Akira Route - Act 2-5 - Great Expectations

The sound of running water bounces between the tiles of the shower droning out any noises that could possibly invade through the door. Everything that isn't less than a foot in front of me is obscured by clouds of steam.

But that all works out, because when I'm in the shower; outside world doesn't matter.

Unless Kenji winds up in here again. I locked the door to ensure that I'm guaranteed my private time; but it wouldn't surprise me if he knew how to pick the lock, or even if he had a set of keys he stole from the janitor.

Actually, the idea of him being able to access any room in the building is quite terrifying.

In fact, it's that ever-present worry that constantly has me on my toes when I'm in the bathroom. And it's not just here, more like anywhere, really. I've developed a fear  any time I turn a corner: he's going to be there waiting. Adjusting his glasses, just waiting for a chance to level his newest conspiracy theory at me, or lure me into doing another mundane chore for him because he doesn't feel like leaving his room.

What's in there, anyway? A secret lab? A weapons cache? 'Anti-Feminist Mission Control' scrawled on a poster board and stapled to the wall?

Regardless of what it may be, it's one of the few things here that I have no interest in learning about. Kenji's business is Kenji's business and no amount of curiosity will ever push me over that fine line.

Speaking of curiosity; I still need to go shopping. Last time I went looking for a grocery store I got sidetracked and wound up having coffee with Akira at the Shanghai. Which was the second time I'd run into her within the past week, somehow.

She's Lilly's sister, so it's sensible that she would be here a lot; but the first time I met her was in the city, which had nothing to do with Yamaku at all. Pure dumb luck? Coincidence? What kind of a scientist would I have to be to find an explanation for that one?

At any rate; I don't have anything to do today besides read, and I'm not too into any of the books I grabbed from the library on...

What's the library's due-date policy? There weren't any signs explaining it, nor is there a date stamped on the card. Do I get the books for as long as I want? Does that even matter if I don't plan on finishing any of them?

No, none of that matters right now. Shopping matters right now.

I finish toweling off before throwing on my clothes in habitual order; plaid boxers, blue jeans, gray shirt. Following that, I commence my twice-daily ritual of choking down over a dozen pills. A pair of socks and shoes are pulled onto my feet afterward, and I'm ready to leave.

Phone, wallet, keys. Door locked in case a certain someone decides to load up my room with tracking devices. And that's it, I'm ready to go.

It only takes a few minutes to put the wrought iron gates of Yamaku behind me, my ears soon filled by a steady tempo of rubber soles patting against concrete.

I wonder if  the school runs some sort of shuttle service. Does the town below get enough traffic to warrant such a thing? Do the more movement-impaired students just get their able-bodied friends to run errands?

Maybe the more daring ones have wheelchair races down the hills. I'll bet there's some kind of disabled underworld racing ring. Or would that be wheelchair-luge?

On that note, when is Kenji going to pay me back for that stupid pizza? He asked me to pick up some milk for him, but I don't see why he'd put off on paying me back for so long. It's been over a week n-

No. You know what? I'm not going to to think today. Too much thinking, then I start overthinking, then I start questioning stupid things like whether or not I'm in a dream. Or hell, what if I went into a coma when I had that heart attack, and what I'm seeing is just-

ARGH.

Nothing. No thoughts.

…

Step.

Pat. Pat. Pat. Pat.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Inhale. Exhale.

Blink.

Step step s-

Yeah, no, I think I'll go back to what I was doing. Or, at least, I'll go back to it when I'm done here, since I'm already in town.

There's the art store, and the music store, and the Shanghai. Last time; I stopped at the cafe here to take a break, and then wound up getting side-tracked. This time, I'm just going to walk past it; no coffee, no sandwiches, no...whatever else they serve there.

My feet carry me past the tempting double-doors of the little restaurant and around the corner, revealing a row of shops that...

“Aura Mart.”

It was here the entire time?!

There's been no groceries in my room for a week because my brain couldn't remember where the damned grocery store was. Because I couldn't remember to take one single turn! Even a blind girl could make it here on her own!

I can stay up until three in the morning thinking about what I'm going to do with my future but I can't remember how to get to a convenience store. Somehow, I'm going to wind up thinking myself to death.

At any rate, I can feel stupid while I'm shopping.

