I love myself.
Huh, when you lookin' at me, tell me what do you see?
I love myself.
Ahh, I put a bullet in the back of the back of the head of the po—
--------
Taka, I'm scared.
Those words are scribbled more than written on the page, yet Takahiro made out what they meant.
His tranquil gaze scrutinized every inch of the page. Taking in each symbol, each stroke, and each dot. For a while, all he did was stare at the page, motionlessly. Not a change in his glazed expression.
Minutes later he turned the page. Seeing that it is blank, he did it again, and again, and again. Until there's none left. Reaching the last page, every one of them blank, Takahiro huffed his held breath and closed the notebook. He stared at it for a few seconds, then put it on his lap. He reached for the aired mango cake at his left and lifted it, up to his chest.
With a doleful ambiance and a set smile, Takahiro sang the birthday song.
His set smile turned into satisfaction as he put the cake back to where it came from, returning to his blank and motionless state. 5 minutes later, he reached for his left pocket and took out his phone. Scrolling through his contacts, he dialed a contact named Sato Satoshi and put it up his ear.
It rang, and rang, and rang. It wasn't answered. He checked whether something went wrong, but no, it just wasn't answered. Before he could press the redial button, Sato Satoshi called.
Pressing the accept button, he put the phone up to his ear and answered in a carefree tone.
"Good afternoon Mr. Sato. I know you're busy but could you spare your son crumbs of your time and have dinner with him."
"..."
"Tonight. He'll be cooking himself. You know where to go."
"..."
"You don't have to answer Mr. Sato. You can just decide whether to go or not."
"..."
"Alright, Mr. Sato. Have a good day."
With that, he ended the call and tucked the phone back into his left pocket. Again, he stayed motionless, listless, like a soulless husk.
Hey. Are you fine?
Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.
Are you sure?
I'm fine.
So what now?
I don't know.
What do you know?
Nothing.
You should kill yourself.
No.
Kill him then.
Why should I.
Hate.
That's not enough.
What is.
Nothing is.
Does it matter?
It doesn't.
Kill him then.
Why should I.
So that he wouldn't be sad.
That doesn't make—
When you die.
You should kill yourself.
Ok.
Kill him too.
Ok.
***
The sound of sizzling sauce and beef on a heated pan along with its scent filled the kitchen. Wearing formal clothes and an apron on top, Takahiro consistently tossed the beef until it was completely coated with the sauce. Once that he has, he let the beef simmer in the sauce.
The doorbell rang.
Seeing that he could leave the dish be for a while, he walked to the sink, washed his hands, and patted them on the apron to dry them. Taking the apron off and hanging it by a hook, he walked to the entrance to welcome in his guest. An expected guest.
With no hesitation, he opened the door revealing a disheveled, unkempt man with an unproportionate body. The man had a bulging stomach but has lanky limbs. He has messy hair, bloodshot eyes, and an untrimmed stubble. His clothes are full of creases and he is exuding the stench of alcohol. It was a wonder how such an unsightly man entered the building. A complete contrast to Takahiro who is welcoming such a man. Well, it is no wonder. After all, he is
"You look like shit." Takahiro playfully sounded.
"And you look awfully better." He growled.
Instead of taking what the man said in offense, Takahiro scuffed in amusement.
"Hoh. I guess that's where we got that trait from. And no, I'm actually not." His tone is carefree and bright.
Realizing the man's mistake, and partially blaming it on booze. He rubbed his face in a bid to sober up.
"I'm sorry."
With a grin-like smile, he gestured his hand in an act to welcome his guest.
"Come in. I hope you still remember your way around this house. The food should be done right about now"
Giving way for his guest to enter. His father, Sato Satoshi walked in weak and careful steps. Looked around, having recollections about the home he had for his children, and surprisingly not much have changed. It was the same furniture since the first day they stayed. He made his way toward the dining table and took his seat. A view of the city is seen through the wide window right in front of him. Drawing him into a stupor.
Takahiro prepared plates and utensils, a pot of rice, a pitcher of water, a set of glasses, and the dish he cooked, not caring about what his father is doing, or not doing. Neither did Satoshi notice everything he did.
"Let's eat."
Takahiro's voice snapped Satoshi out of his stupor. Surprised to see the table already set and prepared. Satoshi glanced at his son, who is getting rice and spooning in some of the dish.
'He's grown up.'
Of course, he has. Time marches, too fast it flew. He's changed, I did, and things did too.
