Haruki's money was dwindling. Fast. He was down to the last few bills, and after this round of ramen and canned soup, there wasn't much left to stretch. He'd been avoiding looking at his bank account because it was easier to live in denial. Denial was one of his oldest friends, after all.
Just as he was wondering if he could survive another week on convenience store noodles, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it, then froze when he saw the name flashing on the screen: Mom.
Haruki sighed, staring at the phone as it buzzed angrily, demanding to be answered. The mere sight of her name made him feel like someone had filled his stomach with rocks. He knew exactly how this call would go. She'd start with some passive-aggressive comment about how he never calls, then launch into a full-blown tirade about how she sacrificed everything for him, how he was an ungrateful bastard, and how she couldn't believe this—whatever this was—was the life he'd made for himself. It was the same old script, and he didn't have the energy to listen to it. Not today.
The phone stopped ringing. Haruki exhaled. Good. He'd just ignore her, and maybe she'd give up.
Except she didn't.
The phone buzzed again. And again. And again.
By the fourth call, Haruki could feel the rage bubbling up in his chest. She never stopped. His entire life, she'd never stopped. Always pushing, always demanding, always telling him he was never good enough. And now, even after all of this, she was still the same. Still relentless.
Finally, after what felt like the twentieth call, Haruki snapped. He picked up the phone, but not because he wanted to. It wasn't exhaustion, or guilt, or even anger. It was the simple fact that if he didn't, she'd just keep calling. Forever. Like a human alarm clock from hell.
He pressed the phone to his ear and barely had time to say hello before her voice exploded in his eardrum.
"Where the hell have you been?" his mother screeched, her voice sharp enough to make him wince. "Do you even care that I'm sick? That I'm in the hospital? No, of course, you don't. You've always been useless. Selfish, just like your father."
Ah, there it was. The classic useless opener, followed swiftly by the you're just like your father jab. His mother never missed a beat.
Haruki gripped the phone tighter, letting her words wash over him like cold water. He knew she was in the hospital. He knew it because she'd called him from the hospital five times before, each time claiming it was serious this time. He wasn't even sure if she actually was sick anymore, or if this was just another one of her guilt-tripping games. Either way, he hadn't gone to see her. Partly because he couldn't afford the trip, but mostly because... well, he just didn't want to.
"You never visit me," she continued, her voice laced with venom. "You've become so heartless. You think you're so important now, don't you? Living your big Hollywood life. Well, news flash, Haruki—nobody cares about you, they don't even hire you! You should have gone to the job I told you last time. You've ruined everything. And after everything I did for you. How did I end up with a son like you? I raised you, I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me? By abandoning me when I'm sick?"
Haruki rolled his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "Hi, Mom. Nice to hear from you too," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm cause the bit about Hollywood life was definitely a jab.Not that she noticed, or cared.
"And another thing!" she barked, completely ignoring his attempt at levity. "You've always been selfish. Always. It's always been about you, hasn't it? You never think about anyone else. You don't care about your family, you don't care about me, all you care about is yourself. And now look at you—pathetic! You're not even famous even after all those years! You're nothing!"
Haruki's jaw clenched, the words hitting a little too close to home. He had a lot of things he could say to her. A lot of things he wanted to say. But what was the point? She'd never hear him anyway. His mother had never listened to him, not really.
But then she said it. The one thing that made his stomach churn.
"I should've never had you," she spat, her voice like acid. "You were a mistake. I should've known you'd grow up to be this... this disappointment."
Haruki froze. He had heard those words before, a hundred times over. And each time, they chipped away at him a little more, until there wasn't much left to chip. But this time, standing in his dingy little apartment with barely enough money to buy ramen, something in him finally cracked.
His mother was still alive. Alive. That was the part that bothered him the most. In his other life—the one he'd been ripped away from—she had died years ago. And when she died, Haruki had felt free. Free in a way that he had never known. It was her death that had given him the space to finally become what he wanted to be. To sever the last tie to the part of himself he hated. The part she had created.
And now, here she was. Alive, screaming at him like always. And he had to listen to her all over again.
A small, shameful part of him had always felt relief when she died. The relief of no longer having to hear her voice, of no longer feeling the weight of her disapproval hanging over him. It wasn't something he liked to admit, but it was the truth. Her death had been a turning point for him, not because he loved her, but because it meant there was finally no one left who knew him. No one left to hold him accountable for the things he had done.
"Are you even listening to me?" his mother snapped, her voice dragging him back to the present. "I'm telling you, I'm sick! You need to come see me. Do you even care? Do you care about anyone but yourself?"
Haruki closed his eyes, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He wanted to hang up. He wanted to throw the phone across the room and scream. But instead, he stood there, listening, as his mother continued to tear him apart piece by piece.
And somewhere deep down, he knew she was right.