Inside is the same convenience store I passed through with Lilly during my first week here. At least I can remember the placement of the things I need.

Bread
Laundry detergent
Dryer sheets
Bottled Water

…

I don't really need that much stuff, do I?

It only takes a few minutes to grab all of the things I need, choosing to load them up under my arm rather than go looking for a basket. There isn't a soul in here besides the cashier, so I march up to the checkout line and...

Before I can advance any further, I notice a figure creeping along the edge of the store, worming his way across the ground. School uniform with a red and yellow scarf, capped off by a mound of messy black hair. There's a green bandana wrapped around his head as well.

He wiggles along the ground, moving inches at a time. It takes a total of at least three minutes for him to get up to the counter, where he reaches up and places his items in front of the cashier. The stack includes a box of cereal, a loaf of bread, some chap stick, aluminum foil, toilet cleaner, and...

That little asshole!

There he goes, sliding a liter of milk onto the counter! Why the hell would he ask me to get it for him if he's just going to come down here and do it himself?! Now he has no reason to not pay me back, other than just being a deadbeat.

The exact change follows the items, with Kenji stroking some sort of invisible beard as he waits for the clerk to ring up the groceries. The girl behind the register seems to be a veteran of these antics, however, as she bags the items and stuffs the receipt in with them, pushing it across the surface until it drops onto Kenji's head.

A faux-growl escapes his throat as he army-crawls his way back out of the store, those glass-veiled eyes darting back and forth as if to make sure the coast is clear. Upon spotting me, he tosses a crumpled up piece of yellow notebook paper at my feet with surprising accuracy. Content that all of his objectives have been met; he hops up to his feet and does a rolling somersault out the door.

Unable to resist the air of curiosity surrounding the paper; I pick it up and unfold it, which reveals nothing other than the word 'Honeymuffin.'

Okay, that is the most over-the-top thing I've seen all year. What is it? Some kind of code phrase? Password? Whatever it is; it satisfies my daily dose of crazy. No more for me today, Doc Kenji; I'm set.

I let the note drop into a trashcan and step up to the counter, where the cashier greets me with a smile. My things are dropped in front of the clerk, rung up, and bagged without any conversation and without any urge to ask how often Kenji comes here. A 'thank you, have a nice day' follows behind me as I grab my items and step out the door, a gentle summer breeze welcoming me outside.

Finally got that business cleared out of the way. Now, to go home and finish that mountain of homework I've been procrastinating on.

“Oh, hey, what's up?” a voice behind me calls out.

Let me correct that last statement – the mountain of homework I'll be procrastinating on for a little bit longer.

The voice isn't deep enough to be Kenji. Not feminine or loud enough to be Misha. Not proper enough to be Lilly. The fact that there's a voice at all means it isn't Shizune. With those possibilities eliminated, there's really only one person it could be...

“Hello, Akira.” I turn around and respond.

The blonde-haired, pinstripe suit-clad figure rests on a bench beside the sidewalk, one which I somehow managed to walk past without noticing. One hand lays on the back of the seat while the other bears a silver can of some beverage or another. The logo would imply that it's beer, but... beer at two in the afternoon? In the park no less?

I'm not entirely sure of what to think about that.

“I'm running into you all over the place lately.” the blonde-haired woman comments before taking a sip out of the metallic cylinder.

Yeah, I'm noticing that too. First at a suit shop; that's all well and good. Then at the Shanghai; she does have a sister here, and she always stops by for the good coffee – it's just a coincidental encounter. Now here we are at #3.

Can I really say it's anything other than a coincidence? I mean, honestly, what are the alternatives? She's stalking me to make sure I'm not going after her sister?

“Well I do go to school here, you know?” I respond with a chuckle, shaking the thoughts from my head.

“True, but my sister goes here as well and yet over this past week; I've seen you more than her.” she answers.

“Do you not see Lilly very much?”

“I try to make it at least once every couple of weeks. There's been 'plans' going on so I've been coming up a lot more often, though.”

She lets out a sigh and gazes off into the distance, eyes filled with conflicting thoughts. A few more sips of the caramel liquid pour in between her lips, followed by a groan as she realizes that she's already depleted the can of liquid pleasure.

“So, what brings you here, then?” I ask.

“Visiting Lilly, actually. Had some things to talk about.” she answers. “Also had to run some errands.” she adds on before pointing to a pile of grocery sacks next to the bench, all of the same style as the ones I carry in my hand.

