Author’s Notes:
Warnings for this chapter: Adult situations and underage drinking. And cussing. (I totally pulled it off.) Scary, I know. Don’t let it bug you—it’s everywhere in Japan, as you can buy beer out of vending machines right on the street.
For those of you who don’t know, Hokkaido Prefecture is home to Sapporo-shi, the city where the famous beer is brewed.
If you’re curious about the Buddhist thing (how they’re generally encouraged not to drink), you could start by looking up the principles of Sila. If you are a Buddhist and you feel that I’ve done a poor job of representing you (I did my research, but I’m not a Buddhist myself, so naturally, errors are likely), please PM me and I’ll do my best to fix the error.
The handkerchief thing is normal. Trust me.
When Shimako says “Forty five,” She is, of course, measuring in kilograms, which is about a hundred pounds. She’s a small girl; you knew it.
Come on, go barefoot / you’ll be free / I’d like you to just talk / now, I’ll show you your truth.
No matter what, you got to believe.
Be Free
She remembered coughing heavily after her first sip. Her second was more controlled, but she had remembered thinking it tasted like…what? It was strange, really, how little what she was drinking mattered to her. They hadn’t really talked at all, since her mother had forbidden her to do such a thing not a week before. (Her mother was, after all, a perceptive woman who really did want what was best for her, or so she claimed to her friends.)
He only said one thing to her, really, and that was what she really remembered about the whole thing. He gave a gentle little smile after taking the bottle back from her. “Not your cup of tea, huh,” he had said. “That’s all right. Beer’s not for everybody, much as everybody would like you to think it is, you know?” Sachiko had not spoken back to him, and he didn’t seem offended by that.
In spite of the fact that he didn’t even really look at her, let alone touch her, (and she didn’t actually know what she would have done if he had) it seemed to her very nearly romantic all the same.
He had quit soon after that. She never heard from him again, and the next time she saw his face, it was in the newspaper as a neutral writing voice told her about how he had drunkenly driven his car off of a highway overpass into the face of oncoming traffic and killed four people. That had been three years later, and she had nearly forgotten him by that point, but for the rest of the day, she had felt the claws of a strange, icy depression dig into her ribs and her chest. That was really the taste she associated with beer—not a taste at all, but those cold, icy fingers, stabbing at her heart and at her sides.
She knew that if she told any of the girls in the hotel room about it, they would probably ask her to see a doctor, but for some reason, when Yumi passed her her first mug of beer and she put it to her lips (after some hesitation), the first sensation she felt was not the taste, but those fingers again, creeping up her pants, moving over her panties without so much as a hesitant stroke, up past her sides and onto her shoulders, where they rested and shoved her down, bending her back as best they could.
“Is it all right, Onee-sama?” she asked. She put a hand on Sachiko’s shoulder, whether by coincidence or some bizarre cosmic design exactly on top of the invisible hands. “If you want, you don’t have to—”
Sachiko straightened her back, and as she put her hand on top of Yumi’s, the icy, chilly hands vanished back into her past. “I’m fine, Yumi,” she said with a smile.
Yumi smiled back and then was passed her own mug—it had turned out that, buried underneath that enormous stack of self-toasting alcohol, there had been a small stack of six mugs to drink out of.
“Hey Sachiko,” Sei said. “What are you doing? You’ve got to toast with us before you’re allowed to kill your liver.”
It was such an unbelievably stupid gaffe that Sachiko had to stop from pinching herself on the spot; normally such a social error would be cause for scolding by either a parent, or, more likely, her manners coach, so that she almost expected it to happen here, now, in the middle of a cool, locked hotel room filled with her closest friends.
Instead, everybody laughed.
“I’m very sorry,” Sachiko said as sincerely as she could, and Sei winked.
“Don’t worry about it. If I had Yumi sitting right next to me like that, I’d be in a rush to do something out my inhibitions, too.”
Shimako said nothing to this, though a fifth grader could have thought of you have inhibitions? as a decent response. She did not stare at the ground, but she did not look at anybody, either.
Sei began filling mugs and passing them around, but when she filled one to pass to Shimako, she stopped, blinked, and then sighed. Yoshino looked at her, and then looked back at Shimako, and a second later, her face lit up in understanding, and she said, “I’ll take that one, Sei.”
“No.”
Shimako’s voice was very small, very delicate. Sei openly gaped, and it seemed to Sachiko a little funny that the first thing that Sei said to Shimako after several hours of painfully awkward silence was, “Are you sure?”
