“You didn’t mention you managed Emiko’s career.”

It was late Saturday afternoon, the clocks had ticked past 9 p.m. and the nightlife of Tokyo was slowly dragging itself out of bed. The introductions at Hanako Hall had gone decently, perhaps more different than I had expected. For one, Director Ttio observed me all day like a chained guard dog watches a pigeon just out of reach, he couldn’t have made it any more obvious that he doesn’t trust me.

No, it isn’t me that he doesn’t trust, but Hatsuko. She’s let him down before, and I believe he’s expecting her to do it again.

I’m unaware of the history between them, but I share a similar sentiment with him.

I don’t trust Hatsuko.

But not trusting isn’t the same as distrust.

After all, I do trust her to follow her own interests. I only hope that I am a part of them.

“Hmm, yes, I believe it's been what?” She asked herself, taking her eyes off the road for just a moment before continuing, “Three months now. She was a child actor who stumbled at the transition to adulthood; the sudden jump in standards catches a lot of parents off guard, their precious little bundles of joy no longer able to get by with the same subpar acting they used as a kid. It’s usually worse for the kid, especially if they’re the ones with the passion for acting and not the parents. Emiko fell into the former, so it must have affected her quite a bit. Either way, she took a break at 13 to focus on high school, but I doubt it was as voluntary as she implies.” She finished, pulling the van right onto another lane.

“Is there anyone else?”

She smiled to herself, “My my, Seina. Now you sound just like a jealous girlfriend.” It faded quickly, and a serious tone replaced it, “But no, I only manage Emiko and you- officially, anyways.”

Humour didn’t suit her, it felt ill-fitting. It wasn’t too dissimilar from watching someone force themselves into the wrong size bra. Sure, it might look ok on the surface, beneath the clothes and such, but if you look a little closer you can tell just how uncomfortable they are.

“Officially?” I asked with a tilted head and a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” She confirmed. “Officially I am your manager, and if anyone asks, that’s what you’ll tell them- Oh, and that reminds me, I’ll need you to come round my office before next Saturday to sign some paperwork. I’ll message you the location, just ring me before you arrive.”

“Ok.”

“Great, and Ttio wanted me to tell you they’re having a starting party tomorrow at 6 p.m. instead of rehearsals. It's essentially a tradition for them, one party at the start of rehearsals, and one at the end. No alcohol, thank the kids for that; and it’ll just be less formal introductions and familiarising yourself with everyone. I won’t be going, but I can drop you off if you want to go?” Hatsuko relayed without the slightest hint of care, clearly not expecting me to agree.

She was right. I cared little about socialising, and besides I had a packed shift for that Sunday night at Ha:Yami, so a party was the last thing on my mind.

“No thank you.” I answered without a dose of surprise from Hatsuko.

She pulled off onto a familiar street that I recognised as being near Kita City, and then took another corner that led down a road flanked by apartments.

“This is close to where you live, right, Seina?” She might have spoken it, but she was without a doubt thinking out loud, and not asking a genuine question, “It's nicer than I expected from you. The club must pay well.”

I gave my affirmation with a hum, which pushed Hatsuko onto the next topic to fill the silence.

“You have the script?” She pulled her eyes off the road and glanced at the script in my lap before returning them, “Good, I don’t imagine you as the careless type, but try not to misplace that.” She lectured more for her own stake than mine.

“I won’t.”

“Read it thoroughly, you’re playing two roles. One of them is in that script, the other is as my actress. If you can memorise this one fully, you’ll be able to play the other one without anyone noticing. And don’t just learn your lines, learn the entire thing. You’ll come across as more experienced if you’re able to rehearse the lines perfectly.” She repeated the words as if she’d said them a thousand times, far more rehearsed than anything I could read from this script.

“I already had that intention.” I said, earning a curious glance from Hatsuko.

“Is that so?” She replied half-believing me, “Well, great. It's good to see you’re enthusiastic about this.” She added on with the acting skills of a child…

Subpar.

The van took a final corner onto the street of my apartment. Hatsuko peered at the SATNAV before flipping a switch and turning the screen black. She bounced the van onto the pavement outside the building and shut the engine off.

“And here we are…” She announced with the grace of an awkward teenager on stage, clearly expecting me to get out quickly and not loiter.

I made a motion to look down at my uniform, the luxury of it staring me in the face, yet also whispering softly on my skin.

“When would you like this returned?” I queried, earning barely a shrug from her.

“Keep it. I bought it to match you.” She casually stated as if that didn’t imply she spent a few 100,000 yen before even knowing whether I’d say yes or no to her request.

Hatsuko then reached into the back of the van and picked up a black bag stashed with the clothes I’d changed out of earlier, “And take these, before I forget.”

“Is there anything else?” I asked while taking the bag and undoing my seatbelt.

“No, have a nice night, Seina. And-” She paused, a trace of hesitation in her words, “Thank you.”

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“You’re welcome.” I replied, unlocking the door and hopping out of the van.