Regret. A sigh of regret. So much regret escaped Satoshi's mouth. Satoshi served himself food. A serving of rice and whatever the beef dish was.
"That's Mongolian beef. I saw the recipe on the internet. It looked good so I wanted to try it. It's my first time cooking it so I hope it's good enough to your liking."
And now Satoshi started doubting his ears. He brushed his hair up to have a better look at his son. Well-groomed, well clothed, he had a convincing smile on his face. He looks and sounds fine. How? Was he even affected by all those things that happened?
Satoshi's brows furrowed from his stupidity, from acknowledging his own stupidity. Him being fine is impossible.
'After all, he was with them the whole time. Unlike me. Yet look at me, an absolute mess compared to him.'
Takahiro noticed his father's gaze and gave him a quizzical look. As if reading his father's thoughts, he flashed a smile and returned his attention back to his food.
"Like I said, I am not. I just had a bath. It seems like you need one too. Eat up while the food's hot. I think I did pretty good for my first try."
Satoshi gave his plate a look. But he can't find the appetite to eat. Butterflies fill his stomach. Looking at his son floods him with regret, guilt, and shame constricting his heart. The words need to be said suffocating him. He was on the brink of breaking down, but his pride as a man, and as a father keeps him from doing so.
Seeing as his father hasn't budged and is yet to leave his eyes off him with his mouth bobbing uncontrollably. He looked back and returned the gaze waiting for whatever his father wanted to say. Their eye contact held firm. A chance to convey unsaid words. Satoshi's turbulent breathing is subtly heard. With great difficulty Satoshi finally said
"I am so sorry."
Completely disinterested in what he just heard, Takahiro gave his father a slight frown and a shrug. Once again returning his attention to the food.
"That apology of yours is years too late. I don't want it."
His son's cold response, a far cry from his previous attitude, hurt him in many ways. The only thing that made it any less is that he expected it. He was expecting to receive his son's ire. To take in barrages of insults, and assaults. To take in his son's frustrations and pain. To apologize for everything he has and hasn't done. He steeled himself the second the call from Takahiro ended. But all he came upon was Takahiro's light attitude, a warm welcome to a home he very well isn't, and a dinner prepared by his son. There were no insults, no assaults. There was no grieving child who lost his mother and sister. There was none. All there was, was a man moving on with his life. He is doing something Satoshi is struggling to do and doubt could do so.
'He's grown. Strong. Even without me.'
That realization lessened the burden of emotions Satoshi feels. Giving him a kindle of strength to move forward.
"I'm sorry."
After a moment of silence.
"You know. Harumi fell in love with me."
Love? Satoshi doubted his ears.
Taking a glance at his father's face. Takahiro let go of his utensils and made eye contact with his father.
"Not just love for a sibling. No. The kind of love one feels towards the opposite sex."
Satoshi's already dark expression turned to a sullen shock. Taking a hint as to what Takahiro just said.
"I'm so—
"Shh. I said I don't want your apologies."
There was no stress in Takahiro's voice. It was all said calmly. But Satoshi felt immense pressure, coming from his son, coming from himself. His lips were tightly shut.
"It's really wrong. Really really wrong that she 'loved' her brother. Well, it's not like she did. She just thought she loved me. After all, she never knew what and how that feels, right?"
Their eye contact broke. Satoshi shifted his head, avoiding his son's blaming eyes, like a child getting scolded, but this time with the roles reversed.
"All those new, unusual, foreign feelings. Those that she has never experienced before, deprived from her for far too long suddenly came over her. And since she didn't know better, there's no doubt she would be confused and think of all of it as love."
After a short pause, he reached for a glass of water and gulped some. Clearing his throat he continues
"Of course, I'm also to blame. If I treated her better earlier, cared more about what she does and thinks, and taught her what's needed to know, she wouldn't have been as troubled and confused as she was."
"It's not your fault."
Takahiro smirked at his father with mock amusement at what he heard.
"How long have you been wanting to say that? I understand, I had something the same too, that one from earlier. It's not every day that you get to insult and see the CEO of TORy look as pathetic as then."
It was a mockery. It was no way a son should talk to his father. Not a hint of respect could be felt in all of the words he said. It was as if he was just talking to a friend. But Satoshi couldn't bring himself to reproach his son. After all, he never was his father. It would just make a mockery of him to act like one now of all times.
Partially returning his attention to the food. Takahiro took a spoonful and ate. Not wanting to keep the food waiting, Satoshi too started eating. Since the conversation has come to a halt, Takahiro gave his full attention to the food.