Her eye analyzes the opening of the container from numerous angles before swirling it around, making sure its contents are depleted. Disappointed by the fact that the silver can is empty; she crumples it up and tosses it at a nearby trash receptacle.

It glances off the edge and gives an inconsequential 'clunk' as it bounces against the concrete and joins a pile of other cans, all of the same label.

She eyeballs the stack of discarded containers for a bit, contemplating whether or not she should be a 'responsible adult' and go to pick it up. This decision edges back and forth before she ultimately dismisses the small mound of aluminum from her mind.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“Nah, nothing.”

“Really? You seem kind of beat.”

“Nothing worth bothering you about. I can solve my own problems.” she answers with a half-smile.

Well, she's an adult; of course she can solve her own problems. But six months in the hospital with little to no visitors has made me appreciate how valuable it is to have someone to talk to -- granted, I've come to accept that my problem isn't worth telling many people about. Situations like this aren't exactly my strongest point, but even I can see that she's bottling something up.

“Well I wouldn't jump to conclusions so fast, I know how nice it is to have someone to talk to.”

She looks me up and down, as if doubting my hospitality.

“I've only known you for a week; but I'd like to help if I can. I could at least say I've done something with my life since I got here.” I answer.

I really can't help myself. Here's a woman I've talked for a total of about thirty minutes in my entire life, and yet I'm offering to come to her aid. There's something inside me that wants to help her, but I don't know what it is or why it's pushing me into potentially embarrassing situations.

“Whoa there, relax.”

Her eyes shut and she tilts her head back and forth, popping her neck as she debates in her head whether to waste her time with someone like me. Words stir around in her mouth as she tries to think of the proper response; be it a denial or an affirmation.

“Alright, you win.”

She scoots over and pats the seat beside her before leaning back and crossing her legs, gazing up at the afternoon sky. I take the offer and slide in beside her, leaving the bag of groceries beside the bench.

“So, what's up?” I ask, unsure of how else to start.

I've never really tried to help people out like this and the fact that I'm doing it now is a mystery even to me. There's just something about her that draws me in, and I feel like I'd be deceiving myself if I tried to stand against that.

“Well, where do I even begin? Relationship troubles?” she replies, wracking her brain as if to sort out her thoughts.

At least I was right about her being taken.

“Things not working out?” I ask.

“Story of my love life.” she retorts, letting out a laugh. “Let's just say I often find myself in mismatched company.”

So she might not be taken for much longer. Call it shameless, but my heart can't help but tick with fervor at that notion.

“Better than getting hopeful and having it crushed before you.” I respond, unable to hide the bitterness in my tone.

“Can't deny that. But you know what they say; better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, right?” the woman beside me answers.

“Depends on how you lost them, if you ask me.” I reply. “But we're not here to listen to my problems, what's on your mind?”

“No point in beating around the bush if you're going to be that forward.” she starts, leaning back against the bench and crossing her legs. “He never stops arguing. Anything is a starting point with this man, whether it be TV shows, clothing brands, music-”

“Ohoho, music.” she says with biting emphasis. “When they say opposites attract, they don't mean it between different musical tastes. I respect his love of hip-hop, but that doesn't mean I have to like the stuff.”

She drones on from subject to subject in one fluid, run-on sentence, as if the list of things this man has subjected her to is never-ending.

“He refuses to go out of the house to do anything, he's always prattling on and on about all sorts of things he knows I can't stand. I mean, seriously, I love that he drives a motorcycle, but he's never going to get into a biker gang; we don't do stuff like that here.”

“You aren't in high school anymore, damnit!” she yells at the open air, calling upon a few confused stares from the other people in the park.

“So why are you...uh...”

“Why am I dating him?” she stops and thinks for a bit, mulling over what must be a multitude of reasons or excuses before settling on “simple, because looks are deceiving and I'm a sucker for a man in a suit.”

“When I met him, he was a real swooner. I'm talking Armani suit, slicked-back hair, watch on a chain, all those things that get a girl going nuts. He had everything in order, and that's what really drew me in, I guess. Stable job, close to his family, active in the community, that sort of thing.”

I have to agree on the 'looks are deceiving' part. That sounds just a little too ideal, if you ask me.

