ALL NOVEL 1 – Who Called My Name
- Who Called My Name?
Soft lips blessed my cheek with a tender kiss as a voice cried out, “AKANE!”
The voice exploded in my ear like a thundercrack. My eyes jerked open upon impact and gazed up at the ceiling in a daze. I rubbed rough crumbs of sleep from them as my heart beat a brutal tattoo. Sweat-soaked sheets clung like a lover to my bare legs. The muscles of my thighs twitched as a shivery thrill raced up them.
It was just a dream, I thought in an attempt to slow the painful percussion, But what was the rest of it? The air was rancid with sweat, but an undercurrent that lingered. Another aroma teased my nose. It was sweet and citrusy, but I couldn’t quite identify the scent. My cheek tingled from the sensation of the dreamt kiss. How could it feel so real? The thought was stupid. Foolish. I had never experienced the real thing.
A sigh slipped through my hungry lips as I thought, No one has ever called my name like that. Dim blue light danced mockingly in the corner of my eyes. I bolted upright and barely managed to bite back a curse.
“Ugh. I forgot to charge my phone again,” I muttered while snatching up the device. “At least it’s not cracked. 3:43 am. 3% charge.” With a disgusted groan, I kicked away my clammy sheets. AKANE still echoed in my thoughts.
Adrenaline pumped through my veins despite my desire to sleep. My bare feet found the cool floor and I staggered upright. Cool night air wrapped around my thighs. I shouldn’t have taken on those extra shifts. Shin splints pulsed up and down my calves as my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. I leaned over cautiously and fumbled around desperately for my phone’s charger.
A worried voice crept in from outside my door. “Are you okay, Akane?” it asked as the door slowly creaked open. “Do you need anything?”
“Sato-san! I’m not dressed!” I exclaimed as I leapt across the room in a single, manic bound and threw my body against the door. It slammed shut like a gun blast.
“Sorry,” whined Natsumi Sato. Her voice turned coy as she teased, “Sleeping in the buff, eh?”
My hand involuntarily smacked my forehead. This girl. Again and again. “I’m okay. Sorry for waking you,” I apologized tersely.
“Akane?”
“Yes?”
“You called me Sato again. Use my given name.” She sounded exactly like an excitable puppy begging for a treat.
I forced a rising groan down and granted her wish, “I’m sorry Natsumi.”
“Thank you,” trilled my incorrigible roommate.
“I’ll try to go back to sleep,” I said, desperately trying to keep my tone even, but my heart was happily fighting back. Why does her voice do this to me?
“Thank you for checking on me,” I gushed. The words slipped out far more emotionally than I had intended.
“Of course! Anything for my beloved Akane,” replied Natsumi in that teasing, sing-song voice that I knew all too well. As she tip-toed away I slumped against the door.
“What’s wrong with you Akane?” I mumbled while the voice from my dream echoed in my thoughts. The kiss still tingled on my cheek. Maybe…no. I forced the thought down like bitter medicine and pushed myself back on my feet.
Whatever. She’s just a gyaru tease. The thought stopped me dead in my tracks. That’s unfair. Clearing my head seemed pointless. My sheets were foul, drenched in cold sweat. I knelt on the floor, folded them up, and left them on the foot of my futon.
I’ll put them out to dry after the sun rises. Maybe I’ll have a chance to wash them tomorrow, I thought while knowing full well Natsumi would leap at the opportunity to aid me. My stomach dropped at the image of her happily handling my laundry. It had been two years since we became roommates. She never turned me down. How long until? A chill tingled down my spine. That would never happen.
“Well, I guess I’m not falling back asleep,” I sighed as I threw on a pair of reasonably clean shorts. A foul stench punched my nostrils as I lifted my arms overhead to pull on a shirt. “Wonderful. I need a shower.” The beginning of a headache tapped at both temples.
Once dressed, I gently eased the door open. My stomach tensed up as it let out a creak. Thankfully, Natsumi was a famously sound sleeper. It’s not an exaggeration either, but I had to wonder how she had known to come to my door just now. A lock would be nice. The balls of my feet barely kissed the ground as I tiptoed towards the bathroom and hastily shut that wonderfully silent door behind me.
A splash of cold water failed to slow my racing thoughts. The bleary reflection of a chubby young woman gazed at me solemnly. Even without my glasses, I could see the haunting aspect ingrained in her visage. “Apple, apple, head like an apple.” The words spilled out unconsciously and caught me by surprise.
Nothing could ever make me forget that taunting refrain from my childhood. When my face burned with humiliation they found fresh barbs to hurl. Plum, plum, she looks like a plum. My reflection blurred as hot tears welled up. If only it had just been words. I could have lived with that.
The pokes, prods, and pinches came next. Needling acts to turn the stout apple red. A dozen little taunting fingers became hands that slapped and fists that struck. Apple, apple, why are you crying? Twin tears streamed down my cheeks and kissed my lips with salted hate. The fists became sticks that smashed and bruised. AKANE, the voice roared, Are you okay? Stop! Stop it! You’re hurting her!
