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“Um. You, you, uh- you wanted to see me, Mr. West?”
Arnold looks up from his desk, smiling up at Takataka already. His hands are frozen in a writing position. “Right. With how long you took to get back here, I- well, I almost thought you forgot about our meeting.” He laughs, shaking his head and finishing signing some paperwork.
“I was just- having fun with Damon and Nick,” Takataka mutters. “Like- like you told me to, sir.”
“Have a seat, will ya?” Arnold offers, continuing as if he hadn't heard Taka. He nods towards a spinning chair in front of him, but doesn't look up quite yet.
Takataka pulls the chair back and sits on the patterned, flat cushion. He finds that trying to roll himself closer to the desk is harder than moving it away, as the wheels catch on the short carpet. He frowns in frustration and awkwardly scoots the chair forward, actively fighting against the current of the carpet as he does so.
While Arnold ignores him in favor of paperwork (a behavior Takataka realizes is a trend with the old man– usually aimed at Mr. West's own children), Taka looks around. The wooden paneled walls are covered in decorations, most of which show off the owners of Betty Bunny's Pizzeria– Morfran Skaduw and Arnold himself– and their various achievements. Newspaper articles were clipped and framed, joined by photographs of men shaking hands and various awards and certificates. Takataka thinks that it's weird for Arnold's office to be so decorated, considering the minimalist state of his house.
“...And there. That's done,” Arnold mutters to himself, jotting down something else on another piece of paper. He shoves all of his papers, piled up in a haphazard stack, to the side of his mildly cluttered desk. With that out of the way, he squares his shoulders, leans forward, and threads his hands together on top of his desk. He smiles at Takataka.
“Did you have fun today?”
Takataka nods, pulling out a small smile of his own. He finds it hard to make any expression when being watched so carefully by Mr. West and his somehow both hollow and intense expression. “Yes, sir.”
“Good! That's our goal here, y'know,” Arnold beams. “Actually, hah, I'm a little surprised you were able to actually have fun. Did Damon not drag you down at all?”
“Uh.” Takataka blinks. “N… no? No, sir.”
“That's a first!” Arnold cackles. Takataka shifts. “I guess it isn't all that surprising, though; the two of you are cut from the same cloth, eh?”
Taka squirms. He's fairly certain Mr. West means that as an insult to both Takataka and Damon, so he holds his tongue.
“...Could we discuss the, uh, the raise you mentioned, sir?” Takataka asks.
“Is it illegal to make small talk now?” Arnold teases, chuckling at his own comment. Nevertheless, he holds his hands up. “I get it, though. I know with your, ah, situation you're pretty desperate for cash, huh?”
Taka shifts. The way Mr. West says it, while cheerful enough, makes him feel as though he's being belittled. Still, he affirms, “Er. That's correct, sir.”
Arnold folds his hands again, leaning forward. Takataka looks at his wrinkled, long hands instead of his grinning face. “Could I ask you a question? What do you do with the money I give you? I'm not trying to police how you spend your dough or anything, I'm just curious. ‘Cause, I mean,” he pauses, looking Takataka up and down quickly, “it sure isn't going into a decent haircut or actually nice clothes, hah!”
Takataka doesn't laugh back. Instead, he folds in on himself a little, worsening his already poor posture. His eyes shift back to Arnold; while he's still beaming, there is a bit of genuine curiosity in his eyes– and something else, something that darkens their light brown coloring. It unsettles Taka.
“It- it goes to groceries and, um, other essentials,” he answers awkwardly.
Arnold nods. He gives an impressed huff. His chair creaks as he leans back, his still-folded hands moving to his stomach now. “Wow. I didn't expect that from you. You're actually pretty sensible for being so young, y'know. Most kids your age would blow it all on, I don’t know, condoms and junk food. Lord knows I was when I was your age, eh?” He cackles, throwing his head back a bit. Takataka smiles uncomfortably. “You're more the type to waste money on model rockets back in the day, though, eh?”
That doesn't sound like something Taka should take as a compliment, he decides. He shifts. “I suppose so, sir,” he mumbles.
