Dirty, Dirty Liars [Mature/Editing]

[38]三 十八

The blanket and heat of the kotatsu felt amazing after my journey, but I was still on edge, running solely on anxiety and caffeine.

The tearoom sat at the far end of the garden between two Japanese maples, their crimson leaves fluttering in the breeze. It was new and small, only the size of a gazebo. The paper screen walls blocked the wind, but the open doors let in the light and the views of the estate, allowing us to see the kobun stalking around the garden out of earshot.

Ryuzo's demeanor was worrisome. He seemed uneasy, almost to a suspicious level. As we sat across from each other waiting as a woman prepared the matcha. She gracefully made each cup, then after a bow, took small, quick steps out of the room.

Finally, he looked at me. He was there, in those eyes, the flame of the man I loved hiding behind one hell of a shadow. The silence stretched to an uncomfortable length while I tried to find words. 

"Do you want something else?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"I remember matcha being your favorite, but you don't seem to want it."

I wanted to laugh. "The last time I was here, my tea was poisoned. I think I need a minute to get over that."

He hummed his understanding, sharing the same tone of distaste for his father's actions as me. "You do not have to worry about that anymore."

His father was gone. I hadn't processed that fully. I wondered if he had either. "So, you're the oyabun now?" I asked him.

". . . Yes."

"That's . . ." I couldn't finish my statement. That was many things. All of which upset me.

I tasted my tea, letting the creamy-smooth liquid scald my throat on its way down. The silence settled between us again, words hanging in the air like fragile possessions we were too afraid to touch.

"I'm glad you are here, Mina," he said finally. His words didn't sit right. My glare fell on the steaming cup rather than at him. "I've missed you. Painfully."

He reached for my hand but I snatched it away, folding both in my lap instead. I asked him again, "Why are you here?"

His eyes dropped again. He held his cup in his hands, staring into it as if it could tell him the right words to say. "I did not think we would see each other again for a long time. If ever," he said. "I hoped you would go on to be happy with someone else without us having this conversation."

"Happy?" The word came out in a half sob. "Do you remember what happened that night? How I found you? Everything I had to do to keep you alive?"

"Yes."

"After everything we went through, the pain and trauma of watching the love of my life bleed in my hands while saying his goodbyes." Tears escaped the way they did after my nightmares. I forced my voice past them. "But you expected me to be happy after that?"

He looked lost for words. "Mina . . ."

My tears were discernibly angry. "You had a chance to get out, but you stayed. Why?"

He looked at me with those melancholy eyes. Silent and stoic.

"Say something!" I yelled.

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That I did it to protect you? How does that change how I've hurt you?" he asked. "The last thing I wanted was to cause you pain, but trust me when I say the alternative would have been much worse."