Page 55 of Forever We Fall

They are as plain as the difference between summer and winter, daylight and dark.

?????

????????

Aishitemasu.

Anata o machimasu.

I love you.

I wait for you.

As the days pile into weeks, Arlo’s limp vanishes. His bruises fade. The zeal he had for the gym returns in full force. He’s always eating or training. Never talking.

In turn, I eat more and train harder. I push my body to its limits and then shove it a little further to keep the pain at bay, to attempt to sleep at night.

It’s as if we’ve reverted to our old way, to when we hated each other. Only I never hated him. I know he doesn’t hate me either, though it’s easy to feel as if he does.

Love is so much harder than hate.

If I hated him, I wouldn’t spend every hour of every day desperate for a glance from him, a whiff of his skin, a single word from his lips.

The longer he locks me out, the easier it is to pretend I hate him. I write letters to him, cursing his actions and telling him how my heart only beats in half measures any more. I explain how it’s his fault and only he can make me better. I plead and bargain in those letters. Page after page, I pour my soul in black ink. Then I rip each sheet into confetti, crush the pieces in my hands as I silently scream, and throw them away.

No matter how desperate I get for him, no matter how hard depression tugs at me, I will never do anything to hurt Arlo. Not if I can help it.

His feelings, his trauma, is real, and I will not add to his burden. No matter how much it tears at my crippled heart.

I stare at the bathroom door as I’m prone to do before crawling into my bed… alone. My side isn’t locked, but he won’t come through it. And his side is always locked.

Then an idea hits me.

Scrambling to my desk, I pull out a scrap of paper and write on it neatly.

?

Hon

Book

Then I run through the bathroom and squat down at his closed door. I press the paper to my lips and slide it under his door.

A smile tickles my lips for the first time in a long time.

From that night on, I write a random word on a piece of paper in Japanese script, the Japanese word written out, and the English meaning.

I don’t know if he’s throwing them away or keeping them. But doing it makes me feel at least a little connected to him.

“Mr. Kido?”

I wheel around in the crowded hallway to find Headmaster Bridgeport beckoning me over. I’m moments away from being late for my class, and it must show on my face.

“I’ll write you a note so you won’t be counted tardy.” He waves me forward.

“Yes, sir.” I weave through the last-minute shuffle and stop a few feet from the man running this place.

He’s fit in a short and sinewy way. I tower over him, which I’ve never really noticed before. Though I’ve been sitting when around him, he’s been sitting, or there have been more important things to look at.

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