Slam Dunk Fan Fiction ❯ Mama ❯ Mama ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

The rhythmic ticking of the clock was the only thing I was aware of, and my staring eyes, not seeing the lacquered surface of the bureau reflecting the moonlight and streetlight from outside.

It was night again. The blinds let in only a trickle of light; the sounds of cars and life filtering through the flimsy protection of the synthetic material. How long since I had moved? All I seemed to do these days were to brood, to pass the hours in silence. I don’t even know if I am awake at this very moment. The sudden breeze lifted my matted hair, drying the moisture on my cheeks.

Tears. Again. They had been a part of me for a long, long time. Memory stirred, and my breathing hitched a notch. Nothing had been able to prevent them returning, not for long.

I could pretend. I would not want to look at the coverlet, at the space beside me; that space there is a joke, just my cruel imagination. My husband could never leave, hadn’t left me at all, and I am yet again hallucinating.

Come inside, Kaede, aren’t you going back here? You’ll catch a cold standing there all night.

But this isn’t a hallucination. I wouldn’t be able to watch the play of moonlight on your luminescent skin ever again, as much as I couldn’t keep with the pretense that the truth is just a fabrication of lies. Your serene, dark azure eyes reflecting light, they’ve always mesmerized me. You’re ethereal, my husband, and how I love you. Yet you are not with me tonight, or the next nights to come, if there will ever be. You’re gone.

It’s as if you’ve died. Almost as good as that, I suppose. At least, there, you or I wouldn’t be to blame. In that scenario, excuses are unnecessary. I wouldn’t have to dwell on the thoughts, “I didn’t love you enough” or “I should have noticed, I should have spent some more time with you.” How lovely, to wash away the guilt from my hands like that.

But that wasn’t the case, and I know it. We both know it. What is the use of pretending? Pretense sickens me. We both know that, too.

I remember your scent, your body; your features that are incomparable. The whole world wanted you, and how you cared little for those who gave a damn. Talented in sports, men and women alike adore you. I was one of them, I admit. To worship you like a faithful lapdog, that I blinded myself in the hopes that the “love” that you showered me was real. Fooling myself that your offer of marriage had been because of what we mutually felt for each other. I cherish the times you held me, the moments of pure rapture in your presence; as if I was the only one in the world you had ever laid your adorable cerulean eyes on.

You would touch me, a small smile quirking your full lips, hinting something that is amusing. A knuckle on my cheekbones, tucking my apricot hair behind an ear, you would enfold me in your arms, and kiss me on the eyes. I yield, of course, to your caress. I love you, oh yes, and it is much pleasure to have one many wish to have … You would call me, saying my name in a husky voice. It was a treat to hear you speak, full of feeling; how you tell me how lovely I am, how you loved my brown eyes, how happy you are with me, how you wished these moments would never end.

As much as these were my part of my memory, they are illusions, as well, and, besotted fool that I was; I wrapped myself in them like satin and velvet.

You just waited for your father to be on his deathbed before you admitted the truth, didn’t you? I could see right through you, Kaede, now. But I was a fool then, a fool for love, and a fool for you. Despicable.

How could I hate someone I loved so much? A hate so intense that being near you tore me up inside? It’s like being near the sun; too close will scorch me, too far left me bereft and wanting. And as you told me bluntly me in that low voice, the voice I treasured, that you didn’t love me and you never had, I hated you then, I swore to forever hate you, and I hate you still.

I hated you for leading me on. I hated you for stirring these feelings inside. I hated you because I hated myself because of hating you. I hate myself because I am a fool. I hate you for making me see, while I yet remained blind. I hate you because I hate the love I still had for you.

I hate you, my beloved Rukawa Kaede.

I was just a doll, a proxy, a thing that would ‘have to do’. It’s like wanting to drink coffee when you’re ten. Your parents utterly condemn the notion, and they want you to drink milk. You drink green tea, instead, making the concoction so strong that you had to throw up afterwards. Different from coffee, but it would ‘have to do’, for the meantime. Just to have your parents fooled that you were satisfied and will comply with their wishes.

I stared at the place where my husband should have been sleeping, maybe sitting on, and anger flared anew. I saw my reflection on the mirror, and the wraith of what I was gazing at me with haunted eyes. I glanced at the quilt again; your father’s housewarming present for us, and hiccups ravaged me. I could make believe no more.

You had me deceived. I thought he was just someone who you bicker with, a comrade of sorts. The sparks that flew in the air when you two look at each other were of hatred. I never suspected that the fleeting touches, those meaningful glances, was just a mask. Oh, and the fights. I knew, I sensed, but I suppressed these thoughts. I was happy with you, why should I doubt?

You know, he was right. I remember hearing it from his own lips, your lover’s lips, once. You were having a fight, and the whole team was there. I frantically stood up when he threw a basketball in your face, but Ayako held me back. He accused you of things then, and how true they were. His tone was merciless.

You’re a cold, ruthless, calculating, selfish bastard, kitsune.

