Library
Home / Tokyo Ever After / Chapter 13

Chapter 13

13

I’m in an imperial vehicle, complete with chauffeur and tinted windows. In the backseat, I wait for Akio, who’s popped into a convenience store. We’re on a quiet street. A crumpled newspaper lies on the sidewalk. It has my face on it. I open the car door, reach out, and swipe it up at the same time Akio reappears, black plastic bag in hand.

I scoot back in the car and he follows me in.

“I told you to stay in the car.” Then he knocks on the partition, signaling the driver to go. The car starts and we pull away.

My mouth is dry and I might have dragon breath, but still I speak. “Does that usually work for you? Telling people what do and expecting them to blindly obey?”

“Yes,” he states unequivocally.

“That’s ridiculous,” I huff, shivering. The heat is on, but I can’t seem to get warm.

Akio snorts, then moves, slipping off his sweatshirt. The white T-shirt he wears underneath bunches up and I catch a glimpse of his abdomen, watching his muscles flex and pull. Our eyes connect. He pulls down his shirt. I flush. “Here.” He hands me his sweatshirt.

“I’m fine.” I stick up my chin, cross my arms.

“Fine. I’ll use it to clean the vomit from my pants.” I wince. There are little speckles of barf on his jeans. What did I eat that was orange?

When he puts it that way, it seems like a waste of a perfectly good piece of clothing. No need to punish the sweatshirt and reduce its existence to a barf rag. I’m sure it would much prefer me. I slip on the hoodie, and it smells nice. Not like cologne but clean, like detergent. It contrasts the scent of my hair, which has picked up and carried the fried snail odor from the izakaya. So much yuck.

The black bag crinkles and Akio draws out a bottle of clear liquid with a blue label. “Drink.”

It’s cool in my hands and the label reads … “Pocari Sweat?”

“It’s a sports drink. Contains electrolytes.”

I unscrew the lid, sniff and take a sip. It’s good, with a grapefruit aftertaste. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. In no time, I’ve drained half the bottle. Akio pulls out a triangle-shaped package wrapped in plastic. Inside is sticky rice wrapped around ginger. “You should eat something, too.”

One look at the food and my stomach rolls—it’s not ready yet, maybe never. “No thanks.”

Akio shrugs and puts it back in the bag. We sit in silence. I drink the rest of the Pocari Sweat and watch the neon lights of the city catch Akio’s face and soften it.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“You were never lost. At least not to me,” says Akio. Cryptic much? I rub my eyes. The night has caught up to me. I am sober, tired, and in no mood for riddles. He goes on. “I put a tracker on you.”

My mouth hangs open. I bolt upright. “You put a tracker on me?”

He nods casually. My outrage grows even more.

“Where?” I ask, voice climbing in volume.

His eyes glitter. “Your phone.”

I drop my phone like a hot potato. Then I pick it up and thrust it at him. “Remove it.”

He casts the ceiling a pained glance. “It’s standard protocol.”

“Remove it. Right now.” I shake my hand in front of him.

Taking the phone, he snaps the case off. He fishes a little tool of some sort from his pocket and uses it to jimmy the phone open. He extracts a small metal disk from the guts of my phone, snaps the case back on, and holds it out to me. He arches a brow.

I yank it from his fingers. “Not okay. Line crossed,” I say, my words sharp. “Any more trackers?”

“None I’m aware of.”

My phone buzzes. Yoshi is texting.

Yoshi

Where’d you go?

Yoshi

Please tell me you’re okay.

Yoshi

I knew I should’ve gone to the restroom with you.

Yoshi

My God, did you fall into the toilet?

I tap out a response along the lines of It’s all good and I’ll see you tomorrow, then finish with thanking him for an awesome night. No need to get into the story of dumpster cage and my imperial rescue. I’d rather not relive the humiliation again just yet.

I stare at Akio for a moment. Anger still burning bright and hot, I say, “You know, maybe a tracker wasn’t enough for me. Might I suggest a shock collar?” Horrible, horrible inventions. “Might make things easier. That way you can just press a button and zap me whenever you think I’m doing something wrong.”

He grinds his teeth.

“Well?” I ask.

“You’re actually waiting for an answer. I thought that was a rhetorical question.” We glare at each other. Oh man, if my eyes could shoot laser beams. Then he runs an aggravated hand over his head. “I’m sorry.”

I blink and wait for the earth to swallow me whole, for strange shadows to streak across the sky signaling the end times. Did Akio just apologize? It takes a moment to register. He did.

I smooth my jeans and look out the window at the park we’re passing. A couple kisses under a cherry blossom tree, their bodies lit from behind by a street lamp. Blooms flutter around them like paper snow. The buds have just opened and already they’re dying. Mono no aware—it’s a Japanese phrase expressing a love for impermanence, the ephemeral nature of all things. “Sneaking out, using a bathroom, and a wrong turn hardly seems like the end of the world,” I say to Akio.

“You’re right.” His voice is even, calm. “Again, I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. I’m mad at myself. You could’ve been hurt and it would’ve been my fault.”

“Forget it,” is all I say.

When I was five, I decided I didn’t need training wheels anymore on my bike. So without my mom’s consent or help, I removed them. I rode for five sublime seconds sans helmet, then took an epic fall. I needed two stitches to the back of my head. The blood was copious and glorious, and so was my mom’s fear. Her only defense against such helplessness was to become righteous with anger.

We don’t talk for a while. I get tired of staring out the window but don’t want to look at Akio. The tabloid article brushes my thigh. My face is on the front—a picture of me the first day at the airport. Burning curiosity gets the better of me. “What is this?” I thrust it at Akio. He has no choice but to take it.

Surprised, he studies it for a moment. “It’s a picture of you at the airport when you first arrived.”

