Page 33 of Obsession of the Egoist
“Shit…” Kuon cursed, grimacing.
“Does it happen often?”
Kuon shrugged. Hands stopping, Yugo looked up.
“Kuon, move in with me. I can help you.”
“Help me? How?” Kuon got to his feet, anger spotting his face with red. Failing to process the instant change in the attitude, Yugo listened to the rushed tirade. “By fucking me and throwing me away? I want nothing from you! Stop acting all kind! I know the real you. What happened today was a mistake. It means nothing, as it didn’t have to be you. It could have been anyone! It was just an impulse, nothing else.”
“So you’d spread your legs for anyone? This is what you’re saying?” Yugo hissed, getting to his feet. A rush of blood slammed to his head. His hand flew into the air, ready to hit the disrespectful mouth, but he wavered and instead clasped around Kuon’s jaw, nails sinking into the hinges. Kuon paled, his fingers caught Yugo’s wrist, attempting to break the grip. A venomous knot of emotions stung his organs, and Yugo added, “You’re driving me insane. Why do you make me mad all the time? Why do you say things that make me want to hurt you? Do you enjoy testing my limits? Could it really be anyone?”
Silence flooded the room. Kuon’s Adam’s apple jumped. “Let go…”
“Watch what you say, Kuon. If anyone is fine for you, maybe I shouldn’t be so considerate.” Yugo released his jaw, then stomped out of the apartment.
SLUMPING BACK TO THE SOFAKuon sighed, his head spinning from the events.
He was furious. I thought he would hit me. He rubbed his hurting jaw.Why did he even come? Why did I kiss him, touch him… What an idiot. On top of that, I ruined Rick’s kitchen… Fuck.
Kuon rushed to his feet and probed his way to the kitchen. His palms fumbled over the counter. Everything was clean as if no disaster ever happened; only the broken kettle and microwave gave evidence otherwise.
“How am I going to explain this? Maybe I am a…liability,” Kuon breathed into the idle air. “Maybe Gray is right, after all.”
CHAPTER 9
RICK NEVER MENTIONEDthe broken things. He never asked what happened to Kuon’s hands and the kitchen, but the next day, new devices were installed on the kitchen counter, aggravating Kuon’s guilt.
Yugo had stopped coming, but every time Kuon had to use the kettle or microwave he couldn’t help but remember the searing kisses, the impatient, ardent touches, and his own cruel words that he’d come to regret.
When August came, and with it the date of his pre-surgery check-up, Kuon became sure Yugo would never resurface in his life again, but the thought didn’t make him happy.
THE NOISES OF THE ACTIVE HOSPITALlife grew louder with every step of the nurse as they left the elevator. When they passed the crowded waiting room, the echo picked up the footfalls of the nurse again. The wheelchair inclined as they took the left turn and halted.
“I’ll be right back, Herr Leiris.” A small hand landed on Kuon’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
He nodded, listening as the footsteps retreated. The white noise of distant voices lulled Kuon as the morning drowsiness intensified, but the sharp slamming of the door kicked him out of the falling slumber.
“Why are we being pushed back again, Dr. Klor? We have been waiting for over two years. How much longer do we wait? She can’t see, do you understand? It’s the second time!” The anguish in the woman’s voice alerted Kuon. “Do you have kids, Dr. Klor? She’s only six. She’s scared of the dark! Do you understand what two years in the dark means for a six-year-old? She can’t be left alone, even for a moment. Do you understand?”
“Frau Brunner…” The tiredness in the doctor’s voice was almost palpable. “I’m sorry. We do what we can here. As I’ve told you, Nelly is at high risk of transplant rejection. It’s better if we wait.”
“You just don’t want to take responsibility,” she prompted.
“Frau Brunner, with every year immunosuppressants and steroids develop and become more effective. She will have a better chance of successful corneal engraftment if we wait. Even with the most effective anti-inflammatory preparation, I can’t estimate her chances higher than fifty-three percent. Your insurance company refuses to approve the transplantation until she has at least sixty-five. Now, please, excuse me.”
Kuon dropped his chin, feeling like an intruder. The heavy steps that he assumed belonged to the doctor faded, but the sobbing remained close by. A few times he opened his mouth to ask if the woman needed anything, or if he could help, but the questions died, as he realized how stupid they were. He couldn’t even help himself, let alone offer assistance to others.
Helplessness—sticky and cold—glued his lips together. The need to be useful throbbed in his chest, reanimating in his mind all the reasons why he’d become a police officer, and his need to be strong, to protect those who faced evil in their lives. He hung his head, trying to return to the emotional numbness of a moment ago.
“Are you okay?” the woman asked, sniffling. “Do you need help?”
That’s right… I’m the one who needs help,he thought, but said, “I’m okay.”
“Say… how is it, not being able to see?” Her voice, soft yet throaty, trembled with emotions. “Very scary?”
He frowned, shrugged, but for some reason, told the truth, “Yes.”
“My daughter… she is only six. She…” Her choppy speech stopped as abruptly as it started. A shaky breath tore from her lips. “I’m a photographer. I keep a lot of chemicals at home.”