“But that's all there was to him. He played up this big 'mysterious' act in public that he didn't have anything to back up. I'm not going to say he's shallow as a person, but it's a little unnerving that I don't know anything more about him now than I did six months ago.”

“Really? You haven't learned anything new about your boyfriend in six months?” I ask.

“Yeah, that's exactly it. It's the same story about work every day, the same explanation for his love of motorcycles, the same quotes from the same movies and comedy acts, the same arguments over the must mundane things day in and day out...”

“I just want someone a little more... dynamic, if that's a good word for it.” she adds on.

She tilts her head back and stares up at the sky, eyes heavy with fatigue. It would seem that she's getting a little more choosy with her words now, like the brunt of what she's saying about her own boyfriend is beginning to nag at her.

“I think I can understand what you mean. It's human to learn and change, so I guess it would be weird meeting someone who's always the exact same person, so to speak.” I ask.

“I wouldn't say that; he has changed a bit. He's gotten a bit more forceful over the past few months.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is just an example: I don't hate him for it, but he's a teetotaler; you know, the sort that hates alcohol and can't stand the stuff.” she starts.

I nod my head in acknowledgment.

“Well, I think I have a bit of a right to get frustrated when he assumes I've been out drinking whenever I come home from work. I mean, seriously, I haven't been to a bar in three weeks because of that man.”

“'Are you at the bar again, Akira?' 'What's your poison tonight, Akira?' 'Why do you lock your cabinets whenever I come over, Akira?'” she comments in a nasally voice, as if mocking past experiences. “But that's not the main point. Basically, he's getting into this habit of trying to influence things I do, or keep me from the things I like.”

“The worst case so far is when he tried to keep me from visiting Lilly because he wanted us to go to a re-screening of some movie from the 90s.”

She shakes her head back and forth mid-statement, trying to throw what must be a volatile thought from her mind.

“It's just... things aren't working out. It doesn't help that I look at all my friends and co-workers and see their relationships falling apart. I want to work it out, but it just seems like there's no hope.” she comments.

[x] I think you could still pull through.
[ ] You’re right, it would be better to break it off.

“Well, I can’t say I know much about relationships, but the way I see it; you’ve made it this far already, why stop now?” I retort.

As much as I want to tell her to just cut it off and avoid any more trouble; relationships don’t just work out – they take effort and understanding. It’s sensible to stop if you don’t feel anything for the other person, but I can tell that Akira cares for this guy, even if she has nothing but bad things to say about him.

Otherwise, why would she have stuck with him for so long?

“If I've made it this far, why keep going?” Akira counters.

“Are you really at the point where you can’t even stand him anymore?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…”

The girl next to me slumps forward as an exasperated sigh steams out from between her lips.

“I feel like I’m stuck.” she concludes. “Yeah, we could work at it and make some resolutions, and agree to do less of the things we each hate; but what would be the point? You can’t change the way people are, and I've developed quite a few problems with who he is over the past year.”

“Do you like him?” I ask again.

“Yes and no. There’s parts of him I like, and then there’s parts of him I can’t bear. The issue here is that the more time I spend with him, the more the parts of him I hate stand out.”

“I think your best bet is to talk to him about it. Do you tell him that he does things you don’t like?”

“Ah, well… no.” she admits.

I can't say she's in the wrong there. I'd be a total hypocrite if I bashed her for trying to go with the flow and waiting for things to clear up on their own.

“Well there’s your problem. Most of the time when I hear about couples failing: it’s because they don’t talk to one another, or they refuse to point out the others’ flaws. I’m sure he would stop doing whatever it is you hate so much if you just, you know, told him to stop.”

Her expression straightens out as she heads into thought once more, probably stopping for a second to wonder why she’s talking about this with on a park bench with a high schooler.

“He's not the type to talk things out, but you could be right. It’s something to try, anyway.” she responds.

She sits up and checks her watch before letting out another sigh; tired of talking, as it would seem.

“But enough about that. As much as I wish it could; whining isn't going to solve the problem. Especially not when I'm doing it to a guy I've known for less than a week.” she says with a laugh.

“It's nice to have someone to vent to though, right?”

“Better than keeping it all in, anyway.” she admits.

“That's what I'm here for.” I reply with an amount of confidence I forgot I even had. “Is there anything else wrong? Or is it just boyfriend troubles?”

