“I can’t believe you! I was so worried! I thought you might be killed!”
Actually, I felt bad for upsetting Misaki, who now had tears in her eyes. I decided to make her laugh with an interesting story. ”Well, in the shade of that bush over there, a girl was being attacked by a pervert. I approached them and intervened, trying to save the girl, but the rapist suddenly flipped out. He pulled a knife from his pocket and jumped me! No, no, it was really dangerous! If I hadn’t been there, someone could have gotten killed.”
“That’s another big lie, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“What were you really doing?”
I told her everything.
After another good outburst, Misaki wore a pained expression for some reason. Sitting on the bench, she muttered, “That’s not good. Don’t fight with your friends. Even as a joke, violence isn’t good—not at all.”
“What are you talking about? Don’t be so serious. It was pretty fun; I’ve never punched anyone or been punched before. I actually feel surprisingly refreshed—“
“I said, it’s bad!”
“Why? Karate is good for you.” I made a show of shadowboxing in front of her. As I mimicked a right hook, Misaki trembled and covered her head with both arms.
“Huh?” I said.
She peered through the openings in her arms at me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She didn’t reply but tentatively put both arms down. Once more, I feigned a right hook. Again, Misaki guarded her head with both arms. As her reaction was amusing, I repeated my punching motions several times. In the end, Misaki shrank up, frozen in that position, arms covering her head.
Her strange position caused her sleeve to rise to her elbow, and I took the opportunity to glance at her skin.
By the blue-white light of the streetlamps, I could see that her arm was spotted with what looked like numerous burn marks. They were circular scars, with a diameter of about five millimeters a piece. They bore a strong resemblance to the brands that countryside punks burned into each other to prove their bravery.
As if noticing my gaze, Misaki yanked down her sleeve. In a shaky voice, she asked, “Did you see?”
“See what?” I pretended not to know what she was talking about.
Now that I thought about it, Misaki always wore long sleeves. Even in the recent heat, she’d continued wearing them—but so what?
I spoke to her in a cheerful voice. “What about today’s counseling?”
Misaki didn’t answer. Her body still curled defensively on top of the bench, she shook violently. Even her teeth were chattering.
A rather long stretch of time passed.
Finally, Misaki announced, “I’m leaving”, tottering uncertainly toward the park exit.
From behind, I dazedly watched her leave, debating whether I should call out to her. Misaki stopped in front of the swing set and turned around to ask, “Do you hate me now, after all?”
“What?”
“You probably won’t come anymore now.” She was the kind of girl who would make these strangely decisive declarations. We faced each other, about sixteen feet apart.
Misaki looked me in the eye, soon dropping her gaze. Then, once more, she stole a glance at me. “Will you come tomorrow?”
“If I break our promise, I’ll have to pay a one-million-yen penalty, won’t I?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s right!” Finally, Misaki smiled a little.
I went home to my apartment. After swathing my body in compresses, I slept.
Chapter 08. Infiltration
Part One
It actually might have had something to do with a hormonal imbalance in my brain. Like crashing and receding waves, my mania and depression alternated, and that was how every day went. Just when I thought I felt better, I wanted to die so bad the very next day that I wasn’t good for anything.
Despite using drugs to force myself to be more energetic, I couldn’t carry on once again after they wore off. Shame about my past and anxieties for the future, as well as many other fears, assaulted me simultaneously. This ensuing depression was a rebound from my ultra-high-energy periods and, as such, was completely, horribly severe.
Even Misaki’s nightly counseling, which I should have grown accustomed to by then, remained frightening. Anxiety of an unknown origin had enfolded me, and the very uncertainty of that origin fanned my fear even more.
The initial, readily noticeable symptom was that my gaze stared to wander and I would become unable to look others in the eye while speaking to them. Oh, I was just like some overly self-conscious middle school kid. I felt embarrassed from the bottom of my heart. And because I was aware of that embarrassment, my behavior would become even stranger and more suspicious. It was a vicious cycle.
Anyway, for that night, I tried smoking to calm myself down in front of Misaki. My hands, now prone to shaking, took out a cigarette and lit it, using a cheap lighter. Damn—it was running out of fuel! How can this be? This sucks! I didn’t know what to do with the tobacco and lighter I was holding, but I’d do anything possible to avoid the humiliation of having to put them back in my pocket. I kept trying as hard as I could to light it. Click, click, click, click… I kept struggling and, finally, I succeeded—thank heavens!
I immediately turned away from Misaki and, instead, focused too much on smoking my cigarette. I just kept smoking away, wasting five yen with every puff. My lungs hurt and my guts hurt, too. The end of my cigarette was shaking rapidly. On the back of my neck, a cold, sticky sweat—
“What’s wrong?” asked Misaki. As was usual for our counseling sessions, we faced each other at night on one of the park benches.
“The problems caused by my chronic illness!” I replied.
“What do you mean by ‘problems’?”
That’s what really bothered me. Young girls these days didn’t know anything. Go study a little more! I wanted to yell at her; of course, that would be impossible to do. The awful, useless traits acquired through several years of hikikomori life—my agoraphobia, fear of eye contact, and all my other anxiety disorders—now held me down with considerable power.
Hm… Did I lock my apartment door? Was I certain I’d put out my cigarette? More important: Misaki, don’t look at me like that with those adorable eyes! Not to mention, stop being so silent. Stop watching me without saying anything! It makes me unbelievably nervous. My stomach really does hurt.
I had to say something fast. “By the way, Misaki, do you like snacks?” What the hell was that supposed to mean?!
“No.”
“Usually, girls around your age always are eating some kind of snack, twenty-four hours a day, right? Just like a little animal… crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. What’s up with that? Is it because they’re young and have fast metabolisms, so they continually have to replenish their calories or they’ll die? That’s got to be it, huh?”
Should I just die?
She didn’t say anything.
Should I just die?
“I won’t die! And that’s because I’m an energetic man! This overflowing energy is the best! I’m only twenty-two! My future stretches out before me! ‘A neeew toooomorrow is here, one of hopesssss…’” I sang.
Misaki clutched my shirt sleeve.
“Hm?”
“Let’s go into the city, the day after tomorrow”, she said, continuing to pull on my sleeve, “near the station, maybe. Together. Someone important once said long ago, ‘Throw out your books and go to the city’, or something like that. That’s not a lie. It was written in a book I read recently, so it’s about time for us to go into the city. If we do that, I think you’ll definitely head in a good direction. Okay?” Without thinking, I nodded.