Shimako nodded a little timidly, and Yoshino passed her a glass.
“All right, then?” Sei said. “Everybody got one? Great.” She raised her mug, and everybody followed suit, even Shimako, who looked up. At first, Sachiko thought that she would just clink somebody’s glass, being in a rush to drink, but instead, Sei took a moment, and then smiled. It wasn’t a grin, as Sachiko was used to from her, but a genuine smile. She looked at Shimako, who didn’t look away, though she appeared as though she wanted to.
“To friends and whatever else we are,” Sei said, “for all of our highs and deep, deep lows, I wouldn’t drink with anybody else in a locked hotel room just off of a largely empty highway.”
She looked as Shimako as she said it. When she was finished, she did not drink.
Shimako took a second, and then said, with some difficulty, smiled back. Her eyes shone with…something. “Cheers,” she whispered, unable or perhaps unwilling to raise her voice any higher.
Sei reached across Yoshino—which involved essentially setting her chest on the girl’s lap—and clinked her glass with Shimako’s. She straightened up and clinked with Yoshino, and said, “Well, you heard the lady. Cheers.”
And as that sentiment echoed across the room, Sachiko echoed it right along with the rest.
Sachiko felt funny at first, and that had nothing to do with the still mildly nostalgic taste of the beer; she knew this because the funny feeling started before she drank (the second time): It started when she clinked her glass, first with Yumi, and then Rei, and echoed along with the rest of them, “Cheers.” And as she did, her voice neither stood out nor faded away; rather, it blended in, a unique ingredient in a common dish.
A man might have called this being one of the gang, but Sachiko knew very few men. An average girl might have called it being one of the girls, but Sachiko knew very few average girls; one of them was sitting next to her working determinedly on her glass of beer, trying to compensate for the fact that her glass was almost too large for her mouth with the fact that her tolerance for alcohol was abysmal.
It is always very difficult for somebody who has a very strong sense of self to let herself be pleasantly lost in a crowd of friends. Because Sachiko’s thoughts were very often turned inwards, because she always, always watched herself, in the least vain sense, and because blending in and being absorbed into a group of friends required one to look at others first; or rather, to simply not look inwards, being too absorbed with what was happening around, it was something which was difficult for Sachiko. It required a great deal of effort, and at first she was not able to keep it up for very long. Rei started telling a story about when Yoshino was very young, and Sachiko was not sure when to laugh. (Sei might have advised, laugh when the story is funny. Yoshino might have advised, never, if you want to wake up in one piece.) She didn’t want to be rude, however, so when Rei told them about Yoshino tearing down the block wearing nothing but a pair of training underpants and a smile the size of Honshu, and Yoshino responded by turning a deep shade of red, Sachiko didn’t laugh even though everybody else did, not wanting to offend Yoshino, who was clearly becoming angry.
But then something else funny happened: Instead of being angry, Yoshino fumed for a second or two and then shouted at Rei, smiling. Rei took it politely and then said something about Yoshino saying the same thing when screamed at by her mother that time to come in and put some pants on. Laughter again, and Yoshino drank another mouthful and turned her nose up at Rei, and Sei remarked, “I know who’s sleeping on the floor tonight.”
And nobody was angry. Nobody had a fit or smashed a bottle of wine or threatened to bankrupt a company or smacked anybody else. And Sachiko thought, what if I laugh at the next joke? Will it make a fool of me? How will I know when the next joke comes? There’s no hushed pause at the end of a sentence and then awkward laughter from the teller to inform me that the punch line has just been told.
What if it’s Yumi telling us? I know when she’s telling a joke.
But Yumi didn’t tell a story. Rei told another story, and when she told them about the bunny rabbits and where precisely they went, Sachiko thought it funny, and so she laughed, and so did everybody else.
Sachiko had laughed in public before. Often when this happened, people noticed; the most notable instance of this being Yumi’s performance early on in their
(relationship? Is that what we call this?)
(friendship?)
(what do you call this?)
This time, nobody noticed. It was expected. If it was funny, and it was, you laughed.
Well, almost nobody. Yumi noticed, and so she slid back so that she was sitting just next to Sachiko, and took another small mouthful of beer, and then she put her hand on Sachiko’s.
It got easier after that. Part of that was the alcohol; with each mouthful, Sachiko doubted herself less; trusted herself more than her training. Sometimes, she followed Yumi’s lead, and sometimes she was able to do it by herself; mostly, she did it by looking first at Yumi, and then at those around her, and then maybe forgetting to look inwards.