“Naaah, that's all the bitching you'll get out of me today.” she counters, flashing a wry smirk.

“Aw, dang.” I return, causing both of us to laugh.

“Honestly, there's nothing else worth talking about. Nothing that hasn't always been a problem, anyway.” she comments.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Let's just say the life after school ain't all it's cracked up to be.” she comments, before adding on “the freedom is pretty great though, can’t complain about that.” with a smile.

With that she raises her arms to the sky in a stretch, back arched as a long moan escapes her throat.

“So, how much do you and Lilly talk?” she asks, switching subjects.

“Not a lot, really. I've had tea with her a couple of times, but we're just acquaintances.”

The stray locks of blonde hair on her head sway back and forth as she nods.

“Don't go telling Lilly about my little relationship problem.” she states.

That notion makes me jerk my head over in confusion, a dumbfounded 'huh?!' escaping my mouth.

“She's got enough problems as it is going on in the background, I don't need to go nagging her with my issues too.” she replies.

“Wait wait wait, so you're telling me things that you don't even talk about with your own family?”

“Yeah, pretty much. What? Is that weird?”

“I don't know, really. To be honest, even though my opinion doesn't count for much; I still think you'd have a more productive discussion with your own sister than you would with me.” I reply, laughing.

“You've got a point, but that girl tries to avoid conflict, and I don't want to be the one pushing it to her doorstep.” she notes.

Why would she tell me these things? I wouldn't have pushed if she has just told me she didn't want to talk. Does she want to get it out into the open that badly? How long would it have been before she went to Lilly, or hell, where are her parents? Independence doesn't mean you shouldn't call your parents for advice.

Does that mean she trusts me? Or maybe there were a few other cans before that one and the alcohol is getting to her; it's cynical to say, but I'm sure she'd go rambling to anyone at that point.

Too many questions and no answers in sight. Either way, it's none of my business.

“Fine, I understand. I can keep a secret.”

“Good man.” she says, switching back to a more joyful expression.

I've only known her a short while and I'm already certain that that's a face I want to see more of. She's got a lead on me in terms of age and maturity, but I'd be lying if I said she didn't still have a cute smile.

Akira stands up and brushes the dust off of her slacks. Then begins adjusting the sleeves of her suit jacket, correcting her tie, and following through an entire string of other habits she's developed to look as sharp as she can at all times.

“You know, Hisao. You're a really nice guy, and that's a quality you don't see a whole lot of once you get to my age.” she comments. “It's not worth a whole lot in this world we live in, but at least I appreciate it.”

“Just being nice won't get me anywhere.” I return, not even bothering to hide my dismissive attitude.

“I wouldn't be so sure.” she says with a smile before checking her watch. “I'm gonna go ahead and get home now. Gotta get some things in order.”

“Alright, don't let me hold you back.” I reply with a chuckle.

“Got a couple of phone calls to make as well.” she mentions, glancing up at the sky.

“Take it easy, Hisao.” she calls back before walking off, one hand in her pocket and the other raised in a wave.

“I'll see you around, Akira.”

It doesn't take long for her to disappear from sight, leaving the image of her back imprinted into my mind.

Disheveled blonde hair swaying in the wind, a pair of lean shoulders, a thin waist visible even through her suit coat, widening out into modest hips, all curving down into a set of long, slender legs.

That is the image of a woman if I've ever seen one.

There's a couple of things lingering in my mind however; like how she thought she was stuck.

How is she stuck? Does she mean she's stuck working when she'd like to be traveling, spending time with Lilly, or something else? Or is it that she feels she's unable to move forward anymore? Locked down at one place in life without anything good in the foreseeable future?

She’s having some boyfriend troubles, so I can see how she'd be feeling some stress. But she still has a job; she's doing something with her life. I'm not in a relationship and I barely know where I'm going; I feel like I'm not moving anywhere. I understand that I want to be a scientist, but I don't know where I'll go to do that, or how I'll even do it once I'm there.

We're the same, somehow. She's not the answer to any of my problems, and yet I feel a connection. Pursuit isn't really an option, but I want to know more about her; why she does what she does, how she got there, where she wants to go next, everything.

At any rate, I need to be getting back home as well. I'm ¥1,000 short and I'm gonna need it if I want to make it for the rest of the week.