She drove off as I entered the lobby to my apartment, and within seconds I was in my room, basking in its purity of white.

I stared at the mirror, framed with more markless white. But it was not the one within me, cracked and reflective. No, this one was held firmly on the wall, hidden beneath a piece of paper pinned on all corners covering it.

There could only be one mirror in this room.

Reaching towards its covered surface, I gently plucked each of the pins and watched the white paper float down towards the white carpet like a leaf in autumn.

And I saw her.

“Do you have a death wish?” Seina accused me, voice of hatred and disgust.

Face impassive; not a trace of anything resembling a human beneath those steadfast eyes. Watching unmoving, never yielding or buckling.

If you never bend, you cannot break.

At least until you finally do.

My blue gaze holds as still as the ocean. Yet to peer into them you would see more than that.

You would see me.

Eyes are the window to the soul, and I am drowning in this ocean that ebbs and flows with the waves.

The drowning man always struggles.

Yet here I stay, just beneath the surface, safe from its killing depths, but stuck within this frozen stasis of a life.

I do not struggle.

“You wear my face, you use my words, tell my jokes, repeat my lines. Who are you? Broken, impure, worthless puppet unable to cut the strings sewn into your skin.” Seina continued, harsh, painful, and true...

Every bit of it.

There is no water here, but still I drown.

“Did you have fun? Pretending to be me? Prancing around introducing yourself with my name as if you’re human? A real person with real dreams and ideas?”

And still, I do not struggle.

Non-critical apathy. It is almost relaxing, to let everything drift away from you, to never care, to never think, to never… live.

A beautifully painful diagnosis. No cure, no curse, simply existence.

I wonder why I accepted Hatsuko’s offer.

Escape? Desire? Fear? Hope?

What does it mean to become a fake actress? Is it another day where I play the dress-up doll for a mother who hides in the shadow of my childhood? Or is it the first action I do for myself?

Not for Seina, not for her escape, or for her mistakes, or her past failings that chase her at the heel.

I was Seina Kanemoto.

“Why don’t you get it over with? Jump out the window, set your bed on fire, leap in front of a train, throw yourself down the stairs. Why. Do. You. Still. LIVE.” Seina screamed at me, her vocal cords nearly tearing from the strain.

My vocal cords.

It is not Seina Kanemoto in the mirror.

It is me.

I am screaming at myself.

Seina Kanemoto is dead, she has been for a while. Forever young, forever pure, and forever perfect. A shade of a ghost that lingers beneath my eyes; the window to the soul.

She is the dead ocean that I am drowning in.

And even so, with all of that laid bare… I do not struggle.

Poison takes me. The familiar stench of a cigarette steeps into this corpse of mine. Rot away into nothing, may decay take this flesh and cast it into the gutter where it belongs.

I have nothing, yet in that nothingness, there is something.

Even a void is something, and I am that void.

The night passes soon after that, my eyes drift away and I become lost in dreamless sleeps. The sun returns above me, and I awake as it reaches its peak.

I loiter mindlessly until my shift begins. Ha:Yami calling me back into another body once more as the clock lazily turns to 6 p.m. and I am thrust into the frey as Seina.

Perfection embodied perfectly, she performs as an actress on stage, yet it is no act and only truth that she offers to these men.

To these clients.

Be perfect because you do not lie if you’re so.

Cease to be a woman, cease to be human, remain only as a void filled with projected desires. Lower oneself to appear appetising to the wolf who wishes to devour you.

This is not just appeasement, but satisfaction.

Sunday ended, and Monday began much the same.

Work to become perfect, become perfect to become appetising, and become appetising to be sold.

An idea, an image crafted from old oak tradition founded in the DNA of society aeons ago. It may have faded much like the rock paintings of cavemen, but it still clings to life, delving deep into the hearts of cold men, and unempathetic history.

Tuesday came, soft and tender it took hold of me. It refused to let go until its time ended.

Selfish, vile, toxic and stubborn.

Sell yourself to be sold by another who sells merely the ideal of you. Then wonder if that ideal blankets the you you have always been.

Wednesday was next, kinder than the last. A graceful white Bengal tiger compared to a ravenous coyote. Yet both of them were predators, and both would devour you all the same, for you have always been prey.

Still, it was all an ending, as Thursday was where I regained my freedom, a temporary respite for Seina, but the beginning of a work day for me.

Hatsuko still requires me to sign those papers, and this is the only day I have free before the weekend rehearsals. So I have today planned, or at least the afternoon of today.

But for now, I sit, I loiter, I walk, I do nothing but think until the sun reaches and glides past its peak.

And what do I think of? I think of her, of her words, and of how they were never her words, but mine.

I do not have a death wish. To have that, my death must hold value, and for that to happen, I’d have to be alive.

But I am neither.

I do not even have a name, only a shade of one.

But if I were to have one, if I were to have enough meaning behind my life to earn a death wish, what would I wish for?

I suppose I would have to be able to dream to make a wish.