LENA
Selfishly, I had hoped our situation wouldn’t work, hoped maybe the Japanese publisher would call it off, but, deep down, I knew my hopes were in vain.
Amos and I hadn’t really worked side by side in Portland, and still, our work blended together in a seamless way that never ceased to amaze me.
He had specific duties in Japan. I was the only one sketching the characters, while he focused more on the background and the inking. As much as our relationship was constantly strained, working with him was incredibly easy, and he had an uncanny ability to anticipate what Rika Ishikawa would like and approve.
I had successfully kept him away for years, but now he was right in front of me, every day, and trying to keep my instincts on mute was utter torture.
The electricity between us was always there, ready to spark with just a word or a glance. It was wrong to want him, but I felt I was on the brink of not being able to maintain my self-imposed good behavior.
My cold, frozen heart had been slowly thawing, opening up to him, and I didn’t know how to stop the process.
I couldn’t go back to being indifferent. I’d never ached for someone’s touch like I ached for his. I’d never longed for anyone.
I always took what I wanted from men and ran away, but I knew it would be different with Amos.
I didn’t know how much longer I could go on and continue to restrain myself.
His body, all tall and masculine, was a constant distraction. When he smiled at me, the corners of his lips curved enticingly. It looked like an innocent, friendly smile, but it made me thirsty, awakening the desire I constantly tried to suppress.
His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him as he sat across from me.
Eyes locked on him, I started imagining how it would feel to touch him again, to run my fingers along his skin and feel his hands all over my body.
My throat went dry, and I swallowed as I tried to cast aside my forbidden fantasies.
Rika-san caught me staring at him, and I darted my eyes back to the paper in front of me, ignoring her questioning, piercing brown eyes.
In the main living area of the house that served as our workplace, there was a big kotatsu, a low Japanese-style table that occupied half of the room. We mostly worked together on that table since it was big enough for all our tools, but when our asses got tired of sitting on the tatami, the floor made of bamboo straws, we’d switch to a Western-style desk. We had two positioned side by side in the opposite corner of the room. One of them had a big Mac desktop with a 21-inch monitor, while the other one was mostly empty. It was one of those that had a working table I could lift and angle however I liked.
It was late afternoon already, and I was getting restless. Supaa–’s executives made no mystery of the fact that they expected us to work at least ten hours per day.
Often, by the time six rolled around, I felt empty and drained, without much energy left for anything else. On the days I did feel like going out, I would slip my shoes on and leave the house without telling anyone.
I liked to go on long walks and roam around Tokyo’s districts as aimlessly as I had when I was younger. I hopped on the subway, headed for my favorite quarters, stopped in little cafes, and had dinner at random ramen places bustling with customers. I loved to blend in, to listen and watch people going about their day.
The first few weeks hadn’t been easy. The memories assaulted me in a way they hadn’t in years. So many places around town reminded me of when Maggie and I were carefree twenty-year-old girls ready to discover the city.
“Does anyone want something to drink?” Rika offered in English as she called on Akane for help, bringing me back to reality.
I replied, “No, thank you,” in Japanese, and Amos did the same.
The sound of his voice alone sent a shiver down my spine; my hand froze, and all of a sudden I couldn’t keep drawing. Sometimes, I still didn’t understand how I could have gone from willingly staying away from him for months to wanting him so badly, every minute of every day.
Yes, I was past the point of denying it. I wanted him—body and soul, all of him.
“Ne, Rena-san, koibito ga imasuka?”
I stifled back a laugh. The old lady seemed determined to stir up trouble today; she’d just asked me if I had a boyfriend.
Rika-san was a shit starter.
I could feel Amos’ eyes on me, but I didn’t look his way.
“Iie, koibito ga imasen.” I don’t have anyone. I’d never had any trouble saying that before, but for some reason, the words burned in my throat as I said them out loud.
“Doushitano?” Why? She asked the question as if she didn’t think one could ever have a valid reason as to why they didn’t have a partner.
“Jishin no onna desu,” I explained. I’m my own woman. It was the truth. It had been what was best for me so far. However, just as I thought about how much I loved and valued my independence, the thought of Amos and me together crossed my mind. The vision of us writing, drawing, working side by side as we were now was alluring. Sighing, I wished I could program my brain to stop thinking about him altogether. Why hadn’t science accomplished that, already?
Rika let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement, which surprised me. I made the mistake of glancing in Amos’ direction; he was smiling at me, lips pressed together almost as if he was stifling a laugh.
I stared at him and he held my gaze for a few seconds, and his expression turned serious.
There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before, a mix of intensity and defiance. We stared at each other in silence until he looked away, his lips curled in a cryptic smile.
Rika then turned to Amos and asked him the same question.
I winced. Amos was the reserved type, but Ishikawa seemed to be on the hunt for gossip, and I wasn’t ready to hear Amos go on and on about his koibito.