Mr. West brings his hands to his desk. He stares at Taka for a moment. Taka feels like a piece of meat, ready to be eaten. He shrinks into his oversized flannel and looks away, examining the clutter on Arnold's desk. There are several pictures of him and his family, smiling into the camera, some where he's wearing the Golden Ray suit. Nobody has a genuine grin on their face, though; Nick's smile is awkward and small, not like the wide beam he often show Takataka when they're alone, and Damon looks like he's never smiled in his life– which, Taka realizes, may be true.
The images in these frames are nothing like what Taka has witnessed. The harsh, whispered scolding isn't present in the matching fake-happy expressions worn by this family. Damon’s mysterious bruises are covered carefully by both his adoptive siblings and the long sleeves he always wears. Nicholas is perfectly still, not constantly fidgeting– a feat Takataka could only imagine required extensive punishment.
It's sickening to him how differently the head of the West house presents his homelife in these pictures. They're perfect. Takataka knows that, no matter how much Arnold tries, that couldn't be further from the truth.
“So,” Arnold prompts, “I have a question for you. Answer honestly, okay? All of this is strictly confidential. You know I don't like having cameras in here– or anywhere. And I'm not one to breach someone's privacy. Leaking information can be pretty dangerous, Taka.”
There's an edge to his voice, Takataka notices. A threat, maybe? Or, perhaps, a warning. There's definite danger in Arnold's sharp smile and jovial tone.
Takataka doesn't know what to do aside from nodding and mumbling, “Yes, sir.”
Arnold claps; Takataka flinches slightly. “Good! I'm glad we have an understanding– it's hard getting through you youths with your thick heads and five pounds of hairspray, ha!” He waves his hand. “That's not here nor there. You're probably wanting me to get to the question. Is that right? I know how impatient you get sometimes.”
“Um.” He isn't sure how to answer. “Well… I am on your time, sir.”
Mr. West lets out a barking laugh. “Smart answer, kid.” The compliment makes Takataka shift.
“Alright, then. I'll cut to the chase.” Arnold crosses his leg over his knee. His smile becomes sharper, hungrier. “Just how desperate are you for money?”
Takataka blinks. The question is simple and should be easy, but he feels frozen. His skin is crawling, trying to get off of his bones and out of the chair. His throat feels horribly dry– he fleetingly and suddenly regrets not finishing the Sprite he ordered.
Somehow, he hears himself say, “U- uh. I- I'm able to buy what I need from- from this job. From babysitting, I mean.”
Arnold laughs; the sound is brittle and filled with the cold, bitter wintertime air that bit Takataka when he was walking with Damon and Nick to the pizzeria. It makes him shiver the same way, too. He retreats even further into his overshirt.
“That's not what I asked, Taka,” Mr. West corrects. “I asked how desperate you are. How much do you need money? You're a pretty thin kid, but you sure eat a lot, don't you? Food prices are hiking up, huh? Don't get me started on the price of deodorant, or toothpaste, or… Ah, you get the point.”
Takataka tries to swallow the lump in his throat that's borderline cutting him off from breathing. His hands ball up, grabbing fistfuls of his pants. His body wants to move, wants to sway back and forth to alleviate the growing discomfort seeping into his bones, but he doesn't dare; he's seen Arnold reprimand his own children for that exact thing.
“Ahah, I think that silence tells me everything I have to know, huh?” Arnold continues after a moment. Takataka glances up at him, but quickly looks back at his own beat-up sneakers when he sees the tight expression on Mr. West's face. He's noticed him make that face a lot– it always means he has to ‘have a talk’ with one of his kids later.
“You're not in a spot to deny any money, are you? I mean, that's why you’re so eager for a raise, right? You've gotta get your hands on cash however you can, even if it means wasting hours upon hours of your life watching over two kids who don't even have the decency to look you in the eye most of the time. I get it! And, honestly, Taka, I respect it. Learning to hustle at a young age is a pretty important skill to have, you know. You're, what, 15? I was already pawning off my siblings’ old toys by that age.”
