“Kanemoto, good work last week.”

Kiyoshi called out to me just as I was getting ready to leave the Ha:Yami for the night.

“Hmm?” I questioned, pulling away from my bag on the chair and turning to look up at him.

“Miss Iko sent her thanks. She claimed you were very helpful.” He finished with an impassive stare, relaying this thanks without really meaning it.

It was 11:02 p.m. on a Monday evening and I was preparing to leave for my apartment. It’d been another quick night, all VIPs handled and satisfied, letting me check out earlier than usual.

My fingers strummed the phone in my pocket as I debated whether it was early enough to call up Emiko for a late-night practice session at Jonpexi. She was probably asleep at this time, and that nagging desire to act that stirred beneath my skin wasn’t yet selfish enough to force her awake.

Maybe if I were more behind in my acting, I might have. However, I was catching up, learning what I had to learn, steadily gaining at a pace even I hadn’t expected from myself. You never quite realise just how much you want something, until you start chasing it in earnest. Sure, you might convince yourself you want it, or that all you need is another week before you begin, and then you’ll catch up easily, but it's one of those things.

Effortless to think about, and impossible to do; until you do it.

“It was nothing, I enjoyed it.” I commented, prompting Kiyoshi to raise a questioning glance.

“Alright then.” He muttered, a little unsure how to continue, yet not wanting to leave it at that, “Have a nice night, Kanemoto.”

However, he didn't leave it at that, he used that name. Offensive weapon that it is, wielded against me in his perception that it is respectful rather than abominable.

He was gone in the next moment, slipping between the tables and out of the breakroom, his wide back the final part of him I saw before he rounded the corner.

I went back to my bag, rechecking I had everything. Phone, keys, ID badge, purse, poison… everything I needed.

The door smoothly slid open as I stepped out of the Ha:Yami and into the familiar alleyway outside, the humming streetlight above illuminating yellow and the buzzing orange of the neon sign of the club resting above this side entrance.

I veered off to the left towards the parking lot that sat behind the club. It wasn’t affiliated with the Ha:Yami, but its close proximity and frequent use by its employees and customers meant that most days it might as well have been their car park.

“Hey, do you know how to drive? You hit my car! What do you have to say about yourself, old man?” The voice of a woman rang throughout the parking lot, her tone accusing and infuriating.

An altercation had occurred, a middle-aged man, with short black hair and a smart navy blue business suit had accidentally scraped his car along the tip of the woman’s car, leaving a minor scratch in the paint job that fuelled her outburst like flaming oil gushing out of a broken pumpjack.

The woman, roughly the same age and wearing similar business attire but in grey, marched up to the man as he guiltily exited his car, her keys held tightly and a bulging vein on her head.

She was about to berate the man when he suddenly stood up to his full height causing her to startle, and then bowed deeply in apology, painting her face in shock.

“I apologise, I have caused you a great discomfort. I take full responsibility and will deal with any inconveniences caused.” He declared, causing the woman to jump back awkwardly as all her anger immediately dissipated in response to the man’s actions.

“I- Yes, good. Thank you, we should exchange insurance details, then.” She nodded, content that the situation was but a step away from being fully resolved.

The man straightened up and put a hand out, “No need. I will pay for the damages myself.” He continued, his voice firm and dependable, causing the woman to break eye contact for a moment to gather herself.

She had gone into this expecting a fight, a painful process to squeeze out the details of this man like water from a stone, but that all fell apart as he proved himself far too reasonable for a man unable to drive.

“Emm, well,” She halted, checking over the damages down to her car once more then continued, “I think around 80,000 yen should be enough?”

I slipped past the pair, my presence not even warranting notice as I took a seat on the low wall that boarded the parking lot opposite where the Ha:Yami was.

The car park was on the smaller side, fitting roughly 100 cars at max, which meant I was able to continue listening in on the conversation that had now shifted from confrontation to… something else.

“Of course, here!” He replied, digging out his wallet and handing over the moderately large amount without a second thought.

And as she was about to give her thanks, the man said, “You’re very beautiful.” letting his intrusive thoughts slip out from his mouth before either of them comprehended what he had uttered.

“W-what?” She returned, even more baffled than the man was, embarrassment creeping over the two of them as a pair.

“It's true!” He doubled down, already too far into no-mans-land to retreat now. “Would you like to go on a date?” He probed further, having already clocked onto her ringless finger and assuming there was no man at home for her either.

Middle-aged dating, what a predicament. But not uncommon, no one wanted to end up retired and alone. Being unmarried and out of work was a lonely existence, even for the most friend-surrounded person. So this type of thing, while definitely strange due to the location they’ve chosen, wasn't uncommon in more typical places, such as bars, work parties, or restaurants.