I had no ill will toward Olivia, but I knew she wasn’t right for Amos. I also didn’t appreciate that she’d accused me of sleeping with him.
“Koibito ga nai,” Amos replied.
For a moment, I thought I’d heard him wrong, but the way his eyes regarded me told me I was right.
“What?”
I don’t have a girlfriend, he’d said.
“How? When? I mean…what happened?” The questions kept pouring out of me before I could stop them.
He shrugged and looked in Rika-san’s direction. “Shikata ga nakatta,” he said simply, tipping his chin up, as if to recall a joke.
There was no other way…no other way for what?
What had happened?
This couldn’t be because…oh, silly girl, don’t even go there—this is not about you.
Still, even as I tried to convince myself of that, my heart started racing in my chest, my throat tightened, and I couldn’t stand still anymore. I couldn’t bear to be sitting across from him, making small talk.
My heart was lodged in my throat and I felt dizzy.
I have to get out of this room.
Pretending to work for the next fifteen minutes, I avoided the glances of the other two people in the room. I checked the time on my phone, which read 6:25. I organized my things on the table and stood up.
“Otsukaresamadeshita.” I bowed in the direction of Rika-san. I loved saying otsukaresamadeshita, even though it sounded like a tongue-twister.
It was what everyone said upon leaving work at the end of a long day. It was the equivalent of a goodbye, but literally it meant, We worked really hard, it was a long day. I used to say it when I would leave my baito at night, the part-time job I had while I was there as a student.
Now I was using it to escape an uncomfortable situation.
I could barely breathe, my lungs running short on air. I needed to relax, stat.
A bath—a bath was going to ease my nerves.
“I’ll see you later,” I said to both of them then headed for the ofuro.
The house we’d been living in was a rectangular, bigger than average Japanese-style house. It had essentially two wings that shared a common area, the living room we worked in. Rika-san and Hiroyuki occupied one side, and Amos and I had the rooms on the opposite side. At the back of the house there was a fully stocked kitchen we essentially just used for coffee, tea, and breakfast—our meals were usually delivered or picked up at nearby places by Akane or Hiroyuki. Next to the kitchen was the full-size bathroom. Amos and I shared one closer to our rooms that had been upgraded with a shower, but in the back of the house was the only one with an ofuro, the Japanese-style tub.
Soaking in the ofuro was a great way to unwind.
I needed that. The latest revelation about Amos’ love life had left me on edge. I didn’t like what I was feeling in the slightest. Yes, I had a crush on him, but the speed at which my heart was beating was rather alarming.
I grabbed my things and headed for the bath, hoping to clear my mind.
Unless you’d been reading manga and watching anime all your life, you might not know that the Japanese’s use of the bathtub differs, at least when it comes to the ofuro.
When using one of these tubs, you’re supposed to clean yourself before soaking in it. You lather up and rinse in a shower-like vestibule right by the tub, then you soak in the water once your body is perfectly clean.
It reminded me of the way you were supposed to cleanse your hands before you entered a Japanese temple. In Japanese it was called temizu, the word written with the characters symbolizing hand and water.
At the entrance of every temple there was a temizuya, a basin filled with clear water, equipped with wooden ladles. The ritual of purification was necessary before entering a temple; it symbolized cleansing yourself from evil and pollution.
I wasn’t a religious person, but I had to admit that the rituals of Shintoism fascinated me. From the architecture to the iconography and the temizu ritual, everything had stayed the same. There was no aura of modernity when it came to Shintoism.
I undressed and started scrubbing my body, hoping to erase my sinful thoughts from my tumultuous heart.
People always like to say, The heart wants what the heart wants.
Well, I didn’t agree with that. It wasn’t always okay to follow your heart and give in to your heart’s desires, especially when it meant meddling in someone’s relationship.
The heart sometimes needed to just shut the hell up.
I wanted him, but I’d tried my hardest to stay away from him since that night in Seattle. Now that we were in Japan and he’d broken up with his girlfriend…?
Was it because of me?
I didn’t want to be the catalyst of their demise; I lived with enough guilt already.
The warm water of the hand shower washed away the soap, and I focused on my breathing in hopes of calming down my erratic heartbeat. Once I was completely soap-free, I entered the tub.
The water was a bit too hot, but I endured it as if it was my punishment, unable to shake off the feeling of guilt. On top of realizing that I might have been the reason behind their breakup, my brain wouldn’t shut up, reminding me that Amos could finally be mine.
Now you can have him, said a voice inside of me, making me feel even shittier.
I was a crappy person—a selfish, crappy person.
I didn’t deserve to live. I should have been the one pinned by a car that night.
Why did fate want it otherwise?
Maggie was the one who deserved to live, not me.
I rested my head on the edge of the tub and closed my eyes, tears pricking as memories of my friend took over my restless soul.
“Lena, are you in there? I need to talk to you.”