Taka allows himself to relax just slightly. His shoulders untense by a degree that could only be measured by dividing a fraction hundreds upon hundreds of times. A part of him hoped that, maybe, things would work out. The mood here had been tense so far, but it was always like that with Mr. West. Earning his respect could mean that the request for a raise was accepted, and that added ten bucks to his paycheck was as good as his.
And then Arnold leans forward. One of his hands feels under his desk for something, then interlocks with the other, resting on top of the desk. He smiles. His eyes narrow.
“What isn't okay is selling private information to the police.”
Takataka's stomach turns. His mouth opens. He wants to defend himself, wants to tell Arnold that he's wrong, but he can't find the words. All he can do is stare at Mr. West, mouth agape, and hope the look he's pulling is enough to convince him that he's wrong and perhaps needs to see a psychiatrist.
Instead, Mr. West chuckles darkly. “That's what you've been doing, isn't it? Somebody out there wants me and anything I do to sink into the ground, and they'll try to grab onto anything they can. That person hired you to spy on me and my family so you can turn us in for something or other. You're pushing for a child abuse charge, aren’t you? That or negligence?”
A beat.
“Hey, kid, you should close your mouth. You'll catch flies.”
Takataka does shut his mouth, but only for a moment. Before he can stop himself, he's furrowing his eyebrows and saying, “I- I'm sorry, but that’s incorrect. I'm not- I'm not working for, um, for anybody else, sir. My schedule is very busy as it is, so I- I wouldn't have time. Like- like I said, you really give me enough money for what I need right now, s- so, um–”
Arnold laughs again. “Oh, come on. You can lie better than that, Taka!” He lowers his voice to a stage whisper and adds, “You can give up on that stuttering schoolboy shtick. It sorta got blown when I heard you talking on the phone with one of your buddies at my house.”
Taka can feel all color drain from his face. Everything Arnold said before was a lie, a series of baseless accusations fueled by what Takataka can only assume is dementia, but that is undeniably true. Once Nicholas and Damon are in bed, Taka would occasionally call his friends using the West family landline– and he always left a couple bucks on the kitchen table to cover the cost with a note explaining that he needed to make an urgent phone call.
He always felt bad for lying about the urgency of the calls, but, in hindsight, he thinks that it was, in fact, as urgent as he made it out to be. Any child being mistreated is obviously worthy of concern, but Takataka has a horrible feeling festering in the pit of his stomach that the small threats hidden under Arnold's words are going to ramp up soon.
Mr. West laughs again, leaning back in his chair this time. “I thought you knew. I thought you knew I heard you talking to your little pals about how I'm ‘mistreating’ my kids. Really, my shoes aren't all that quiet, Taka!” He moves closer to Takataka again. “The number one rule about gossip is that you make sure the person you're talking about isn't there! You're a girl, you should know this!” He shook his head mockingly, clicking his tongue before laughing once more.
Taka can't speak anymore. All he can do is open and close his mouth. He isn't even sure if he's breathing anymore.
“You shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong, you know. That's a very bad trait of yours,” Arnold scolds, that hollow smile still plastered onto his face. “With your situation, you didn't have parents to teach you that lesson, eh? I know you think I'm a bad parent, but how would you even know? It's not like you've had any real examples of good parenting in your life, ha!”
Despite his legs feeling like jelly, Takataka feels himself moving out of the chair. He shakes violently. His eyes dart around the room, hitting every single thing he's noticed about it and not processing any of it.
“I, um. I- Sir, I think m- maybe we should discuss this an- another time, like when I'm, um, not on- on the clock,” he stammers quietly. He takes slow steps backwards, expecting his legs to give out under him at any moment. “Nobody is, uh, is looking after your kids, and- and that's my job, s- so I should…” He trails off as he reaches the door. He turns quickly, wrapping his hand around the doorknob.
He yanks the door open– he tries, anyway. The door has other plans, though, standing firm and unwavering in the doorframe. Takataka's movements get more frantic, as do his thoughts. His mind was a whirlwind of ‘please just let this door be stuck,’ and ‘for the love of God, open.’ His entire world hinges on this door opening.
One thought cuts through his mind– when Arnold was reaching under the desk, he was hitting some device that would lock the door.
The frantic fury of his hands stops completely. He isn't going anywhere. Arnold wants him trapped here.
