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Her hands were shaking as she stared at the bunching bag lying on the floor in silence. Her breaths were no longer ragged.
As if it would answer me , she thought.
She could hear her own pulse running through her ears. Her heart pumps air through her body against her will.
As if I want to be alive , she thought.
She swallowed hard, that lump in her throat was only making it difficult for her. She could almost see her pulse, her sight flashing, her head dizzy.
Her phone screen lit up in the corner of her eyes, there was no need to check to know what was the content of the message.
My condolences, they’d say. Sorry for your loss, they'd say.
As if they really know what is ahead waiting for me , she thought.
Contact me if there’s anything I can help, they’d say. Contact this number if you need anything, they’d say.
As if they really would give me what I need the most , she thought.
She looked down, her hands still shaking. Her sweat dripped onto the floor, marking their short existence in small water spots.
She closed her eyes, asking herself if she wanted to cry.
She should cry.
She should feel sad, she should be grieving, not destroying punching bags in a random gym.
Except she’s not sad. At all.
She’s angry.
And for some reason (if any at all), she is envious of her dead father.
How could he just abandon us? Abandon me? She thought.
That coward , she thought, I took care of his youngest daughter, I did everything for him, I asked nothing in return .
Now, he abandoned me , she thought.
She mused at her thought, I sound more like his wife than his daughter .
Then, she’s even more fumed at her thoughts, why in the world am I, his other daughter, living like his wife?
Why in the world do I do everything for him, only to end up being left behind? She gritted her teeth in rage.
Her phone rang.
She opened her eyes and tipped her head.
Her phone read, “ Makoto .”
She stared at the name. Her phone kept on ringing, yet she didn’t move an inch.
She stared at her phone with a straight face, she didn’t feel like answering her sister’s grief.
I can’t even manage to pretend to be grieving , she thought, and why should I answer her, it’s not like I’m her mom .
She doesn’t want to.
She doesn't want to carry her sister’s weight, while also carrying the weight of her own.
That’s none of my business , she thought coldly.
She has never been the caring type, and probably never will be.
She kept staring, and finally, the call ended, and the phone quieted down.
She looked back down again, a terrible idea coming to her.
What if I also abandon her? She thought.
I wouldn’t have to push myself to pretend, I wouldn’t have to care , she thought.
The very idea of abandoning her young, already traumatized baby sister suddenly sounds oh-so alluring.
She admired her father so much, surely she wouldn’t mind if I left her alone, all on her own, like her father, now would she? She thought spitefully.
But that tiny voice screaming at the back of her mind is incredibly hard to ignore.
Makoto needs you , it said. You are the only thing she has and she is the only thing you have , it said.
She took a deep breath and stood up, convinced. She picked her phone up and dialed her sister’s numbers back.
Don’t make me regret my decision, Makoto , she thought.
I won’t abandon you, so please don’t abandon me , that tiny voice said.
—
Great, now she’s also abandoning me , she thought.
She’s now standing at the JR station, staring at where she last saw her baby- no, Makoto is no longer her baby sister. She is no longer that litter girl who would latch onto her legs as if she were some sort of lifesaver when she’s spooked.
The logistic side of her tried to convince herself that Makoto was only going to college, not abandoning her.
It’s not really working.
She’s now back at their apartment- no, this is only hers now, Makoto no longer lives here.
This is getting bad , she thought, I’m losing my mind .
Her apartment is awfully quiet without Makoto.
Normally, she wouldn’t have cared, and she would have been busy doing whatever her new boss could tolerate her taking home to work with.
But not today, she decided.
She decided to go out and distract herself, so she didn’t bother to change out of her leisure wear, which is not really that different from her work attire, but at least she was in jeans and without her signature suit blazer.
She arrived at the JR station once more and realized, she had been so pathetically obsessed with success, that she didn't even know where to go when she needed some relaxation.
She glanced around the station and noticed a movie poster.
Movie it is then , she thought.
There were not many movies to choose from at this time of the year, so she went for the movie Fruit of Faith.
…
That man in the movie reminds her of her dad. Both are incredibly stubborn, dash down the road they pick, and never go back. Even if their decision cost them everything.
This is only survivorship bias , she thought, gaining success like that only happened in movies .
People like that, foolishly chasing their naïve dream, get nothing but an unhappy family , she thought bitterly, just like mine .
It’s fascinating how people praise this sort of behavior, to chase their dreams without a care, it’s a rather common topic for inspirational movies.
Not that there's a problem with chasing one’s dream, she has done exactly that, chasing her dream and studying law.
The problem is chasing dreams without thinking.
The problem is chasing dreams without thinking he may have two daughters at home waiting for him to come home.
She stared at that man, his sincere smile when he finally knew how to breed the sweetest apple. His family suffered for months just for some stupid apples, she wondered what they thought about that.