In silence, they both ate in silence. Only the sound of the clattering of utensils and porcelain plates resounded. Until Takahiro broke that silence.
"So, why was mom running from you? Back then?"
As if hearing nothing, Satoshi continued to have his meal, but it was obvious that he heard him. Annoyed, Takahiro was annoyed, then wasn't. It came as quickly as it went.
"Even now, you wouldn't humor me with that one thing. This is all I asked from you after so long yet you still refuse to tell me. What could've happened that you can't tell me even now?"
Finally, Satoshi raised his head and met his son's eyes. It was calm. No semblance of annoyance or anger. As if he didn't really care. That all of it was just small talk. Satoshi pursed his lips."
"I can't."
Losing interest, Takahiro lowered his head and finished his meal. After doing so, took a glass of water and tidied his plate, ready to leave the table. Satoshi, not wanting their time together to end just yet spat out.
"Aren't you asking why I left the both of you all alone?"
"I know why, and honestly don't care," Takahiro responded apathetically. Not even batting his father an eye.
With that he went off towards the kitchen, carrying his dirty dishes.
Left alone on the table, Satoshi spared his plate a look and reached for a glass of water.
'Next time. Maybe next time.' He thought as he peered at Tokyo's evening cityscape. The picturesque view calms his mind, soothing his soul.
In his reverie, he heard faint steps coming from behind, approaching him. Takahiro's nonchalant steps echoed in his mind, baffling him, snapping him back to his senses.
'What is happening.'
He tried to look over his shoulder, but an arm grabbed him by the head and a knife slit his throat.
***
Satoshi sprawled on the floor, squirming, pressing his hands on his cut throat. Trying to stop the bleeding but to no avail. The sound of him suffocating, choking from his blood is heard throughout the room. And there I was, looking at him, trying to look at his eyes. He is curled up, facing the floor. That won't do. Walking on the other side, by the table. I put the kitchen knife on the table surface and pushed over Satoshi's body with my foot. Finally, with his back on the floor and his face facing up, I got to see his eyes lethargic, waning eyes. Full of dread, dread, dread. He is afraid. His eyes turned towards me, reflecting my visage. His expression changed. From eyes full of dread to those full of regret... and acceptance. His gaze lingered on me until it lost its light.
Sato Satoshi is dead.
I looked down. I looked at my bloodstained hands. Before doing anything stupid like wiping them on my clothes, I walked towards the sink and washed them.
"Oh how fleeting life is. It disappears just like that."
Drying them on a towel, I walked back to the corpse and bide my time looking at it.
"You know, I also wanted to say see you in hell. But I doubt we would. You probably would go to heaven, for all the good things you've done for this world."
Oh!
Face-palming. I brushed my hair up, frustration oozed out of me.
"Fuuuck. You died too fast I wasn't able to tell you to greet mom and Haru for me."
The pool of blood reaching the soles of my shoes, I took a few steps back. Seeing my shoes a bit sullied, a slight frown crept on my face. With a sigh, I walked towards a phone rooted on the wall and called.
"Hello Mr. Arima. Good evening. Please bring people to clean this mess."
....
"Hm. Yes. Thank you"
"Oh! One more thing. Please call the police."
...
"Why?"
...
"I killed someone."
***
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."
"Why are my hands cuffed in front of me?"
The grumpy-looking bald man just ignored me and then pulled me by the arm. Escorting me out of the room. Offering no resistance, I gave in and let him pull me out.
We walked down the hall and into the elevator. They had me apprehended while they clear the penthouse of everything. It's a shame that all of it would be gone. Well, whatever.
The cop standing on my right, held my arm firmly as we rode down the building. My eyes darted around the lift, feeling a little impatient.
'Oh?'
He's left-handed and had his holster unlocked. Looking away from it, I glanced at the bald man, he doesn't seem to know.
"Hey mister, why are my arms cuffed in front of me."
He is still ignoring me.
"Sucks to be you."
I jerked my right arm toward the gun while pushing all of my weight on the cop. Taking him by surprise, he lost his balance and I successfully pulled out the gun.
"HA!"
Shocked that it actually worked, I stepped back and fixed my grasp on the gun, making sure that safe mode is off. I pointed it at the cop.
"Wait ki—
*POP*POP*POP*
And I shot him thrice.
I gasped for air, my breathing uneven, my heart palpitating.
"Wahat da faa—
*DING*DONG*
The sound of the elevator bells rang, announcing our arrival.
"Put down that firearm and put your hands in—
*POP*
*POP*POP*