A too-cold hand gripping Takataka's shoulder confirms it.
Slowly, Taka allows himself to glance over his shoulder. He was met with Mr. West's signature smile. Eyes that looked rather dull when talking with Taka at the West house are alight and excited. It is the happiest he has ever seen him. He regrets looking back.
“Hey, now, where do you think you're going?” Arnold asks. A chuckle sneaks its way into his voice. “Taka, I have a question for you. Do you think I'm stupid?”
“I… I…” Takataka can hardly think coherently, much less speak.
“You kids have no manners at all, do you?” he scolds jovially. “Well, it doesn't really matter what you think, so I'll let it slide, just this once, okay? The answer, by the way, is that I'm not stupid. Not by a long shot.
“Y'see, I have about… fifty years on you, kid. That's fifty years of actually valuable life experience, too. Hey- why don't I take some more pity on you and teach you another lesson, free of charge? It's a great deal!” The sound of Arnold's loud laughter makes Takataka cringe.
“Image, Taka, is everything in the real world. Especially when you're a business man, like I am– but I doubt you'd ever get into that field; skirts hardly ever make it, anyway, ha! Either way, no matter what you do, you've gotta stay on top of your reputation. For instance, you wouldn't want me to tell everyone in town that you're a shitty babysitter who demands extra money, adds to our phone bill, and gossips about the owner of a pretty big pizza chain. Would you?”
The ice in Mr. West's voice forces Takataka to tremble all over again.
“N… no, sir,” Taka manages. He swallows. “I didn't i- i- intend to, to come off as- as demanding or rude. I can… I can pay you back if the, the money I left before was in- insufficient. You can take it out of my p- pa- paycheck.” There's no point in trying to steady his voice or tame his stutter. Arnold can think he's unprofessional all he wants, Taka just wants to be out. Even the flashing lights and blaring sounds from the arcade would be better than this. At least then he could ensure the safety of Nick and Damon– and himself.
“Oh, there's no need for that, but thanks for the offer! You're too kind!” Arnold cackles. “But, y'know, I really think you're too much of a liability, Taka. I mean, you clearly think you have a lot of dirt on me, and you've been telling your little lies to who knows how many people.
“I have a business to run, you see. You making up these accusations about me would completely tank the business. So, I'm afraid I can't let you run around all willy-nilly when you have some life-ruining gossip in your back pocket.”
Taka can feel himself sweating. Mr. West's hands are freezingly cold, but Takataka is horribly hot. His hands try to find coolness on the doorknob, but the brass has long since lost any metallic iciness it once had.
In a sickening whisper so filled with bitter glee that Takataka couldn't help but picture Mr. West's soulless smile, Arnold hisses, “This is all just business, Taka.”
Taka opens his mouth for God knows what reason, but before he can do anything at all, Mr. West's other hand is on the back of his head, slamming his face into the door. There's a cracking sound, and neither Taka nor Arnold are sure if it's from something in Takataka's face, from the wood in the door splintering, or from his glasses shattering. There's no way for Taka to think about it, his mind and vision clouded with white-hot pain.
For a moment, the only things supporting Takataka are the hands gripping him tightly; when Mr. West lets go of his head, he nearly falls over. Arnold's hand moves to Taka's other shoulder. Now having a hold of both shoulders, Mr. West grabs him firmly and pins him to the door. His right hand wraps itself around Takataka's throat while the other keeps him firmly in place.
The grip on his throat isn't tight, not yet, but Taka doesn't think he's breathing anyway. His nose feels shattered and crooked, airways blocked by the thick, hot blood dribbling from his nostrils– or maybe it's coming from his mouth. It's hard to tell; it's hard to think at all. The blow he took only a second ago has scrambled his brain. All he really knows is that he feels miserable. If not for his rapid breathing, Arnold may have been able to mistake Taka as being unconscious, given how his eyes are firmly shut and how limp his body is.
Arnold smiles. “I know you probably have too much brain damage to actually answer this,” he says, “but what, exactly, did you get from spreading those pesky little lies about me? I mean, what would you even gain from that?”
