Four Days Later
"Mother has always been a cold person, if I'm being honest. She cares about our reputation. She's a busy person who is the backbone of the company, but she's not my backbone. Things became even more tense when I first collapsed at the dinner table when I was a kid, like I told you earlier. My health spiraled for a time and I missed school for tests and treatments."
"We were closer than whatever screwed up family dynamic we have now. She grew colder, more distant. Like she was on edge, but she pushed me to the very brim. Working overtime went from weekly to daily and over the years, a wedge grew between the both of them and I. My father's still a bit tender, our conversations revolve around convincing me to take over the company. He isn't as strict as her. Not as stern as she is." My eyes sting.
"In middle school, she'd always find something to criticize about my work, about my passions, about my naivety, about my clothes. At some point, she stopped. I don't know if she gave up or stopped caring, or maybe she thought I had come to my senses because I stopped reading my poetry to her. She probably thought I'd put my silly little hobby to rest. I never did, I put the hope that she'd ever be proud of me to rest. I stopped showing her my accomplishments that she hadn't asked about unless we had to converse at all." I clench my gown with my fists, momentary anger appears.
"I remember when I was twelve, I made a simple dinner and I ate it alone. I was becoming twenty-five at twelve. I sat on that table humiliated. I had made sure that they'd be home that night. That's when this rage started accumulating, it spread like wildfire. It used to be that I hated the hardness in her eyes, but soon enough it became my own hateful look at the mirror. I swore not to let it happen, but that's what it did to me. I used to be mad at her. I gave into my thoughts and I shifted the blame to me. There had to have been something wrong with me if I'm this unlovable."
"I got off of it like a high-dose drug, I hated myself and it made me work even harder. It drove me beyond my limits, but it grew out of control. I was fourteen when I started to think that way," I say, my voice pitching down in agony.
"By the time I was sixteen, both of my parents started shoving me into the mold of the heir of my family. Constantly reminding me that I had to take over the company at a young age so I can get into its rhythm by the time I'm grown. Making sure I was always dressed modestly, even though I already was, commenting on things I say. Reminding me not to say stupid things if I wanted to be respected. That's all I was to them, a rookie to be trained. I would always comply but I lied. I continued with my writing like time wasn't running out. I continued to joke with my friends and use phrases and metaphors and things that made my speech a bit more interesting. Wasn't I perfect enough already with my grades and manners? Why couldn't I have my own peculiarities? I kept them as a liar and soon enough, it was like I grew into two people."
"They'd find out at some point that I didn't really want to take over. I fooled myself into thinking that I'd drop that godforsaken pen and move on to make them proud. I just couldn't, not when it feels like this family is an endless sea I can't conquer. A family that waits for me to save them, otherwise we'd all be put to shame. I was part of the family when they needed an heir to keep them afloat, not when they wanted a daughter," I sniffle.
"At some point, especially when I met you, I didn't really care for any of it. I kept up with my studies, and I grew to like myself a bit. When you looked at me like I was someone, a valuable friend, I had hope. I had hope that one day they'd accept this meaningless hobby and love me as I am. I had optimism that the future was bright to escape the true reality that roamed around my house. I'll never be accepted, not unless I give them what they want."
"I ran from it all, running with you to the beach, to the comfort of the team, to the joy of being a teenager. I ran, but I wasn't fast enough. You know the rest from there, when she found out." I stop. He stares at my face with a vulnerability I never thought I'd see.
"It seems to me that you were never naive so your parents could tell you to stop being naive. You were never given the chance to be young at all, Hana. You weren't a liar or a bad person, you were being human. You have the right to pursue your passions and speak as you like. And those moments with me and the team, you earned every second of them. You deserve to feel rapture and adrenaline, you deserve to go out and live your teenage dreams. You deserve the world," he says softly.
"I don't want you to believe these things you were told. You're not irresponsible or reckless, especially not when you're just living your life. If there's any responsible person on this planet, it's you. Everything you've done, whether it's writing otherworldly poetry or saving people from their own problems, it's enough. Everything you do and achieve is amazing, and I'll be the first to tell you that."
"You are enough, as long as you believe you are enough for yourself first." He gives me a short smile and I realize the tears are streaming against my will, my mouth open slightly. There's a shock and a love so strong pulsing through me as he wipes the tear away like he's accustomed to it. His finger is cold. I've never been talked to like this, so patiently and benevolently.