Yes, you are that. You bid your time, you wait, and you sacrifice, so you could get what you want in the end. Isn’t that it, my love? Agree with your parents, in the start, fight off a little so no one would suspect, and, when the chance is there, seize the opportunity with both hands and no qualms. Why should you care for the people you would hurt in the process? They are just pawns in a chess game. A pawn about to become a queen, on the brink of power, and you did not even bat an eyelash; a checkmate is a checkmate. Am I not right, Kaede?

Ironic that those words he spoke were in lieu with me, with our relationship. The redhead understands me and sympathizes, while you do not. How sweet the satiric undertone of everything.

Who would have thought? You, the stoic Ice King, and the redhead do’ahou: Mortal enemies and the stars of Shohoku Basketball Team; together, in every conceivable sense of the word. I could have laughed in anyone’s face if someone told me that. But I knew it for truth, after hearing it from your own lips, and seeing with my own eyes.

Why me, I’ve always asked. I did not question any more, but it was there, palpable, in the silence of our relationship. Of all the girls surrounding you, why was I chosen? Me, the newcomer. Me, the outcast. Me, the unwanted. Why would I attract the attention of such a detached, unfeeling superstar who only cares for basketball?

I know the answer now. It’s because of my reddish-gold hair, spun like silk. It’s because of my almond-shaped eyes, of a coffee hue. It’s because of the color of my sun-glazed skin, bronzed tan. It’s because of the shape of my face, my height; my almost boyish figures, in spite of the vivacious feminine curvature. It’s because of my trusting, open, and definitely childish behavior. It’s because I resembled him, your redhead Tensai, so much.

And our children. How it must have hurt you. Hana with her bright auburn highlights, smiling almond-shaped blue eyes, and milky skin. Kaede, your namesake, running to you excitedly, foxy brown eyes alight, slightly darker than his sister, lustrous black hair sifted by the wind. My babies, my twins. You gave me as much as that and I thank you.

They aren’t even mine, are they? They belong to your family, to the world of trade and business, where someday, they would rise and become powerful.

Hana and Kaede. How could I be so blind? As if that did not scream how much you want to be with him. Even genetics is so cruel to me. My children look like the children you would have with him. Granted that you chose me because I do look like him … Was that what you wanted, Kaede? Was that part of the plan? Was that why you do not regret them? Because they resemble you two so much, that it felt as if they were your own? You took advantage of me; you knew that I was so devoted to you, and that kept me from questioning your noncommittal answers, your aloofness, your lack of warmth towards me.

I remember confronting you about this, then. It had been years, and yet time could only wash down the imprints left by that fateful day. I was spoiling for a fight, half-wishing that you’d tell me how silly I am that I could entertain the thought of you leaving my children and me.

You were packing your things, and the first words out of your mouth were, “I would take Hana and Kaede with me, if that’s what you want.” I screamed, kicked flailed, trashed. I had to be sedated afterwards, but when I attacked you, you did not even raise your hands to fend me off. I demanded stiffly for the twins to be left with me, and you acquiesced graciously. How silly you have looked; I remember that your cheek was red with hand marks, temples bleeding with gouges of fingernails, while I stood there, teeth bared, growling like an animal, enraged.

Your father had released you from duty just before he died. You apologized to me. You told me that our time together was fun, but you do not love me. All that your father needed was an heir, you had one through me, and you were so sorry for using me like this, but the deed had to be done and had been done.

After all had been settled, papers signed, the old man buried, I was informed that I may stay with the family. Would I like to move to America with my twins? That would be most lovely.

You disappeared.

It had been years. Hana and Kaede are both teenagers now, sweet sixteen. That was your age when you fell in love with him, ne?

I still hope that you’ll come back, Kaede, my husband. You are my husband, no matter what the papers say. Even though Sendoh, your best friend, comes by every month, telling me that you are living peacefully with that redhead. Your former teammates drop by sometimes, inquiring about me: Kogure and Mitsui, Ryouta, and that understanding Ayako Ne-chan. Even as your cousin Fujima takes our children to trips around the world. They would return with tales of two men who were so nice to them, so kind, two men who looked like them.

Only the twins give me the strength to carry on now, and the thought that you will come back.

And yet, as I stare listlessly, listening to the sound of my tears, I realize that it might not be worth it, after all. Why should I bother?

“Mama!” Hana’s dulcet voice carried up the stairs. “Mama! We’re home! Mitsui-san is here! Mama!”

Come back, my love, my Kaede. I need you to come back. But why should you? Who am I to you? You won’t come back.

“Mama!” There was a flurry of activity in my room, footpads muffled by the dusty carpet. Meaningless, all of it. “Mama! What has happened?” Voices shouting. It should hurt my ears, but it was just a mere irritation. Curious, how very curious. “Kaede, get the car! Mitsui-san, could you inform the family, please? Mama! Shikarish’te kudasai, Mama!”

I need you, my Kaede. Please come back.

Yet I know you won’t.

I accept my fate.