You and I [Completed!]

End Of Road

"Whisky or Scotch, Miyama?"asked Director Yoshinaka holding up a glass filled to the brim. "I'm loyal to whisky and so is Bekku here." He turned his gaze to the associate, who nodded in agreement and held up a full glass as proof.

"I don't do well with alcohol, sir."Arata said, ordering instead a mint soda.

"You haven't changed at all. It's fine to relax once in a while though I suppose it's for the best. Bekku, you should see how Miyama behaves once he is drunk."

At the mention of his name, the associate looked away from the young woman he'd been eyeing with interest and nodded to the director, unsure of what was being spoken.

Yoshinaka shook his head in resignation. "Learn from this man. He's been married for 30 years yet he doesn't mind giving a second glance to another woman...that's how men are. Fickle."

Arata merely nodded, unwilling to touch upon the subject of matrimony or anything close to it.

Bekku shifted in his seat, bothered by the comment. "The lady's been staring in our direction for quite a while now, director. It made me curious, that is all."

"Oh ho. Well then, it's certainly not at us old geezers. Miyama--too bad, you're booked."

"Mm, pretty ladies are usually quite persistent, gentlemen,"broke in the bartender who'd been listening in on the conversation. As he swiped the counter with a cloth, the man gave a knowing smile to Arata. "I think she knows you. Or at least wants to get to know you."

Out of curiosity, Arata turned around. His eyes met with those of Ayano Nijiima seated in the back of the bar.

"Are you a passionate man, Mr.Miyama?" She had posed the question to him that summer evening as they'd seated themselves in a private parlor away from prying gazes.

"Very,"he had answered looking into her eyes. They mirrored the mischief shimmering in his own.

Ayano had gazed at him over the rim of the wine glass with a smile tugging at the corners of her soft mouth. "I like that in a man."

A year later, she bowed out of his life, as unexpectedly as she'd entered, because passion was all he had.

'You are incapable of loving, or being loved,' were her last words, spoken as she left and they remained in his heart, like the lines carved on a stone.

Arata turned his gaze away from the woman, focusing instead on the gleam of bottles stacked behind the bartender. The air in the bar felt oppressive, humid and thin. He pulled his neck tie loose, letting it hang around his neck.

"I'll have a drink please." Arata looked at the bartender."A Scotch. Double. Equal water."

"I thought you were more stubborn than this." Yoshinaka said, raising his brow. He'd been too busy pondering over the liquid in his glass to notice the dark expression sweep across Arata's face.

"It's your treat Director. I doubt Chairman Miyama would put up a fight." Bekku slipped into a grin, influenced by the drink. The director narrowed his eyes, looking unconvinced. He motioned for the bartender, ordering for a bowl of smelts and another glass of Scotch.

Ice cubes clunked in the glass, drowning in a pool of scotch as Arata returned the drink to the counter. He looked at the melting blocks with a vacant expression.

The faint murmurs, soft laughter and the pattering of rain against the window sash mixed into a static noise which made his head hurt. Stupor brought on by alcohol smeared the world around him, much like the swatches of water colors on an artists' palette.

A whirlwind of vivid memories flashed before his eyes. Deep red of a silk dress slipping down thin shoulders. White of soft sheets crumpled by a night of love making. Distinct scent of rain, fragments of pointless conversations, sweet nothings whispered from one to another, the sound of her cello and tinkle of earrings. It all tapered into the distinct sound of clicking of heels.The sound drew close and then distant, as it passed by him and continued towards the exit. A bell chimed by the door, the click paused, door opened and closed.

​​​​​​Director Yoshinaka gave Bekku a glance. "Ready the car, we'll be there in a moment. Tell the driver to park closer- I don't think the boy can walk straight without bumping into a pole."

"Yes, sir,"replied the man, straightening his crooked tie, and stood up. After his associate was out of ear shot, Director Yoshinaka turned to Arata. "Is something the matter?"

"Mhm...?No."

"That lady Bekku mentioned-do you know her? She was indeed looking this way."

Arata shook his head.

"Then you are lucky I suppose,"he chuckled."You have a wife at home, don't you?"

The word 'wife' stung Arata despite the dazed stupor. It came with its own set of burdens.

"Yes,"he answered with reluctance.

"Then I hadn't quite expected you to drink that much, Miyama...It's late. She must be waiting, no? Come now, I'll drop you home."

"No one's waiting." Arata muttered under his breath and rose to his feet. He slipped his hand in his pocket, searched for a credit card and slid it to the bartender. He, then, turned to his senior, coat in hand. "Sir...?"

"Go on, Miyama. I have my tab to settle. Wait for me in the car." Yoshinaka motioned him to the door.

Outside the bar, rain fell cool and soothing on his feverish skin. It seeped through his clothes and dripped down his hair in glistening beads. People trotted past Arata, dressed in rain capes and trench coats. The yellow latex boots, red plaid skirt, blue of a man's satchel and the black of an umbrella mixed into a dismal blurred shade of gray.

His head spun, warping shadows and lights into bizarre shapes. Alcohol thickened his blood. His face felt flushed and the stench of scotch in his mouth felt disgusting.

When a man bustled past him, Arata stumbled back, bumping into a young woman. She was dressed in a miniskirt and leaned against the wall of a neon lit alley. She looked him over with interest, holding a lit cigarette between her dainty manicured fingers.

He nodded in apology. The young girl screwed up her lips.

"Lonely?"she asked.

Arata stared at her, taken by surprise.

"No need to be so shy." She reached out to touch his arm. "I could help you...at a price."

Arata stepped away. He despised the pity in her eyes, the mockery on her lips and the sickening sweet perfume that lingered around her. It reminded him of lost youth, of fading beauty and of a melancholy he couldn't quite put into words.

​​​​Arata turned away, pushed his hands into his coat pocket and trudged down the pavement towards a white Mercedes parked on the side. The girl shrugged and continued down her path in the lonely, rainy night.

✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽✽