"What happened to you, Yuki?" Roxanne bolts from the bed and offers me a towel at the sight of me. But before I could even take the cloth from her hands, she wraps the fabric around me and wipes all the wet particles on my body.
As I shut the door behind me, the heavy downpour of rain continues flooding the area. The wind smacks the window shut-closed like an unwanted book that someone has slapped and folded into a piece. Everyone can hear it, with the wind brushing away the trash and leaves piling on the ground because of the thunderstorm.
With a loud thump of the gate, I go inside my room, wet and weary all over my skin. Roxanne guides me inside the shower and throws me a pair of pants and a comfy cotton shirt.
Roxanne taps the door and steals a peek inside of the chamber. "Are you sure you don't need my help, Yuki?"
I meet her gaze and give her a nod to answer her question. However, that is the last time Roxanne ever does that to me as I poke her eyes and push her back from the living room. She squints and rubs her orbs from the pain.
"You asked for it." My hands slide and close the door in front of me while turning the shower on, awaiting the sprinkles of water washing my body.
The frosty stream descends from the wand and sprays me with the water coming inside. I close my eyes and succumb to the roaring splash of water drenching my body. Every drop of the azure water wakes my sleeping brain, unaware of its surroundings.
"If I quit being an officer, would you leave me alone?" Nickson's words ring inside my ears, pairing itself with the flashback from before.
The water coming from the shower turns into sweat, warming every cell inside my body. In every splatter of liquid that hits me, my mind races in and out of my head, thinking about something I do not know. The sensation feels like going down to my wiggling body, like noodles, swaying inside a bowl.
I shake my thoughts, wishing to torment myself, but I could not. With all that has happened, there is no turning back time.
Nickson was right when he said those pesky words and was the person who needed to tell me all the thorns. He knew I wanted that position badly, yet he won the elections. We both got elected by the two former officers, but he was a rank higher than me. I yearned to aim more than my peers so I can grab the benefits of being a high-ranking officer.
I did not listen to him back then when he was drunk. All I thought about was the work, compiling inside the council, with my best friend having difficulties organising the sheets. Nickson reached out for me in his way, and yet I never heard him. And if I discerned his words, I never observed his intentions.
But to what cost?
"Maybe he is right," I correct myself and go outside, finishing my routine.
The reflection in the mirror mocks me for who I am after what I have done to the unfortunate man. Only heaven knows what is passing through his head, yet I refuse to open my ears. I am too distracted by my problems and have neglected his point of view.
"You look gloomy," Roxanne voices her concerns about me, but I continue walking towards my laptop.
One moment from before, she was yelling out from the agony.
But now, Roxanne feels lighter than ever, as if nothing has happened to her and her eyes.
As if fate knocking on the front door, the current situation has similarities with my novel, with what the characters feel right now. At some point, from looking at the blank screen, I finally understand the meaning behind my chapter.
Being an author means having stable emotions. Those people who can finish their chapters without letting their emotions affecting them are weirdoes to the core. I envy those writers since I am not one of them.
What I write in my chapters are all experiences of my life, wanting to relate them in the world. It is a cage for some people. But to others, it is not, considering that I have books about fantasy and other stuff that does not account for reality. At the end of time, these fictional and realistic concepts come into my imagination with the help of references.
With that thought rolling inside my head, I cannot stop thinking about Nickson and what I have done to him earlier.
"I should apologise to him." It is the most logical thing to do as a human being. The one who has said that is not me, but the person beside me.
"I know you have done something wrong and probably involve Nickson." Roxanne's hunches are always on point to what has happened with my current circumstances. Even without hearing my story, she knows and understands me well just by looking at my dejected look on my face.
"I cannot hide a single thing from you, Roxanne." There is no helping me in these events, even if I find a roundabout way of explaining excuses. I need to face Roxy and my problems head-on before it gets the better of me.
I talk about what has happened a while back: the vibrant nightlife of Japan, the izakaya and their chochin lanterns, and those exchanges Nickson and I had inside the bar. The giggling sounds of Roxanne and me reverberate inside the room as if it is a musical piece of words. All the feeling of lassitude overwhelming my body flees from inside me and replaces it with tranquillity and joy. Despite the pouring rain ravaging the streets, our room stays spirited with glee.
But like everything else in our surroundings, our madness has come to a halt. With a nod, Roxanne packs her things with an umbrella and prepares herself to leave outside. The thunderstorm does not help her escape to the streets, nearly blowing the parasol off from her hands.
However, she needs to go home or else her father would come and pick her up with force. Roxanne and I never want that thing to happen, so it is best to make my best friend leave right now.
"You can stay for the rest of the night?" I look at the clouds forming at the top of the skies. These water drops on the atmosphere are nowhere near disappearing from our sight.
It only goes from bad to worse from the duration of us watching above.
"Silly billy! I will be fine, Yuki. No wind can blow this girl away, you know!" After saying goodbye, Roxanne races through the abandoned roads and disappears within the fog.
I close the door and discern the dark path behind me. The air does not feel right when the house is empty. It almost feels like ghosts love living inside the creaks and vacant rooms, waiting for my return once I step foot on the stairs.
As if backing up my claims, the plates and doors on the farthest side of the room crash and burn. The screams of shattering glass awaken my senses. I flip the light switch open and glance inside the kitchen.
Nobody is there to greet me, yet the noise continues to break my spirits.
I leave the room open for good measure, not wanting any shadowy figure surprised me. My parents will be home tomorrow morning, so I need to endure this insanity and steel my heart from breaking down.
"I need to run," my mind yells, and I soon follow.
I scurry up the steps and slam the door upon reaching my room. Luckily for me, I have this so-called skill of locking the front door, knowing that I will sprint upstairs without thinking.
"Chapters, chapters, ah, yes!" After seeing the grey screen of the laptop to confirm my post, I hurl my body at the bouncy mattress and open my tablet beside me.
With a robotic sound echoing from the gadget, the illuminating light welcomes me, the user, and guides me towards an app that I have been reading for as long as I remember. It is the only application that covers manga, manhua, manhwa, and English comics.
I am not an ordinary girl who finds romance as an intriguing genre. People call me crazy for liking hideous creatures, fantasy, and gores on my plate, telling me it is not feminine to be interested in those stories.
Upon browsing to the cold-blooded, scarlet-filled genres, I stumble upon a wandering manga that looks familiar to my eyes. Upon opening its contents, the recognisable anime drawn character of Nickson appears in front of me.
"Oh, not you again!" My hands desperately try returning to the main menu, but the application refuses to listen and opens the fifty-page comic book for me to read the first chapter of the manga.
A different world greets my eyes, with fluffy black-white illustrations and whatnot all over the place. It is a dimension that if I try mimicking the plot, my novel will end up with the characters losing a limb or two with a pinch of romance.
"Nick." I read the pen name of the mangaka, the artist of the manga, out loud for me to hear. As I browse through the libraries, I have noticed that Nickson has yet drawn anything from his page.
His temporary hiatus started back from the time he was absent from our school.