs, and long night talks, listening to your issues, your problems, your life, as you caring.
“SO YOU WERE RIGHT! I get it! I shouldn’t have gone out there, like you said! I GET THAT! STOP RUBBING IT IN MY FACE ALRIGHT? I DID SHIT-ALL RIGHT AND HERE YOU ARE GOING DOWN TO MY LEVEL AS IF THAT’LL HELP!”
I’ll think twice before I waste my time again.
“If you want me to suck you off and say sorry that I’m here, I’m not blowing you down that way.”
“JUST GET OUT! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE, HER FACE, ANYONE’S FACE RIGHT NOW SO JUST BACK-”
Get out please.
“-THE FUCK-”
Listen to me!
“-OFF!”
“YOU KNOW WHAT?!” He shouts back. “FINE! I HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR BULLSHIT, YOUR STUBBORNNESS, YOUR ATTITUDE! I TRY MY BEST TO BE BY YOUR SIDE, LIKE YOU ALWAYS DID FOR ME.”
Oh.
“AND … and … I don’t.”
Ohh.
“I don’t know everything, alright?”
I look back at him. There’s a few tears on his cheeks, and his fists’ trembling.
“I dont’ know what it’s like to be you, so I thought if there’s anything I could do I could give you company.”
He shakes his head.
“But I can’t. This isn’t the Hisao I know.”
No.
“Just get out.”
I didn’t want to do that.
“Fine.”
No, please.
He picks up his bag, and heads to the door, no matter how much I want him to stay. I want him to stay now, so please-
“So long,” he says in finality, before slamming the door close behind him.
Leaving me well and truly alone.