Page 1 of Obsession of the Egoist
PROLOGUE
THE CAUSTIC SMELL OF ANTISEPTICirritated Kuon’s nostrils. Cringing, he rubbed the corner of his mouth with his fist and opened his eyes. The effort drained him of all strength and pushed a groan out of his throat. Despite just waking up, the lethargy dragged at his body and mind. His veins buzzed, and something toxic fermented his blood—something that filled his mouth with a disgusting medical taste.
In the gloom, unlit tube lamps were mere shadows against the low, white tiled ceiling. The bare window on his left glowed with dead moonlight. Streaming into the room, it licked the corner of his bed, coloring the white sheets with neon blue.
Where am I?The thought stirred at the corner of his numbed consciousness then faded into the white silence.
His senses stirred; his raw throat screaming for attention. It burned, and his swollen tongue stuck to the palate in his parched mouth. He tried to swallow, but his salivary glands refused to work, depriving him of fluid. Forcing his lips open, he winced as the skin on his lower lip broke. The metallic flavor of blood seeped into his mouth and mixed with the foul medical taste. He turned right wanting to spit or rinse his mouth with water, then froze.
A tall IV stand loomed over his bed. In the night, a pulse oximeter monitor flashed green, connected to his body via a clip on his right index finger. A guest leather chair took all the space between his bed and the white plastic door.
“Yu…” His mouth opened to call for Yugo, but he bit his lips closed in a heartbeat.
Right…
Shards of vague, misty memories surfaced in his cotton-stuffed mind. So distant, so unreal, as if the events had happened to someone else in the long-forgotten past.
Swirling snow, landing on his feverish skin … the pier stiffened in ice … biting frost, and Yugo’s cold eyes … the black muzzle of the gun … the warmth of the shaking shoulder under his palm, and the sweet smell of freshly baked bread coming from Mio’s body.
Have I died and now I’m in hell? Why the fuck is everything always white?
He took a deep breath and leaned up on one elbow to take a better look around. Sharp, nagging pain bloomed in his right shoulder, washing him in heat. Draining the remains of his strength, it pinned him down to the mattress.
A weak groan escaped his throat. It sounded so pitiful and miserable that for a second Kuon felt sorry for himself. Giving up, he rested against the pillow and swallowed a lump in his throat.
I had a gun. I pulled the trigger.Lifting a hand, he touched his head but found no wounds under his fingers. I didn’t dream about it, did I?
He recalled the gunshot and pain. The deafening reanimated memories ricocheted in his head, and he squeezed his eyes several times, trying to clear his thoughts and figure out what had happened. No reasonable explanation came to mind.
I must have died, and now I’m in hell, in this empty white room. I bet if I open this door, the same room will greet me on the other side, and there will be no escape from the mind-fucking, white nothingness. Sparks of agitation died in his soul as desolation took over.This is the hell I deserve for not living up to my principles… for involving other people in my business. I used Mio. I am the worst.
“Oh, fuck,Mio!”He sat up so fast that blood draining from his head darkened his vision. Acute pain shot through his shoulder to his arm and the pit of his stomach, forcing him to hunch forward. Drenching in sweat, he fought the saturating exhaustion. His shaking fingers fumbled across his chest as his brows drew together. Confusion morphed into amazement, as he discovered tight bandages wrapped around his right shoulder and collarbone under a hospital gown.
Jagged pieces of the puzzle clicked as the logical chain of events trailed in front of his eyes, making his lips twitch. Somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, a throbbing ball of powerlessness formed. It swelled then exploded. Rippling through his body, it pushed a gurgling noise out of his throat. The bed shook beneath him, and he fisted the sheets, anchoring himself to sanity. A funny feeling tickled his stomach; the room smudged as his laughter grew, and tears rolled down his temples.
He shot me, so I didn’t shoot myself! He really did... He wouldn’t let me die.He squeezed his eyes, when opened, rainbow circles stained the ceiling.He will never let me escape…
He didn’t know why he was laughing, but somehow his life was funny. His determination to become a cop and hunt down murderers, his desperate wish to protect people, his resolve to lead a normal life—the life his parents had been robbed of. Now all of that lost significance as realization descended over him—he no longer had control over his life. He didn’t own his body—Yugo did.Then why should I bother? This isn’t life, this is existence. The sooner it ends, the better.
Gone within a heartbeat, the laughter died, leaving his body void of emotions and his head heavy, hot, and pulsing with intensifying headache.
From the outside, a screech of tires reached his ears. The edge of a tube lamp caught the headlight beam; glinting in the dark, it trapped his gaze.
No thoughts, no feelings visited his head. The emotional vacuum replaced his whole being. It didn’t matter if Yugo killed or sold him. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He just couldn’t be bothered.
The light faded. Kuon let out a breath and closed his eyes, submitting to the growing fatigue. His limbs grew heavy, and he would have fallen asleep, but a rustle reached him from his right. He instinctively snapped his head toward the noise. The door swayed on its hinges, but stayed half-open, letting in the night whispers of hospital life and Mio’s slender form.
Despite his emotional paralysis, Kuon found himself smiling. Mio looked fine—pale but unharmed. The fleeting relief that Yugo hadn’t raised a hand to Mio warmed his blood. He propped himself up on a shoulder to take a closer look. Thin, beige jersey hugged Mio’s bony frame as azure eyes sparkled in the dark. Oddly bright, they reminded him of a vampire.
Mio stomped toward his bed; his hand gripped the white rail as he doubled over, catching his shallow breath. The smell of freshly baked bread washed over Kuon as flaxen hair veiled Mio’s face. Up-close, even in the gloom, Kuon noticed his flushing cheeks and dark, almost black lips.
It took Mio a few moments before he raised his eyes and pierced Kuon with a cutting glare. Kuon’s smile dimmed, anxiety twitching in his chest.Is he mad? Of course, he is… He must have felt responsible for my actions. I would have if I were him. He gave me a gun, he helped me escape, and I tried to commit suicide. Anyone would be mad.
“I never expected this,” Mio said, a blizzard in his voice. “I thought he would kill you.”
“M-me too…” Kuon stuttered as the guilt aggravated. He hoped that an apology and explanation would soften the sharp notes in his visitor’s voice but he couldn’t find the words. Throbbing pain behind his eyes intensified, mashing his thoughts. Instead, he offered a hesitant, apologetic smile.Was Yugo so harsh with him that now he hates me? Does he regret helping me? Of course, he does.
“Such a pity…” Weak, breathless words reeked with hate.