“You crash into my car, then you ask for a date?” The woman queried, attempting desperately to wrap her head around the whole thing.

I was watching more attentively now, studying their reactions, the movements of their facial muscles as they said each word, their body language as one shifts in nervousness, and the other loiters in place confused.

“Yes, you’re single, right?” He asked, totally ignorant of his social ineptitude.

She flashed a look of offence, the words he’d spoken a tad bit too personal to ask outright, “Huh? You can’t just ask someone a question like that!”

“So you are?”

“I- fine, yes, sure, I am single. Are we done?” She relented, placing a hand to her head in exacerbation at his clueless attitude.

There was still a blush on her face, lingering there like the heat from a freshly ironed dress. To be called beautiful, at her age? It might just be hollow words spoken by the man, but even then they were words rare enough that they still held a potent effect.

No matter how… bold he was, this was still something new for her.

I suppose it wasn’t new, but a return of what was once considered the new. She must have been called many kind things when she was younger, but youth enables careless thinking, allowing us to throw out compliments without thought, and then maturity steals that from us… making us conscious of our actions, too conscious at times. But, I believe age gives it back, as people get older, they start to care less about what other people think and more about how they feel.

It could be considered selfish, to focus so much on your own feelings you forget everything else. However, maybe some would call it healthy, to put oneself first is to ensure one has the room to also push others forward. The rope has slack, and that slack can help lift another up, a kindness given only after you have been kind to yourself.

I’m not sure which viewpoint is right, to put others first. Or to put yourself first?

I suppose it doesn’t matter, just as it doesn’t matter whether we stop dreaming or not.

But I found an answer to that in the end, didn’t I?

“One date, that’s all I ask. I’ll pay, it’ll cost you nothing. Just say yes, what have you got to lose?” He spoke quickly, sending a prayer of hopefulness up to whatever thing he worshipped. You could see it in his face, the way he moved, the twitching of his fingers, the wideness of his eyes.

It was a gamble.

No logic to be found here. Well, other than the obvious.

He thought she was beautiful, as aged and graceful as she is.

“Fine. One date, give me your phone.” She gave in, her defences overran by the man’s eagerness, boldness, and possibly… dopiness?

Maybe she thought it was cute?

He passed over his phone with a grin, and she put in her number, “I’m only free on Sundays, I work overtime the rest of the week.” She continued, not realising that the overtime was probably the reason she was still single.

“So do I, so Sunday it is.” He exclaimed, the pair suffering from the same bad case of overzealous working hours, but that was often the reality for people in their situation.

They parted after some more small talk, entering their cars and driving off in different directions, the ordeal having brought her to him in frustration, yet also brought them together in fear.

That tiny little human fear that huddles in the corner of the mind, hoping, begging, and pleading that loneliness stays far away from them.

My hand snuck down into my bag, searching for the familiar boxy feel of the poison. I grasped it, pulled the lid open and withdrew that intimate touch of a cigarette.

The lighter clicked, and I inhaled.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Satisfaction and fear washed over me, let it all go, the years of your life fade away as you’re left with nothing. You will never look like her, this scalpel of ash on your face, break it all, brick and mortar surrounding you, no purity of white nor mirror here to save you.

But still, you’re afraid. Watch it leave, years go by, but not of your life span, but of your youth. The beauty melts away like settled ice once the night ends, you will never be who you are today, you can try to go back, but you cannot even remain here, no matter how much you claw and clutch to stay stagnant, change will come.

The couple was gone now, leaving me as the sole inhabitant of this quiet parking lot. I wonder if they’ll make it; if something they did on a random wim will end up as love; whatever love even is, can that become love? Two strangers deciding to try, not out of genuine emotions, but because of the fear that they’ll end up alone once it is all over and done with.

Love has never made sense to me.

However, I think I do understand emotions, just a little bit. Maybe it isn’t love, and maybe it will never be love, but… if everything goes alright, then it might just end up as companionship.

And that, well, that does make sense to me.

After all, I’ve always had you by my side, haven’t I…

Seina.

“Seina?” A voice cut in, concerned and worried, “Are you… smoking?”

It was Nao, slowly moving towards me like a farmer approaching a wounded animal, afraid that one wrong move might spook it.

She has always taken consideration to ensure that I didn’t get caught up in the flumes when she smokes, never once getting close to figuring out that it was all pointless as I also smoked.