It takes a moment for Takataka to process anything Mr. West said. When it hits, he grits his teeth. The question manages to cut through the muddiness of his brain with how angry it made him. Asking why Takataka would try to report child abuse and neglect to his friends because he wouldn't get anything of it manages to boggles his mind and make perfect sense; Arnold wouldn't understand doing anything that doesn't benefit him. People like him never do. “I wa- w- want Nicholas and Damon t- to be safe,” he spits.
Arnold barks out a laugh. His hand tightens on Taka's neck, making him gasp. Takataka's own hand scrambles to Mr. West's wrist and immediately tries yanking him off; Arnold's grip only falters minimally.
“What do you even know about safety? Huh?” Mr. West questions. “You can't keep a home to save your life. Damon and Nick have a steady house– now they do, anyway. You have to buy your own groceries, but I take care of that and more for both of my kids, and Damon. They're more safe than you are.” He laughs humorlessly. “Especially right now.”
The grip tightens again. Briefly, Taka thinks Mr. West has crushed his entire throat, before he realizes that would kill him immediately and he's somehow still alive. His already desperate, panicked pulling becomes more frantic, and only works a small fraction more.
“Tell me something,” Mr. West prompts, casual as ever. “What do you even think I did? What can you point to that makes me out to be some- some big bad comic villain?”
For a moment, all Taka can do is give Arnold a disbelieving, wide-eyed and slack-jawed stare. Arnold goddamn West is asking what he's ever done wrong while choking a teenager. If Takataka had his full lung capacity, he would’ve laughed in his face.
He has a feeling that answering is completely pointless, that whatever he says will fall on willingly deaf ears, but he can't just stay silent. He knows for a fact that he is one of very few positive forces in Damon and Nick's lives; not answering and merely giving in to Mr. West would just fail them.
Takataka manages to open his eyes. His vision swims and distorts, in no small part because of his glasses being destroyed when his face hit the door. His eyes meet Arnold's; they're both lit up with pure hatred for one another.
“You hu- hurt them,” he answers through shuttering breaths and gasps. “You yell at them and punish th- them over, over nothing– over normal ki- kid things. I've seen you swat at, at their h- hands and heads, and I've heard how downri- right cruel you can get with them over the smallest of inconv- veniences. They've t- to- told me. They've told me.”
Mr. West opens his mouth– Taka can hear his laugh before it comes– but Takataka doesn't let him speak. This burst of enraged confidence doesn't fizzle out with his words. It isn't very often that he feels this empowered, so he knows he has to capitalize on it, and fast. He isn't even aware he's standing on stable legs again until he's using his right foot to stomp as hard as he possibly can into Arnold's foot.
The impact makes Arnold hiss and draw back. Reflexively, his hand releases from around Takataka's neck while the other digs further into his shoulder. Mr. West's entire right side is fully open now. Not allowing himself time to think about what he's doing or how this could doom him even further, Taka brings a shaking fist up and punches Arnold in the jaw. The punch doesn't pack as much power as it might have otherwise, but he knows it's effective enough, because Mr. West groans and stumbles.
Taka knows the window of time for him to act is limited, but he refuses to let himself just stand here and die. Lying down and taking it is what Arnold wants and he can't give him that satisfaction. He runs past him, not fully thinking about where he's going– until his eyes land on the desk. Earlier, Mr. West had used some mechanism to lock the door from the inside. If he finds it and activates it, he can get out. He can get out and take Damon and Nick and report Arnold to the police and things would work out perfectly fine and he swears the desk was closer earlier.
A hand grabs Takataka's elbow, crushingly tight. His thoughts stop, but his movements don't. He thrashes wildly. The desk isn't that far- if he can take one more very big step, then…
“You goddamn brat,” Mr. West grunts. Taka can hear the grin in his voice. “I didn't think you could do that much damage. I mean, for such a spindly girl, you- it just caught me off guard, haha!!” His laugh is full of bitter resentment. “I'm gonna be bruised for a good week now, thanks to you.”
Takataka hopes that he's right, and that whatever bruises he caused never fade, an ugly blot perpetually staining the image of perfection Arnold tries so hard to maintain.