Youth Unsupervised

Chapter 29-A Man on Fire

The day Saki left, I returned to my room expecting it to give me comfort, but it felt just as empty and cold as the rest of the house had for years. Everything reminded me of her, smelled of her.

I called Yoshitaka that afternoon and started my full time cooking position at The Weeping Willow the very next day. I would do anything to get me out of that house and keep my mind occupied.

When I was forced to return home, I took to sleeping in the corner of my room facing the wall, using only a spare blanket Saki had never touched. It was not enough. She was still the only thing on my mind until sleep finally won me over. Sometimes even this was not enough, as she would invade my dreams as well. I hated it.

I didn't have to wait long for my parents to return home. I'm not sure if they were staying away for themselves or because Saki was there. It didn't really matter. I immediately got their consent to rent a place and quickly moved out into a one room apartment of my own. It was better, but I still hated it.

It had been nearly three months since Saki left. I hadn't heard from her at all. No phone calls. No texts. Not even any letters. She'd cut me off completely. She'd said two hours wasn't that far, and she was right. Two hours is pitiful, but it didn't matter. She might as well have been on the moon.

I started taking shifts whenever they were available. The less time I had off the better. I'd work as many double shifts as they'd give me. It didn't even have to be cooking. I was happy to fill in as a waiter or even a dishwasher. As long as it kept my mind occupied, I didn't care what it was. I hung out with Hiromasa whenever possible, but since he was in college now, he was often busy.

I filled the gaps in my time with my coworkers. I had been pretty limited socially in high school, but not anymore. I'd do whatever, with whomever, whenever they asked. Want to go to karaoke? Yes. Want to go grab something to eat after work? Yes. Want to go to the arcade? Yes. Want to help me move this weekend? Yes.

I made sure to only return to my apartment when I was so exhausted that I would barely have the strength to shuffle into the door and crawl into bed. I would fall asleep almost immediately, giving me no time to dwell, no time to let my mind wander.

I managed to keep this up for a several months, but my luck finally ran out one summer night when I was cutting up an onion for a curry. I was moving too quickly and my hand slipped. I barely even felt it, but within seconds, a stream of bright red spread along the wet cutting board and soaked into the white flesh of the onion. I dropped the knife and clutched my index finger, backing away from the cutting board. Kuroda looked over at me, quickly grabbed a clean dish towel, and wrapped it around my finger. Evidently, this was not his first rodeo.

"How bad is it?" Kuroda asked, holding the dish towel in place.

"I don't think it's as bad as it looks," I said. "It's just bleeding a lot."

Kuroda nodded. "Yeah, fingers are always like that. Come with me. We'll get you cleaned up and see just what we're dealing with." He glanced back at the cutting board. "I don't see a finger lying back there, so it can't be too terrible."

I laughed and shook my head. That was so like Kuroda. He was good at keeping it light in stressful situations.

"Iwamoto, will you clean that up?" Kuroda asked as he led me out of the kitchen.

"On it," Iwamoto said.

We went into the small break room which contained a large table filling most of the room, a row of lockers, and a computer desk that sat against the wall. Yoshitaka was typing away at the computer, but looked up when we entered.

"Sit," Kuroda directed, grabbing a small medical kit off the top of the lockers.

I sat down at the table, keeping my hand gripped tightly on the towel.