Shocked by the memory, I froze in place and realized that my hands were squeezing the sink so fiercely that my knuckles burst white. Silent sobs continued to rattle through my aching chest. Kimura-san, I recalled as I desperately fought back against them, That’s right…Fumiko had stopped them.
Her image flashed before me in perfect clarity. Perfect Fumiko Kimura with silky-straight midnight hair and eyes that never ceased to shine. Long ago she had heard my cries and blitzed over like an enraged tiger. Her fury evaporated in an instant once I was safe. Her porcelain hands gracefully guided me up and wiped away my tears.
Did I ever thank her? The thought triggered a senseless chuckle. I stretched one tear-soaked finger toward that pitiful figure in the mirror. Maybe she’d lift me up again. The mirror was frigid to the touch, a gnawing, hungry cold. I tried to pull back, but my finger remained frozen in place.
A second, violent jerk pulled my hand back, but the mirror warped askew as it continued to cling to my fingertip. As I pulled back further and further it stretched and distorted more and more until my trembling back brushed up against the bathroom door. Without warning the mirror snapped back like a broken rubber band and rippled under the impact.
For what seemed like an eternity I stood there dazed. The mirror looked unchanged. Finally filled with the courage of the brazenly dense I reached out once more and poked the mirror. Nothing happened. Great. Now I’m hallucinating. Am I really that sleep-deprived?
A great weight seemed to bear down on me. My limbs ached. My bones felt heavy. With great effort, I managed to wash my face clean with blessed hot water and limp back into bed. A much-needed shower would have to wait. The last thought to stumble through my mind before the darkness came was a desperate prayer for dreamless sleep.
Someone, somewhere cried out in words I couldn’t understand. Thump. Where are you? Thump. I sniffed at the air nervously. Thump. An acrid stench hung in it. Thump. Fire. Wait, fire?! Thump. A word cut through. Thump. I know that word? Thump. The next cry stole my precious sleep, and I bolted upright.
“Sato-san?! Turn that music down!” I shouted so violently that the words scratched up my throat and I rushed out of my bedroom to find that detestable gyaru grinning devilishly at me.
“Akane! Good morning,” she sang out in a falsetto while whisking away merrily at a bowl filled with a strange, yellow concoction. The sight of the mucous-like mixture brought a sneer to my face. As easily as a snake shed its skin, Natsumi shifted into a pout and asked, “Did I wake you?”
“Don’t worry about that!” I barked while dashing around the corner toward her precious stereo. “What if the neighbors complain? Again?!” My clammy fingers wrapped around the power cord and yanked the plug free without a second to spare. Sweet silence blessed our apartment.
“You know, you could have just turned it off,” she laughed. Nothing ever disturbed her. I couldn’t respond coherently to her carelessness. Unable to think, I stared at the unfathomably dense young woman that some fool named Akane had made my roommate. Calculations justifying the strictly financial decision flashed through my head and I sighed in self-defeat.
Desperate to fill the void, I muttered, “What stinks?”
“I’m making omelets!” she answered joyfully. Her bottle-blonde hair seemingly shimmered as she spoke. “First I cut up the filling. Red bell peppers, mushrooms, and green onions. Then I decided it would be best if I sauteed the peppers and mushrooms, and I did think about the onions but decided against it. Red or yellow onions would be good for it, but I don’t feel the same way about green onions. Anyway, I threw them on the stove, but everything was so quiet I couldn’t take it anymore and you weren’t up to talk to, silly sleepyhead, so I decided to put some music on. I had just started whisking the eggs when you scared me half to death with your yelling, but don’t worry. Your breakfast will be ready soon. And it. Will. Be. Delicious.”
The sudden verbal onslaught reduced me to a void, an empty husk, an absolute shell of a person detached completely from any semblance of reality. It felt as if I was hovering overhead watching someone else stand statuesque while a beaming would-be housewife berated their complete and utter lack of appreciation. I should be used to her energy by now. The thought came out slow as sludge.
Then it hit me all at once. The stench of oil-soaked vegetables simmering. The sound of eggs crying out in horror as they hit a piping-hot pan, the unbelievably detestable odor of bacon frying in a fatty pool of its own making. My stomach turned and lurched the worst possible response out of me before common sense could save my soul.
“I’m not hungry.”
Natsumi’s eyes narrowed into predatory slits that could send battle-hardened men into instantaneous panic. She fixed her cruel gaze on me. Oh, that’s right, I forgot she could do that, said a panicked voice in my head. Her usually bubbly voice cut through the air like a freshly sharpened blade. Goosebumps leapt awake across my body from head to toe.
“What did you say?”
I’d like to think I replied coherently, but in all truth, the only response I probably managed was a long wheeze similar to that of a deflating balloon.
“I thought so,” she continued in that eerie sing-song, “It will be ready soon, my dear Akane, but you should take a shower first. You stink.” Defeated by her starry smile I slumped towards the bathroom. In two years, Natsumi had never turned me down. The reverse was also true. Truly, I am a prisoner of my own design, I thought as steaming hot water rained down.