Page 81 of Doubts of the Egoist
A broken mirror couldn’t be recycled either. Parts could be reused for trinkets or rearranged into modern art, but Yugo never cared for avant-garde, and broken mirrors brought bad luck. If so, wouldn’t it be easier to destroy the mirror? Crush it into dust so that nothing would remain, and watch the windscatter the diamond powder as a final farewell. Wouldn’t that be the most satisfying ending?
He thought so, then why the hell did he hesitate?
His fists clenched, crushing the still-burning cigarette in his palm. Fire scalded. The pain sobered him, but instead of telling Greg to stop the car or wrapping his hands around Kuon’s neck, he clenched his teeth so hard that red stained his vision. Something inside him just couldn’t let go.
He dug his nails into the cigarette burn on his palm, patiently awaiting the outcome of the bloody battle raging within him.
The black python of hate and jealousy coiled around his heart, tightening its rings with each exhalation, doing nothing to ease the growing bloodlust.
Red. Black. Red.Black. Red. Black again. An annoying, maddening flicker clawed at Kuon’s nerves. A high-pitched sound pierced his brain like a thousand needles. This must be what dogs feel when exposed to ultrasound. With a groan, he opened his eyes, and the world crashed down on him, overwhelming.
Gasoline… cigarette smoke… the roar of an engine… light and shadow… the howling of the wind going through the foliage… the scorching glare of the stunning sun. Sounds and smells came at him from every direction, assaulting his senses. Palms over ears, he shut his eyes, hiding in the shadows of his eyelids. The red and black flicker returned, drawing another groan from his throat.
His head bobbed with the car’s motion, a dull painblooming behind his left eye. Nausea kicked his stomach up to his throat. Continuing to lie down seemed impossible. He lowered his palms and propped himself up on one elbow, hoping gravity would return his stomach to its proper place.
The road had changed; he knew it by the scent pouring through the half-open window, washing away the sweet cigarette smoke—clay, wet wood, and pine needles. The temperature dropped, as if they had driven into the shadows after too long in the sun. Even the annoying flicker stopped. Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker hammered, and Kuon scrunched his face as if the bird had attacked his temple.
He opened his dry eyes, brought his fingers to his throbbing head, and found a hot sutured wound just above his temple. It was swollen, but he felt no indentations beneath the damaged tissue.
He blinked, unable to remember how he’d earned such an injury.
Searching for clues, he dragged his gaze around. Laced through the wood, the road was clothed in a dramatic patchwork of light and shadow. Shades of green and yellow flickered behind the window.
Looking outside without his shades hurt his eyes, so he turned away toward the black leather of the car’s interior. The rear passenger seat of the SUV, where he lay on his side with his knees bent and his bandaged feet pressed against the door, was too narrow for him to fit properly. The pressure in his neck from staying in the uncomfortable position too long gave him a headache.
Unlike Tobias’ “Batmobile,” Yugo’s car was modest and slim. Kuon couldn’t identify the model, but judging by theinterior, he probably wouldn’t give it a second glance. Perhaps that was why the Black Duke chose it, because Kuon doubted he was short of money.
Two people sat in the front seats. He spotted Greg’s upper face in the rearview mirror, and the sweet smell of cigarettes gave Yugo away.
What happened?
Kuon remembered parts of last night, but they were vague, jumbled, and more like disjointed pieces of a jigsaw puzzle rather than a chain of coherent memories. He glanced at his bare legs. The brisk breeze licked his calves, thighs, and balls, making it the most intimate contact Kuon’d had in a week. Yugo’s jacket was thrown over his torso.
He rubbed his forehead, recalling the stinging slap Yugo had given him, the monochrome room, a shadow blocking the doorway, the barking of the puppies. And then… Kuon froze, finding gaps in his memory. Nothing…
He rubbed his face with both palms, wincing at the pain in his temple.
Well, obviously, not nothing, or it wouldn’t hurt like hell.
He scrutinized himself again. The jacket draped over his bare body neither warmed nor covered him. Kuon wondered if it was there to protect him from the cold, or to spare Yugo from the offensive sight.
How did I get here in the first place, and why don’t I remember anything?He moved his toes up and down, examining his bandaged feet, then touched his temple again.Someone must have patched me up. Where did such a wound even come from? Did Yugo hit me?
Kuon glared up. If looks could burn, Yugo’s ear would’ve caught fire, yet he didn’t flinch.
Free will is a lie. No matter where I go—all roads lead to Yugo.The thought was demotivating, and Kuon hurried to focus on something else.
As if sensing the movement, Greg glanced in the rearview mirror. Kuon read an almost childlike confusion on his usually brutal face. Not wanting to make it easy for him, he asked, “Didn’t you say I was free to go?”
A muscle twitched under Greg’s eye. He glanced at Yugo, then brought his emotions under control. His voice fell flat in the tense silence. “Sorry, lad.”
Shove your sorry where the sun never shines…Kuon thought, shielding his photophobic eyes from the abusive sun with his forearm.
He needed to talk to Yugo but didn’t trust his voice to stay calm, nor did he know what to say.
Anger returned tenfold, threatening to erupt in a chain of bitter words, and Kuon clenched his teeth tighter. Yugo would never take emotionally charged words seriously, so he waited until his throat stopped spasming.
He rehearsed the conversation in his catatonic mind.
