He was tired. His legs were sore from walking for so long. He didn’t know where he was, nor did he care any longer. Lost in a crowd, he had not gone far from the Tokyo Metro, when he heard a car park behind him. He turned around, startled at first, and saw his mother in the driver’s seat, looking right back at him. A deep pit opened in his stomach.

  “Get in Satou,” she said.

  What were the chances she would find him on her way back home from work? He wanted run away, but that moment had long passed when she saw him in the crowd. Resigned to his fate, all he could do was obey. He got in the back-seat.

  No one spoke throughout the ride back home. Streaks of light flashed across his eyes as they drove down a long tunnel. Soon, it was night outside. He was looking out at the city passing by him, when he heard a voice, say, “Why did you run away?” He felt his heart sink. He looked up, slowly, afraid, and met his mother’s eyes, in the rear-view mirror.

  With a sudden sense of falling, Satou opened his eyes, and found himself lying on his side, in the dark. He tasted strands of hair, his own, in his mouth as he meekly pushed himself up, not with a start, but with worry and a beating heart, almost afraid to see what he would find, and he saw… No desk, no chair, no computer. His heart began to beat faster.

  Leaping out of bed, bare feet landed on a cold and unwelcoming floor. He made his way towards the dimness he saw beyond the dark and made a slit through the the window-blinds. A mild blue hue bled onto his face as he peered outside.

  In the first grey of dawn, he saw a bicycle trinkle down unfamiliar streets. Soon it was gone.

  He took a step back, back into the comfort of darkness, and then made his way towards the bathroom.

  A vague-silhouette greeted him on the threshold. The mirror-cabinet. This was it, he knew.

  With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, he pulled the string that turned on the bulb.

  The harsh light that came blinded him, yet his forced his eyes to stay open, and he saw,

  “Haahahh~”

  Statuesque, with a tomboyish mien, tousled jet-black hair cut-bob—he saw her reflection; her own reflection.

  A smile bloomed on her face; a beautiful charming smile, on her handsome face.

  “It’s real~ It’s—ah—I-I have no words!”

  Outside, it was dark. The moon was no longer there, but morning had not yet dawned. Mindful that she did not raise her voice, she leapt all over her room—around her bed, on top of it. It was an accident waiting to happen, and soon she had slammed her foot hard on the edge of the bed. “Aahk–” She crumbled in pain, groaning; but soon she was laughing, laughing at herself with tears in her eyes, out of breath. And so began her first day; her first proper day, in another world.

  Once her foot had numbed enough, she limped back to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. She cupped her hands under the stream of water and splashed it against her neck and her face. The icy coldness of it sent blood coursing through her veins. Freshened, awake, she switched the lights on as she came outside, dabbing her face with a towel. On the table, she saw food. Yesterday’s dinner, she realized. She had completely forgotten about it.

  The coffee had gone cold, and the food grown stale. She sat down and crossed her legs, and ate without much of an appetite. Suddenly, she remembered the hip-flask. It helped. Her throat stung from the alcohol, but it helped wash it all down. Is it even okay if I drink caffeine and alcohol together? She would find out soon enough.

  Her eyes were focused nowhere as she sat in silence and in solitude, listlessly trying to finish her meal. Her mind soon wandered, and it did not take long before she remembered the dream she had had—or a nightmare—and to hear her voice again—see her, looking right back at him—brought back the lingering fear, as well as a particularly painful memory.

  Ruined lipstick and mascara ran down his face that still throbbed from the pain. His mother had left home for work an hour ago, and he had yet to stop crying. What was it that he saw in such a pathetic sight? He remembered thinking he looked like a sad clown. If this was life, he remembered thinking. Something had come over him then, and he felt as though whatever happens next, nothing mattered anymore. Then and there he decided that he would run away from home.

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  An hour later he had boarded a train, with no money in his pocket and no destination in his mind. A stupid thing to do, in hindsight: If he wanted to run away, then he should’ve planned it out first. But he wasn’t thinking, of anything—at all. All he saw were the few images of his life, playing itself over and over and over again. There was no escape.

  He no longer remembered how long he had stayed there, sat beside the automatic doors; how many times he had heard the announcements for the next station announced. But he did remember what had brought him out: A pair of highschoolers had entered the train, and to see them act so lovey-dovey had caused him such suffocating sadness that he had to get away. On the next station, he got out. But why? Was it envy that he felt? Jealousy? No, that’s wasn’t it.

