Riku

I trudge up the stairs, alone, holding back the tears until I'm in the safety of my bedroom. Well, even that's going to be ripped away from me tomorrow, just like everything else has.

I should be grateful, happy even. Given a new lease on life, a place to stay away from everyone—that's what I wanted all along, right? My hand slips and the precarious pile of ramen bowls topples over as the door slams shut. Goro was right. It's a fucking mess. But he only saw the junk-stained floor, choked on the musty air—never saw the person crying on the bed. People don't see what's on the inside, and most won't bother looking. The words stab me one after another, each a sharp jab to my chest.

But how can you clean up a mess if that's all there is left?

I tighten my fists and let the pain push the anger down my fingertips. But it remains just above the surface, treading on the sick feeling swimming in my head. I look down and feel the sweet release as my hands unclench. The metal key has ripped through the paper, imprinted into my palm like a scar that will fade over time, but never the pain.

The words shift as I flatten the paper and try to read my father's handwriting. It's normally impeccable, each stroke the right thickness, but this time, the letters seem to be frozen in an eternal misery.

A quick search confirms the apartment's halfway across town. Guess I really am taking the subway tomorrow.

I wake up head pressed against the keyboard, a bit of drool gluing my lips together. The monitor flickers on, flash-banging my eyes as I snap awake.

My breakfast is a bag of fish chips I find on my desk and a bottle of Fiji water—not a bad combination for itching taste buds in the morning. Miyu shoves by me as I slink down the stairs, brushing aside the black hair that sweeps just above her shoulders. She's kept her hair short since the accident, like the ties we had before had been cut along with it.

"Riku. Care to join us?" I look up and see my father at the table, my mother beside him. Miyu joins them next to my empty chair, in front of which there's a bowl.

"No," I snap. My voice comes out harsh, scraping against the lump in my throat that's holding back everything. "I mean, the subway's coming soon, and I got food for the road."

I hold up the crumpled bag and water, a sad comparison to the steaming bowl of rice. It's not that I don't want to enjoy a meal with my family, but that I've forgotten how to. Afraid to mess it up again, to break the bonds so carefully built. Because only when they break do you realize how fragile they are.

My father sighs, his brows contorting like he can't find an expression to match his feelings. "Riku, I—"

The front door cuts his words off as I step away from the house, away from the life I wished could have never happened. It seems like I'm running again, my future shoved into a backpack, destination unknown. Running from what, though?

The blue glow of my phone illuminates my ghastly appearance, rampant bedhead and bloodshot eyes from researching my new home all night. It's a two-story apartment complex nestled in a quiet district. There's a small bed, a small desk, a small—well, it's a small apartment. But no food, and lucky me, I have to spend the little money I have on subway fares, too.

It's a long walk to the station, but there are my thoughts to accompany me—not that I enjoy their presence.

I scroll through my phone mindlessly, watching the people flitter along the streets. Some are chatting, others lost in their thoughts like me. Ping! The notification fades before I can read anything more than a big, fat F. Why do I still go to school? I sigh. I'm not doing it for anyone—not for my parents anymore, not even for me.

I laugh. I'm slipping in school, got kicked out by my parents, and to top it off, my mouth feels like plastic. Expired 11/02/2004. No wonder.

I toss the half-eaten bag into the trash by the subway entrance and join the crowd of sleepy people trudging to work. For once, I fit in perfectly.

Blinking signs overhead direct streams of people as they shuffle along the white, tiled floor, the roar of a passing subway occasionally drowning out the hubbub in the station.

I weave through the crowd, stop by an empty ticket machine, and watch it eat away the bills as I select my ticket on the screen. There goes three dollars, I sigh and tuck the rest back into my pocket. A moment later, the beige slip of paper pops out of the ticket slot with a satisfying click.

I glance at my phone—Saturday, 9:19—and then at the screens above. Line 2 will be leaving in one minute... The soft voice of the intercom fades, switching to the prerecorded safety warnings that run every 20 seconds. I hurry toward the platform, scanning the row of turnstiles for a vacant slot. There! Hiding behind brimmed hats and meticulous suits I glimpse the train, not a speck of silver paint out of place.

Line 2 will be leaving in 30 seconds... I curse, shoving past the crowd as I bolt towards the platform. Barely dodging a couple, I turn and see a girl, her silver hair whipping underneath a black cap, racing towards the train. And I'm right in her way.

My phone flies through the air as I throw out my hands, crashing to the ground as her shoulder slams into mine. The world goes black, but I awake seconds later with a piercing headache, the gasps and shouting pounding against my ears.

"Oh my god, are you ok?" The girl extends her hand and pulls me up, blood rushing to my head as I assess the damage. My phone, a few meters away, the screen splintering like a bullet to glass. Books and papers lay scattered everywhere.

"Yeah, I'm... ok." The word feels foreign on my tongue, something I remember but can't taste anymore.

Seeing my frozen state, she shoves everything into my backpack and hands it to me, along with my broken phone. "S-sorry about that." Her hair sweeps over her face, covering her burning cheeks. What do you mean you're sorry? My phone's broken, and my head fucking hurts. But I bite my lip and watch as she slips through the turnstile and onto the train.

Hm? I look down, picking up a wallet I think to be my phone at first. Is this hers? "Wait—" The deafening roar of the train cuts me off. I sigh. She's gone, along with my ride.

The grating wheels come into earshot a few minutes later, and before I can look away from the blinding headlights, the train shoots past me. For a few seconds, all I can hear is the rumbling amidst the blur of the train whipping mere inches against my face.

Just like the car that I had come too close to. If I had just taken a step back, and paused before I ran across the street, I wouldn't be here. But if I walk into the train, I won't be here any longer, right?

I walk forward, but the blur has already shifted to a shiny silver. Too late.

Collapsing against the seat, I reach for my phone, only to pull out the wallet instead. It's a smooth leather that caresses my hand as I run a finger along the binding. There's a few bills inside—no surprise—but something tucked in between catches my eye. It's a photo.

You can't be looking at other people's stuff, Riku. I chide myself, flushing. But I can't seem to keep my eyes away from the little girl, her mother holding her hand, and her father wrapping his arms around the both of them. Is this what family is? I think back to the girl. It must be nice, huh?

My phone vibrates angrily, and I snap the wallet shut, cringing as the photo crinkles. Ren's goofy face, tongue hanging out, pops up on my feed.

Ren: Hey, are you free to hang out today? We can drop by the cafe, y'know, get some snacks. But I also have a surprise for you. ;)

I reread the message, then a second time, as if I think the cracks in the screen are forming them. Why hasn't he moved on from me? Everyone else has, at least.

People say it's fine to feel nostalgic of the past, but I only taste the bitter, not the sweet, when I look back. Before the accident... Well, there are a million things I can say about that. Before my life was great. I goofed around with Ren every day in school, watched the fireworks with my family every year at the festival, and thought, so foolishly, that everything was going to be fine.

But now, I can only look at everybody else moving on, and at myself frozen in place.

Ren: Hello? Earth to Riku?

Riku: I'm here.

I groan. Even my voice sounds sluggish through text.

Ren: So... you're coming?

Riku: I don't know. I have to get some stuff done in the morning.

I place my phone down, hoping he'll give up, but the muffled whoosh gets through. Why does he have to be such a good friend?

Ren: Then come in the afternoon. I better see you at the cafe at two!

I let out a sigh, but this time, my chest doesn't feel any heavier.