"I went through something similar with my own mother." He looks away.
"Tell me," I encourage him, eager to be let in.
"My mother was the same as yours. Constantly criticizing, inattentive, emotionally absent. The only difference is that she would yell and scold, but I take it that having a completely cold mother is harder when you could never get her to speak. At some point though, she became completely tight-lipped. She'd always shut down conversations about my father, reminding me that he left us for a better life in the United States. He doesn't want you, he doesn't want us, she'd yell. She'd always criticize my talent in volleyball, knowing that I'm in the highest ranks of the country. It burned. I'd always think to myself, your son is in the top three of the country and it's still not enough for you? Always reminding me to prepare for college to find a real career," he scoffs.
"When I was sixteen, I moved to the dorms with Tendō. She'd pay because she was obligated to, but she'd never ask about anything. I'd go home during breaks, but she never changed. Never an ounce of emotion or regret. Considering her hate for my father, I believed she didn't really like me because I was an extension of him. An extension that lived under her roof. I was the reminder that he's still there, he's tied to her because he's a part of her son. A reminder she will forever be burdened by her marriage. I waited and waited and waited for her to love me, but it only hardened my heart over the years."
"Emotions and love became the dumbest ideas, I never believed in them because I never saw them in my own parents. My dad started calling me as I grew older, congratulating me and making a bit of effort. I could never let anyone in because they'd hurt me, just as she did. When you came along and I opened up to you, I-I realized I can let someone in." His eyes squint a little bit.
"I saw that it wasn't my fault. I stopped caring because she knew how vulnerable my young heart was, but she broke it and made me mend it alone. That was her fault, not mine."
"It was peaceful, reminding myself that whatever my mother went through was projected onto me. It was never because of me. We're not their friends that they can talk to, or their psychologists for that matter. They all had duties as parents, to love and nurture these little kids, not break them to 'make them stronger." He pauses, voice cracking.
"What I'm trying to say is that you were a kid. You were a little girl who was shut down by her cruel parents that never understood that kids need love, acceptance, and validation. You shouldn't have been burdened with adult matters. It will never be your fault that they didn't give you that. Your parents might've gone through the same thing, but that doesn't give them an excuse to be terrible people."
"I'm glad you're being honest. You're here and you're talking to me about it, and I think that makes up for everything, especially the time I missed with my parents. I've never had anyone to talk to about this. Thank you." I fiddle with my fingers. He doesn't know what to say.
"Over these last few days, I've been making promises. I promised you to let you in to help me. I've been promising myself to persevere through this phase of my life and to take care of myself from now on. Taking care of myself means being kind to myself, but it also means not letting people's opinions get to me. I promised myself to believe that it's not my fault, what happened, and today I see why. We've been talking for hours and every moment I've felt lighter." I breathe in comfortably for the first time.
His eyes light up and he smiles so beautifully, trying to form the words. I see that this is exactly what he wants, what he's trying to help with. He wants me to feel light and happy, and I really do. I memorize that look on his face as I move strands of my hair away from my eyes. The loose braid tickles my back. There my stomach goes, fluttering.
A moment of silence.
"It was never my fault, was it?" I ask rhetorically, like I'm reaffirming the fact over and over.
He doesn't hesitate to repeat it as he says,
"Never, but you persevered anyway. I'm proud of you." He says silently, almost like it's a secret.
I put my head on his shoulder lazily, the sun a little too bright.
"You don't know how much that means to me." I say lightly.
"I'll always be here to remind you," he reminds me.
Of course you will, that's who you are. Honey in human form. As sweet and as warm as tea. The only person I could spend these hazy days with.
He's to my left, eyes incandescent with golden rays.
We breathe in the day's air, sitting beneath the timid sun. Looking out at the green of the lawn we're sitting on, the grass tickles my bare legs as my hands caress it subconsciously. Sendai buzzes with life and mumbles whispers of love and hope. It's a slow spring day where I enjoy this view with the person I love, his head resting lightly on mine. I can tell I won't be able to forget this moment easily, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
"Hana, your physiotherapist is ready for you." Keiko smiles at us, standing in the shade.
My first step towards healing.
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Author: yes this is a talkative chapter don't be mad