It was my secret, no one knew I smoked. It wasn’t done out of habit, or addiction, or because I was bored and needed something to do. I smoked because of the poison, because I wanted to destroy myself, to ruin everything my mother held dear to her. Everything she wanted from me.

It would never be hers, and I would never be her.

So why have I always been scared of its effect? The feeling as its ash clogs my lungs and strips away my youth like an excavator in a quarry, spitting pollution and rot into its surroundings as it goes.

I threw my cigarette onto the floor and stamped it out with my foot. As if discarding it would wipe its image from Nao’s mind, hoping that she would forget this and we could all go back to lying to ourselves about how perfect Seina is the exact same as me.

But the distinction has never been there for me, only for those on the outside.

“No.” And like an idiot I lied, a reflex, as if my denial would cause Nao to drop it, to pretend she never saw a thing.

Of course she wouldn’t, that's never been who Nao is; the only person at Ha:Yami who’s tried to get close to me, not Seina… but me.

This tiny void of a person that I am. Broken and shattered, forever impure and always unclean.

“W-when did you start?” And she spoke, painfully and troubled, her body frozen solid as her fists clenched together, fearful in all ways.

“A few years ago.”

I started shortly after I began working at Ha:Yami. It was an outlet at first, something to do to deal with the pain and worthlessness I felt at home. But it wasn’t home, it was an escape from my parents, all those different blurred apartments that I hid within, trading an idea of myself to false boyfriends all for a temporary refuge as I leapt between buildings till I finally found myself in one that I owned the deed to.

“How many?” She pressed again, us both knowing the answer, yet she was too afraid to hear it, and I too afraid to say it.

She wanted me to confirm that it wasn’t her fault, that I started long before I came to the Ha:Yami. That the idea to begin smoking didn’t pop into my head because of her.

“Six months after I came here.”

But it did, and I think she knows that. I had never thought of smoking before, and one night she appeared with a cigarette in hand, but that didn’t suddenly prompt me. No, it gave me the idea, but I started out of revenge, because I was lost, because I had no clue what else to do.

Because… I wanted to feel, even if it was decay slowly creeping into my body out of the tar and carbon monoxide inside a cigarette.

“W-why?” Nao’s voice was high and caught in her throat, and laced in between that single word was an understanding. One that said, I am at fault.

“I don’t know.”

But she wasn’t at fault. If it wasn’t a cigarette, it would have been something else.

“Seina, please tell me.” Her voice was calmer, more firm in its demands. But it was a facade, one inch away from breaking. I've known Nao for almost all my life, though my life has been short, the dead void that I am; so I can see where this is going.

A blade?

“It-” I began to lie, but it became trapped on my tongue, “I like the feeling. The-” I hesitated, the knowledge that this small truth would complicate things further, “The poison.” I finished with a quiet mutter.

A drink?

“The poison?” She asked, more confused than before, but slowly putting it together like the first brick on the last wall of a house.

A drug?

“Yeah…”

What did Takamura say? It was, You’re a better liar when you don’t force yourself. In other words, when you must lie, do not do it absolutely, sow some truth within the lie, just as a painter does not paint with one colour, you must not speak solely in lies. Place a dash of truth within them and it’ll all appear natural.

But he also followed it up with another phrase, It's the little things that catch us out. What he meant was, if left unnoticed, even a Pawn can take a King; which is why this lie is baked with the ingredients of truth, because she won’t notice the falsehood if her stare is stolen by the details of reality.

“I’m so sorry.” She continued, the voice no longer caught in her throat, but dying within it; shameful and regretful.

“Nao-” I tried to interject, but my mouth locked up on the first word.

“It's my fault. I did this, I encouraged it.” Nao spoke softly, you’d almost think she was whispering some special secret if her words weren’t so distressed.

“No, it isn’t.” Again, I tried to interrupt, this time my words came out, but Nao carried onwards regardless.

“Four years ago. You were just a child back then, I remember how young you looked, how new you were to everything. And I still smoked in front of you, I caused this. If I’d quit all those years ago like I said I would, or if I hadn’t been stupid enough to do it beside you.” She didn’t pace, or move her body from side to side in agitation or shame, she just stood watching me, her eyes not letting mine go no matter how much I attempted to break the contact.

Acting has taught me that people tend to move when they feel emotions, they express them. Anger came out in harsh stomps or convulsing arms. Sadness was slow, it moved like a wheel on ice, a lost wanderer in the frozen tundra who could only see what was before him, and never further than that. Happiness was the opposite, it was fast, joyful and curious, and its warmth would melt the ice and grow the plants. The movements were rough, only because you were too happy to think about what you were doing, the only thought was to enjoy the moment.