She briefly considers if it is a man's thing to do things on pure instinct and impulse, or if it is the capitalist market doing things to make people proud of their idiotic decisions.
She concluded that it could be a mix of both factors, stood up from her seat, and left the cinema.
…
She was now at the Shibuya station, leaning against a wall, yet again having nothing in mind to do.
She spaced out staring at the tiled floor in front of her, deep in thought. What do people of her age do in their leisure time?
“Ah, Sae-san,” a voice greeted her. She looked up, it was Kitagawa.
“Kitagawa-kun,” she nodded to him.
“What brings you here?” he asked, “I always imagine a good lawyer like yourself to be rather busy on weekdays, do you perhaps need any assistance?”
Kitagawa has always been the hardest one to read amongst the kids, he sure has quite a poker face for his age. Of course, aside from Amamiya.
“Thank you for the concern, but I’m fine,” she replied with a small smile.
It sure feels nice to be cared for by someone other than Makoto, even if that certain someone is one of Makoto’s friends.
“And what are you doing here? I supposed you just finished your school for today?” her old prosecutor habits kicked in, and she started asking questions.
“Correct, and I am here for my usual people-watching,” said Kitagawa.
“That’s what you do in your free time?” his answer sure is an interesting one, she thought boys of his age like to play video games. But then again, Kitagawa is a member of the Phantom Thieves, so it’s only natural to not act like a normal high school boy.
“It allows me to have a clear idea of people’s body movement, like how people pose themselves differently under different situations when they walk,” he replied, gesturing to the crowd in the station.
“I see.” A good idea came to her mind, “from your observation, what do people of my age tend to do in their free time?”
Kitagawa looked at her, and she stared back. His expression was blank, then looked back at the crowd.
“Well, Ren and Ryuji have told us about their homeroom teacher fishing on weekends,” Kitagawa tilted his head to look at her, “but I imagine you wouldn’t enjoy fishing.” Kitagawa is apparently smarter than he lets on .
“I don’t enjoy the smell,” she frowned at the smell inside her head.
“I have also heard that Ren’s reporter friend would drink at this bar in Shinjuku,” Kitagawa offered.
She thought about it for a moment.
Yes, that sounds about right . She knows for a fact that people would drink at bars for leisure, while she never understands the appeal of such bitter beverages and the dizziness, she thinks talking to someone could help.
And Ren’s friends tend to be lonely and marginalized, just like her. So that friend of Ren’s should be free now, just like her.
…
She stepped into the bar, and the first person her eyes landed on was a visibly drunk woman calling (apparently) the bartender’s name.
From that huge camera and bottled water hanging on her hips, that drunk woman can’t be anyone other than the reporter friend of Amamiya’s.
She went for the straightforward way, she stopped next to the reporter and called, “Excuse me?”
The reporter turned to face her, her eyes seemed a tad bit lucid for her act.
“Are you perchance Amamiya’s friend? The reporter?”
The reporter straightened herself, so her drunken facade was an act after all .
The woman scanned her from top to bottom, there was suspicion and mistrust in her eyes, “What are you doing there?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Not to be rude, but a goody two shoes like you should be back home now, it’s time to have dinner with your daddy, so just leave this place already.”
She opened her mouth and closed it. She wanted to say something to bite back, but instead, her mouth muttered on its own, “I’m an orphan.”
That woman and the bartender stared at her as if she was some …
She can’t stand their look, there’s sympathy, pity, empathy, and things she can’t put her fingers on. No, she doesn't want to be like a dog begging for comfort, she doesn't want people’s pity, that’s why she has never used that word before, she still has Makoto, after all.
But the word left her tongue, forcing her to face things she’d never want to face. Saying the word out loud felt bare, she felt like a fish laying on a cutting board, skin stripped off.
She feels vulnerable. Weak. Fragile.
Hollow.
She can’t stand this any longer.
“And I’m Amamiya’s attorney,” she realized the woman was probably acting like that because she looked like a prosecutor, which, fair, she was. “So there’s no need for being mean.”
The mistrust in the reporter’s eyes was gone, but the suspicion lingered, and so was a tiny bit of the empathy from before, “how do I know if that’s true?”
She shrugged, “you can confirm with him.” And extended her hand to the woman, “Niijma Sae, a pleasure meeting you.”
The woman stared at her hand. There was a moment she thought the woman wouldn’t take her hand, but the woman reached out after a couple of seconds, “Ohya Ichiko.”
…
One of the many things she learned from last year was that she really should have some friends. Friendship, apparently, is the one thing that can stop people from becoming corrupted adults, which she had none.
And that’s why the kids are trying to make her watch My Little Pony. To learn how to make friends.
She is not watching that.
That’s why she’s here at LeBlanc at this weird time when Futaba is not around the shop.
