Destined

19

Akasuki

25 years old.

Present, in Tokyo, Japan.

Iʻm worried about her. I was sitting in the car when I saw her walk out and kick a pole then suddenly Iʻm walking across the street and when I stop near her I hear her say, "fuck that hurt," as she put her leg back down on the floor.

"Iʻm sure it did." I say and I expect her to say something to insult me but instead she puts her face into her palms.

"You were supposed to wait in the car." There's no anger or accusation in her voice. She just sounds truely exhausted. I study her for a second, Iʻm not stupid I know she doesnʻt eat well. I know she barely takes care of herself.

Her hands are shaking and I put a careful hand on her shoulder, my voice softening, "hey," she doesnʻt look at me, "let's go eat somewhere. I know a great place"

She shakes her head and I put both my hands on each of her shoulders, walking her to the car, "well, Iʻm hungry. So weʻre going to go anyways."

She takes her hands away from her face and instead runs it through her hair. Something I noticed that she did often when she was stressed. She does it alot nowadays.

"Fine." She says and I go to open her door for her but she opens it herself. Okay then.

I hop in the car and when we pull into the Diners parking lot. Diners reminded me a lot of when I was a kid and my dad would take me to them when we lived in the U.S.

When weʻre at a table I finally break the silence, handing her a menu, "So what do you think? Fancy, isnʻt it?"

"This is Dennyʻs." She says with a bored expression, taking the menu from me and opening it.

I nod, opening my menu, "It doesnʻt get fancier than this, Ms. Kishimoto."

She shakes her head, "You might as well call me Yaz. Since we hang out more than I would like."

Yaz.

"Yaz," I say the name, testing it on my tongue, "you wound me. I like to think my company should be quite pleasant."

There was a slight tilt of her lips as if she was going to smile, "Iʻm sure you like to think that."

We ordered pancakes and two shakes. I suggested that we share a plate and she just shrugged. We eat in silence and I glance up at her once in a while. Looking out the window of the diner, there werenʻt many cars driving by and it seemed like a normal day.

Yaz is sipping her shake, hair slightly in her face. I reach over without thinking, brushing her hair out of her face with my fingers. Her eyes widen slightly as our eyes meet.

She swallows her food and I pull away, "your hair was in your way."

Just then a gunshot sounds and the bullet grazes my arm. It happens so suddenly and Iʻve already pulled Yaz down to the floor covering her body with mine. There are screams and I can hear Yaz breathing so hard.

It's a few minutes after I hear the car screeching away, that I pull away from Yaz. She's panicking, her breath coming in too quickly, and her hands shaking as she holds her stomach. She is crouching on the floor and Iʻm on my knees.

I look her over to make sure she's not hurt.

I grip her shoulders, "Yaz," her whole body is shaking, "Yaz, look at me."

I know she's heard gunshots, I know she's shot a gun too many times to count, but for some reason sheʻs panicking more than expected. She looks at me and there is fear in her eyes.

"Breath," I say it firmly, "I need you to breath slowly."

It takes her a while to calm down but when she does, she hugs me tightly. Iʻm shocked for a second but I hug her back.

Sheʻs crying into my chest, whispering, "I donʻt know what to do."

"I donʻt know what to do."

"I donʻt know what to do."

"I donʻt know what to do."

I hug her tighter to my chest.