But Nao was still. She was completely and utterly motionless. What emotion was this?

“Stop this.”

“You never would have copied me- you must have thought I was so cool. But I never was, I’m a fucking idiot. I thought I was being kind, trying to keep you out of my addiction. I tried, I knew second-hand smoke could still kill, so I tried to keep it away from you. I just didn’t think you’d follow me, I didn’t think. I never think.”

Everything was contained within her voice. The jump in her pitch, the wind-down of her words, the fear on her tongue, and the guilt laced in her tone.

Ah, guilt. Of course, it was.

Guilt mixed in with responsibility.

“Nao!” I shouted, screamed, and roared.

“I’m sorry.” She meekly replied, finally listening to me, not just seeing me.

“It isn’t your fault, stop blaming yourself. I did this of my own accord.”

Was it really my choice? I don’t remember choosing any of this. And if I forgot, or perhaps it was Seina who chose it without my knowledge, then I have to ask, why would we choose this?

“The poison… what did you mean by that?”

Have I fucked up?

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I was referring to the satisfaction, the feeling you get from it. It's… relaxing.”

Should I have chosen a different truth to inlay within the grander lie?

“You’re lying to me.”

What is the grander lie?

“I’m not lying, it's an addiction.”

That I’m totally fine? That I chose to smoke for relaxation purposes? That it was never her fault, or that this isn’t simply the symptom of a much worse disease?

“The poison…” She said, testing the words out on her lips as she thought about them, “Seina-” She asked, and I desperately wished she didn’t, please stop, stop, and stop, “Do you want to kill yourself?”

Non-critical apathy… perhaps if it’d kill me, I’d be happier for it. But I am unable to die and unable to live.

I went to answer, but I stopped myself just in time. This wasn’t a question that I could answer, how foolish was I to even begin this conversation without her?

Beautiful, pure, clean, and perfect in every way. A million mirrors around and within her, no matter which way they face they’ll all reflect that same tone of untouched white.

Seina, you should have been here from the beginning, shouldn’t you?

An actress is always needed when one has to perform.

“Nao,” She whispered with a mellow smile, one that was traced with the tiniest amount of hurt, but only because of that question, “Why would I ever do that? Even you know just how much I love-”

A pain shot across Seina’s cheek- no, my cheek.

My hand jumped up and cradled my face, the red mark already settling in.

Nao had started crying, tears falling down her face like a burst pipe.

She had slapped me.

Nao had hit me.

Hit me?

“How could you?” She cried in between the tears and snuffles, “I thought I was your friend, but you-” She paused, her pitched voice once again catching in her throat, “You used work mode on me.”

I’m sorry.

Speak dammit it, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you weren’t thinking, or you didn’t mean to hurt her. It was all a mistake, don’t just leave her to cry, why can’t you do anything? Why do you always hurt the people who care about you?

“Why? Why would you do that? Am I a client to you? Do I mean nothing? Is that it? Four years and that’s all I am, another person to please? Have you ever seen me as more than that? Was I a fool for trying to be your friend?”

Tell her she’s not, tell her you’re sorry, that you enjoyed her games, the little times she’d lose on purpose so other people would have more fun, the times she’d invite you out already fully aware you had no intention of going. Tell her you wish you were closer, that you knew she was trying to be your friend all this time, but you were too much of a coward to accept it, clueless about everything, the stupid belief in your mind that you’re undeserving of even the barest of kindness.

“I must be blind, to have never noticed it. I hate it, you know. That work mode of yours, I can see how fake it is, a mask you’re wearing. But I let it go, made excuses that maybe I was reading too much into it, that it was all an act you did for that number one spot. I thought, surely you wouldn’t use it outside of work? But I was wrong, you figured out how to turn it off and on at the press of the button, that’s what you said, didn’t you? Does that mean you started using it outside of work? Is that why you decided to use it on me? Because I mean nothing because nothing matters as long as you get to convince people that you’re the best?”

Say anything, anything at all. Even if you just shout at her, or insult her, I don’t care about anything. Just apologise, make up promises, or grab her arm and never let her go again, wrap her in your arms and hug her for eternity.

“Goodbye, Seina.” She finished, walking towards her car, the door opening and her keys in the ignition, a hand moved, and the engine started.

I. Don’t. Care…

Just don’t let her go, please.

Her car turned a corner onto the street, she stopped for a moment, the rear lights of it highlighting her way. It took a second, an indicator switched on, its slow flashing warning me of what was about to come. Then it came, the methodical orange flashing halted, and she drove off into the winding veins and twisting bones of Tokyo.

I let her go.