She had long made amends with Sojiro on the fateful night she sent Amamiya back here, the coffee here is just too good to pass up.
She’s spacing out again, staring at her half-finished cup of coffee. She is having more free time than she ever had lately, and she can never get used to it.
She has gotten to like spacing out as of late, it’s strangely relaxing to think of totally nothing and to let her usually busy brain rest.
It’s really warm inside LeBlanc today, and the soft rain sound in the distant outside is all too soothing.
LeBlanc has started to feel like some sort of safe space now, slow, quiet, warm and full of the calming fragrance of fine coffee and curry.
Not to mention how nice Sojiro is. Minding his own business and always doing the crosswords on the newspaper, a kind man, not nosy but also knows when to show his care and concern for others.
As she savored the relaxing peace in the café, the door swung open along with the ringing of the door bell.
She usually wouldn’t bother to check who was entering the café, but unfortunately for her, she is currently trying to avoid Futaba and the kids, so that she doesn't have to watch kids’ shows at her age and try to learn the ‘magic of friendship’.
“Hey Doc,” Sojiro greeted the goth woman as she entered the café, “the usual?”
She gave the goth woman a look over. She doesn’t look like a typical doctor, she thought to herself, only the white lab coat indicates the woman could be working in some sort of research-ish environment. The rest of the goth woman’s outfit looks like she’s one of those people who dislikes her, and spat at her for that long stick up in her ass.
While she’s still examining the goth, Sojiro takes notice of her attention, and speaks up, “You probably know Doc from what the punk have told you, Sae-san,” he smiles at her and gestures towards the goth woman, “This is Takemi Tae, she owns that clinic down the road.”
She nodded to Takemi, who nodded back as she scanned her up and down.
“And Doc, this is Niijima Sae, the punk’s defense attorney.”
“Thank you for getting that kid out,” Takemi said, taking the stool next to her.
Waves of memory mixed with guilt and self-loathing washed over her, she turned back to stare at her still half-finished coffee, “Just did what I can to help.”
“You still managed to get him out, so,” Takemi shrugged, “Thanks.”
She didn’t know how to reply when she was a big part of why Amamiya was under arrest.
Sojiro placed Takemi’s cup of coffee in front of her before he went right back to his crossword.
She tried to ignore Takemi and resume to the state of calm before, but the swarm of emotions clouded her mind like a storm, leaving her uneasy.
“So, Niijma.” Takemi said after taking a sip at her cup, she proceeds to tilt her head and look at her, signaling that she is listening, “You are far away from the court house, and this is a weekday early afternoon, why are you here now?”
She doesn’t want to answer Takemi, she is not obliged to indulge her curiosity, is she? So she remained silent, simply shrugged as an attempt to reply and to be polite, and took another sip of her cup.
She can feel Takemi’s sight sticking to her, and she tries to ignore it, but Takemi spoke up, “A bit quiet for a lawyer, huh?”
“I’ve spoken enough as it is,” she mutters, she’s not really a huge fan of verbal communication, her short temper has made her say enough things she regrets the moment words leave her tongue.
“Interesting,” Takemi seems to be examining her at this point, “I thought you’d be one of those argument types.” She shot her a glance which was meant to be sarcastic, but Takemi was all too smug to seem to care.
“Well,” Takemi said, “you do seem tired, and the coffee here is a good enough cure for it.” Was that a pun? Because she’s a clinician?
She again didn’t know how to respond, so she took another sip of her cup.
Then a somewhat peaceful silence fell over between them, the cafe seemed to slow down once more, frozen under the pouring rain outside.
She let out a quiet breath, glad that Takemi decided to stop pressing for an answer.
As time slowly crawled by, her cup was finally empty. She shot Takemi a glance, half out of curiosity, half out of a weird sort of fondness: it was a lot more pleasant to have Takemi to sit by her, simply to stay with her.
She should get going, before Futaba gets back and makes her watch kids’ shows. But she still has nowhere to go. Mm, this could actually do .
She tilted her head and looked at Takemi, who sensed her sight and meet eyes with her.
“I’m here because I have nowhere else to be,” she could hear her own voice speak dryly, it sounded so weird, has she always sounded like this before?
Takemi looked at her steadily, it might as well be staring, and opened her mouth, spoke gently but with this self-assurance she was surprised Takemi had, “come to my clinic next time than, I can take more than just patients.”
She blinked at Takemi, trying to figure what was that supposed to mean, and if that was just some polite bullshit that wasn’t meant to be taken seriously.
But no, all she can see from Takemi’s eyes is genuine and honest welcome. She had meant it literally.
She looked away, but she knew Takemi was still looking at her, so she simply nodded, put enough money next to her empty cup, stood up, and left.
Before she closed the door, however, she looked back at Takemi once more, their eyes met mid air, and she parted her lips, “I’ll think about it.”