  When he saw the sun set, time reared its ugly head. What would he do once night fell over him? He had nowhere to go to. He fantasized about meeting a stranger, whose life would be just as miserable as his, who would bring him back to his or her home, give him something to eat, fall in love, start a new life together. But he knew his chances. He realized that this could end only in two ways: either he could go back, or it was suicide.

  This was not the first time he had thought such a thing, suicide. But it was the first time he had seriously considered it. Dying under the weight of a train seemed instantaneous, but he lacked the courage to throw himself over the rails, just as he lacked the courage to push himself off the edge, or hang himself. Lost in a crowd, barely aware of his surroundings, he had not gone far from the Tokyo Metro when he stumbled across his mother, just as surprised to see him there.

  “Get in, Satou.” She said, once they were in the parking lot. And once he got in,

  “Do you have something to tell me, Satou? Or do I have to ask?”

  Not a hint of guilt in that voice, when he realized she had no idea he had left home, he was devastated.

  Even till the end, you didn’t realize I planned on killing myself, that day, because of you…

  The cold and stale food was growing staler. The clock continued to tick on the wall. The knowledge that his mother was no longer be a part of her life brought him relief; but it was hollow, not one of victory. Why? Why did he feel sorrow? His own sentiment had caught him off-guard. Should he not feel happy? Or did he not hate her as much as he had thought? Had he not always longed to leave her behind, start a new life free from the shackles of his past?

  “It’s getting ridiculous.”

  A train rumbled above them over on an overpass.

  “I know you snuck out last night. Where do you go to, really? Tell me. I’m curious.”

  Far off in the distance, he could see home. He longed to be there, back in that high-rise: back to his room, back to Elyse.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s high time you finally faced reality.”

  She slid a report card in front of him. They sat facing each other in the living room; he still in his school-uniform.

  “Last trimester your grades were barely passable. Now they’re in the red. Tell me, what should I do with you?”

  The old memories renewed the old scars. No, he still hated her, his mother. The resentment was still there, in him. It had not died. And he would never forgive her for how miserable and worthless she had made him feel, all his life. When he was young, he never understood how peers of his age could adore their parents. Seeing such sentiment bewildered him. To him, parent was synonymous with authority, someone whom you owed everything to and obeyed, much like a jailor.

  Suddenly, he regretted not writing ‘your fault’ on a piece of paper.

  Even till the end, I couldn’t disobey you… Lash out at you, tell you how I truly felt about you.

  I killed myself. Think about that. Think how much you could’ve done differently.

  His inexplicable sense of hollowness, then, must’ve stemmed from the fact that he had grown so dependent upon her for everything—that to not have her by his side for once in his life had made him feel somehow, deprived. Yes, that must be it. She was all I had after all. No friends, no intimacy—nothing. Maybe he had a father when he was young, but he had no recollection of him. His mother as a rule kept no pictures or took any. To her, memories were a shackle; and growing up, neither did he have any grandparents, or even relatives. His mother disliked discussing her past, but from what little he had gathered, he knew that she had cut ties with her own family, long ago.

  “Misaki…” Satou murmured. His mother’s name. Misaki Hasegawa. “Misaki… Misaki… Misaki…”

  How unnatural was it to say her name out loud, as though he were invoking the name of a stranger, and not his mother’s, which was to whom it belonged to. Was this the first time he was saying her name out loud? He had never thought of her that way; by her own name. But the realization was true in more ways than one. “She’s not my mother. Not anymore.”

  Taking a sip, she felt the cold and stainless steel touch her lips, but no liquid.

  She shook the hip-flask, and heard some sloshing still inside. There was not much of it left.

  “I’ve never been so truthful to myself before.”

  —How liberating was it to put her repressed feelings into words.—

  “Did the alcohol somehow make me bolder?”

  Again, she heard her mother’s voice, saw her. Something clicked. Did the debacle with the officer somehow traumatize her enough to give her a nightmare? The train station, the weariness of traveling on foot, the fear of getting caught, and that dreaded question: ‘Why did you run away?’ By all means, that seemed to gave been the case.

  A nightmare. But not necessarily a bad dream. And what a dream it was. How vivid.

  Leaning back, craning her neck, she saw the time. 5:30 AM. A hairline-crack on its glass shone like a twig of light.

  Sun had crested.