Akio must have had some training on how to deflect. The art of dodging. “Very helpful. What does it say?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.”

That bad, huh? Now I have to know. “You said you were sorry. If you want to make it up to me, tell me what the article says.”

“You’ll forgive me if I read you this?”

I nod.

Akio rubs a hand across his face. “It’s a newspaper called The Tokyo Tattler. It’s not considered reputable.”

“Noted.”

“For the record, I am against this.”

“Also noted. Now read.”

His sigh is beleaguered. “It reports on the clothing you wore at the airport. An imperial blogger was interviewed. She was of the opinion you should have dressed up more.” That hurts. “In addition, she remarks on your behavior, saying you were rude to your imperial guard during the restroom break and refused to acknowledge the crowd once outside. She paints you as snobbish and challenging.” Okay. That hurts more. A lot more. “However, a janitor seemed to like you. He’s selling the handkerchief you used. The money will help fund his retirement. It finishes by wondering why you haven’t been seen in public and suggests you’re being kept hidden away.”

I expel a breath. It’s worse than I thought. Actually, I didn’t even think that much about how I’d be portrayed in the tabloids. There’s the media ban, and I’ve been so focused on my father.… I’m dumbstruck. “Japan hates me?” I squeak out.

“Like I said, not reputable.” Akio folds up the article into a perfect square and sets it on the seat beside him. “People are always rooting for those above them to fall.”

“I didn’t ask for this. Any of it.”

“I understand.” Do I detect a slight softening of Akio’s sharp features? “But we cannot change the circumstances of our birth, can we?”

I suppose not. Plus I wouldn’t trade it or go back in time. So far it’s been worth it just to get to know my father, but wishes come at a price. This one comes in the form of public scrutiny. I rest my head against the back of the seat. “You know, I’m very good at a lot of things. Spelling, for example. In fact, back in the States, I was a hangman champion.” At his silence, I explain the game.

“You were best at a game that teaches children if they don’t spell correctly, they may be put to death?” I open my eyes and peer at him. His lips quirk up just a fraction of an inch. Akio is making a joke.

I smile back. “You’re right. We, as a society, probably don’t discuss that enough.”

His laugh is low and husky. Could we be getting along right now? Wonders never cease. I guess a heart does beat inside that cold, super fine chest. “Isn’t there any magical imperial wand we can wave and make them say nice things about me?” I ask. “Or better yet, maybe I should have an interview and set the record straight.”

“Sometimes, silence is your greatest weapon.” He shifts. “Famous Japanese proverb.”

“Really?”

He laughs again. “No. I just made it up.”

I cross my arms. “Don’t you think sarcasm is beneath you?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” He stares directly at me. “What I do know is these tabloids are beneath you. They don’t deserve your time and attention.”

I touch my chest. “Why, Akio, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He says nothing. I break eye contact. We’re in a tunnel now, shiny tiles on all sides. Not much to look at, but I suddenly find it fascinating. “I’m not sure.”

“Not sure about what?”

My smile is rueful. “Not sure if the tabloids are beneath me or not.” Most times, I feel so small.

Akio leans forward and captures my gaze again. He splays his legs, rests his elbows on top of his knees. “They are. Trust me.”

I make a dismissive gesture, but inside me, the rising tide of resentment against Akio eases. The tunnel stretches on. I cast my eyes skyward, tapping my fingers on the seat. Do I dare ask for more? Last time I tried to befriend Akio, he called me a radish.

“I am sorry.” His voice is quiet. “You know, a superior once suggested I am not the easiest person to get along with.”

I perk up and look at him. “You don’t say.”

A ghost of a smile. “I have a tendency to be stuck in my ways.”

The tunnel ends. I recognize the crumbling rock walls around the imperial palace. We’re almost home. I pick at my thumbnail. “I’m sorry I threw up on you.” If he can try to do better, so can I. I’ll start by setting my clock thirty minutes ahead. And I’ll stop comparing him to vampires and serial killers in my head.

“I’ve seen worse,” he says.

“In the police force?”

He dips his head, but doesn’t say anything else. I won’t press him on it. Maybe someday he’ll want to tell me. “It doesn’t seem fair. You’ve seen me at my lowest. I’m afraid the only way we can tip the scales back to even is if I know something embarrassing about you.”

He thinks for a moment, regards me through half-lidded eyes. “Not sure I should trust you.”

“If you can’t trust an imperial princess who constantly runs late and sneaks out, who can you trust?”

“Good point,” he states matter-of-factly. “How about this: when I was little, my school mates called me Kobuta.” At my blank expression, he says, “It means piglet. I had very chubby cheeks.”

My fingers curl into the cool leather seat. “Wow. I’m definitely going to need to see a picture.”

He shrugs. “I loved cookies. I’m not ashamed.”

The car rolls to a stop. The palace gate creaks open. “My mom calls me Zoom Zoom.” It seems only fair I share my nickname as well.

He half grins. “It suits you.”

I bounce a little in my seat. The car starts forward again. We only have a couple minutes left together. Can I trust him? Should I trust him? “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a princess.”

“I see,” he says. “You’re in excellent company then. I’m not sure I’m meant to be an imperial guard.” He’s serious. There’s a sort of fragility in his confession. I’m not sure, but I might be the first person he’s ever told this to.

The car stops and we jerk away from each other. I don’t know why, but it feels as if we’ve been caught. The chauffeur opens the door. I step out and cold air assails me. I feel suddenly alone, lost again. I turn, hanging on to the open door. “Thanks for saving me.”

The Adam’s apple in Akio’s throat works. He inclines his head in the deferential way I’ve seen others do with my father. “It’s my job.” I get out of the car and start to move toward the door. I hear Akio before I head inside. “But … you’re welcome.”

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.