The Accompanist

Chapter 10: The Horrifying Truth

Warning: This chapter references topics (but does NOT explicitly state topics) that may be unsuitable for young viewers. Read at your own discretion.

After Mitsuo left the gym, Boutarou put his words into practice. Externalize the emotion. Eat. Rest. He let himself get angry. He built it all up. And then let it out.

He ran on the treadmill for an hour until his legs were burning and his chest was heaving. He laid on a bench and pressed 175 lbs until his arms were aching. He hooked his feet under the edge of the machine and did sit ups until his stomach and neck were at their limits.

But as he lay on the floor, tired and sweaty, his mind wouldn't rest. He cursed Katsumi from the depths of his being no matter how much anger he vented. If only he wasn't the one at her side, maybe he could have been happy for her. Maybe he could have lived a normal college life and gotten along with Sayuri. 

But there was one more sickening conclusion all of this brought him to.

Katsumi's piano playing ability made him jealous before he knew what a creep he was. He wasn't looking forward to Sayaka getting a new accompanist and being happy... He always pictured her suffering without him, coming back to him on her hands and knees, begging him to be her accompanist again. What he wanted was for her to appreciate his ability and realize she couldn't live without him. Not for her to find her own happiness. 

And to make matters worse, his stomach twisted at the thought of that one stupid word: boyfriend. For some reason, it never registered as a reality that Sayaka could even get one. He never thought she would. But now that she had one, now that he knew it was Katsumi, now that he saw him put his arms around her, on her waist, whispering against the side of her head... He wanted to kill him even more. 

It was the same thing... Over and over again.

"Who are you, and what do you want with Saya-chan?"

Boutarou's nose twitched. He rolled his gaze to the sandbag in the center of the room. Hauling his exhausted body to a standing position, he stared down the red cylinder like it was Katsumi's face and took a gloveless swing. "I'm her childhood friend, Utsushima Boutarou, you piece of trash."

"You know my little shortie?"

A powerful punch rocketed through the bag, gaining the attention of the other people in the gym. "Call her that again and I'll make you wish you couldn't speak," he muttered through gritted teeth.

She doesn't want you.

She won't let you near her.

Two more punches, his full body weight behind them, teeth gritting so hard he thought they would break. Then why was she wearing that hairclip? Why did she look at me like that? 

"Boutarou."

He punched it again, this time refusing to stop. He shouldn't have stopped. He should have saved her.

"Boutarou!"

One two. Triplet punch. Uppercut to the chest. He'd pay Katsumi back tenfold for whatever injuries he gave her. Fire burned through his veins. He just wanted him gone. Out of the picture. Away from her. 

"Boutarou?"

"AHHH SHUT UP!" Heaving breaths, he turned around, slowly forcing his tightened fists to uncurl. It wasn't Sayaka who was calling him... "Sorry Mitsuo."

The tall ghost-like Russian handed him his phone. "It's fine. Your alarm was going off. You left your phone in the room... Better not be late for dinner with Shiki."