You and I [Completed!]

Alone

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The button on the metal pane of the elevator blinked red over and over, syncing to the notes of Für Elise playing in the background. The constant beep stung the back of his eyes.

When he lifted his head from his muddied shoes, the sheen of linoleum-coated elevator wall reflected his face--a taut, ghastly face. Arata shook his head and slammed his palm onto the hapless button, willing the slow machine to slide up faster. It remained indifferent.

After a langorous ride upwards, the elevator halted at the seventeenth floor with a chink . Arata sidled out of the door, searched his coat pockets for his key and after three attempts of inserting the jagged end into the lock, finally pushed the door open.

A flash of white blinded him for a moment. Arata blinked, trying to get rid of the shimmering spots behind his eyelids. After a while, the lights mellowed and his blurred vision settled into a definite picture-- A wooden floored dais, a corner table with a vase full of wilting lilies and an old umbrella rack. The man flung his damp coat on the table and shuffled out of his shoes, kicking them away in annoyance when they wouldn't slip off. The shoe hit the corner of the table and the ceramic vase perched above toppled down, crashing into pieces.

"Mr.Miyama?"

Startled, he looked up to see a young woman standing at the end, peering at him through the dark. The white of her dress appeared to float in the blackness, giving her a ghost like appearance. He'd forgotten all about her.

"Are you alright?"she asked, shrinking back towards the drawing room entrance.

A thick silence fell. Arata heard her breathing, the tinkle of the garish bracelet she wore, rustle of her skirt and the sound of her footfalls as she padded across the floor. He heard the steps draw close and instantly a yellow brush flicked across the hallway painting it with light.

His wife stood before him, her eyes wide as the buttons on her dress, lips pressed in a taut line and hand placed on the switch of a mounted lamp. She stared at him without a word. The eyes though, expressed it all. They mirrored the look in the eyes of the girl he'd bumped into. Pitying. Mocking.

Arata felt trapped by her gaze, by her very presence. He wished she'd go away. He wished she'd disappear and leave him alone.

"Mr.Miyama--"

"Why? Why are you here?" He stepped forward, towering over her. A sharp prickle in his foot made his jaw clench, giving him a scowling look. In response, her eyebrows snapped together, eyes turned wider. Afraid. The gaze dropped.

"It was past twelve and you said you'd be back by seven. My phone dro--"she gasped, "you're bleeding. Stepped on the glass it seems."

Arata glanced at the red blotch on the ankle of his sock and then, with a start, at the face which had drawn closer to him. With its fine features it buoyed in a wave of colors. He stepped back to feel the stab in his foot rise through his spine and jolt him. He faltered and leaned against the wall. Quick, her hand came to rest on his arm, steadying him. The gentle and unfamiliar touch unsettled him, reminding yet again of the young girl in the alley.

Arata tore himself from her grasp and with an icy glare cast at the woman, limped down the hallway towards his room.

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Hanami stared at the man until he disappeared down the corridor. Her gaze then trailed towards the strewn coat, the upturned shoes and the broken vase. Lilies lay limp and crumpled on the floor.

She bent on her knees and picked up the shards, one by one, holding them in her open palm. Her stomach grumbled, asking for its share. The food she'd cooked remained in the vessels untouched. To think, she wanted to dine together. She'd made up her mind to strike a rapport with the man with the hope that they could live in peace and understanding, if not friendship, marital bliss or romantic love. His polite demeanor the night before, had convinced her that it was possible. She'd never been so wrong.

Holding the pieces, Hanami moved towards the drawing room, careful not to make a sound. When she passed by the room, she spotted Mr Miyama lying on the couch, feet lifted on the armrest and a hand covering his eyes. His hair looked disheveled, the white shirt had patches of sweat and wrinkles. Occasionally the man muttered something under his breath.

Hanami sauntered to the kitchen and deposited the glass pieces in a dustbin under the sink. With a single glance towards the pot on the stove, she turned away, switched off the light in the kitchen and went to her room.

Resting her head on the pillow, Hanami gazed at the sash of the window. Water streamed down the glass in silence, weaving a pattern of bright lines on the ceiling. The ceaseless pitter patter of rainfall had suddenly softened as if someone had pressed the mute button. There was no stirring, no sound- just the lonely dull thump of her heart.

​​​​​​Feeling a lump in her throat, Hanami closed her eyes and pulled the cover up to her face, waiting for sleep to come.

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