Because that was really what blocked somebody from having a good time with friends, who usually accepted other friends for whoever they were, rude or not, funny or not: Self-consciousness. Sachiko was not so multitalented that she was able to both watch her own behavior and relax at once, and really, Sei might have told her, that wasn’t the point anyway. They were getting sloshed (and rather quickly, Rei thought; lightweights, the lot of them—she didn’t bother to look at Shimako, who was still politely nursing about half of her first mug); the goal was to not worry about watching their behavior. That was what they did professionally, Sachiko moreso than all of them. It was impossible to do that twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year.
So what does that mean? Sachiko thought as they paused and Sei passed refills along—Shimako took a refill but did not make to drink it; Sachiko and Yumi as well, though Rei politely declined.
I would have thought that was obvious to somebody as bright as you, a voice in her head that sounded remarkably like herself said. It means you’re more than a Lady. You should have known that all along.
That sounds like a bucket of worms to me. A psychiatrist’s nightmare, or maybe his windfall.
Hell if it isn’t.
Hell if it wasn’t.
Maybe that was why it surprised her when, halfway into her own second, she very nearly did not stop herself from moving off of her perch onto the bed and next to Shimako. It began with the first of many trips to the bathroom, which was composed entirely of porcelain so white it made her head hurt.
As she dried her hands on a handkerchief, she exited the bathroom and started to make her way across the haphazard circle of upright girls who were all (with two exceptions) trying very hard to forget for a night how upright they really were. (She promised herself she would come up with a decent line to tease them with tomorrow as she stepped over Yumi, taking care not to knock her nose into her mug.)
(Where are you going? She’s that way.)
Sei stopped.
What?
(She’s that way. She’s not on the bed, so where are you going?)
But why would I need to do that?
(If you sit next to her she’ll let you.)
But why would I need to do that? She’ll forgive me if she wants to.
(She’ll hug you if you sit next to her.)
That’s absurd.
(She’ll kiss you if you sit next to her.)
You’re an idiot. I’m an idiot. You’re a product of my booze-addled brain, and I swear to God, I’m never drinking this much again.
(She’ll touch you if you sit next to her.)
Booze addled my libido too, that’s great. You’re hitting close to home, buster, and that’s going to just get you hit.
(She’ll fuck you if)
Sei caught Shimako’s eye and held it for a full three-quarters of a second—much as they had during the toast—before Shimako dropped her gaze, simultaneously dropping something heavy into Sei’s chest.
She’s not speaking to you, remember? Sei thought. A little grin at a toast is nothing to throw up banners over, not after…what was it she said? Something like, until you’re willing to speak to me, I can’t speak to you. What did she expect? She can’t poss
(go to)
piss off
Yoshino’s voice, shaky but not slurred, stopped Sei mid-thought, which was probably for the best. “You know where you’re going, Sei? I hope you haven’t forgotten your way around the room already.” Laughter, and Sei smiled easily, a practiced reflex. She wondered what she was doing—aside from slowing down, nearly to a stop, in the middle of a crowd of people. It was unlike her to lose herself that quickly; Sei did her Catholic best not to be an inward person, since inward people tended to wind up doing stupid things like freezing in the middle of a crowd of drunken girls to wax angst about a sisters’ tiff that would resolve itself like basically every other one in the history of the damn school. She preferred to think of herself as well-grounded and more or less certain of who she was; though, of course, that was just what she thought.
“Sei, would you please pass a bottle over to this end?” Yumi asked politely, stumbling a little at the word please. “I think Onee-sama would like some more.”
As she sat down, though—next to Yoshino again, much as her body compelled her to do otherwise—she couldn’t help but think, but if you’ve never thought about it, how the hell do you know who you are, you—
“Sachiko isn’t even halfway finished with her glass, you lush,” Sei replied with that wry grin that had taken her so damn long to get back that now she couldn’t believe she had to force it. “Now, if you’d like some more beer, I think you ought to ask me politely, Miss Fukuzawa,” she teased. “Have you found that you’re not quite brave enough to slip out of those teddy bears?”
Laughter. It made something inside of Sei move…not quite with pride, but with something very near it. She loved making people grin like she did, even if it did make Yumi go red and say, in a voice that was slightly too loud, “There are no teddy bears!”
“We all saw them, Yumi,” Yoshino said. “There’s no use hiding it now.”
“It’s all right, Yumi,” Sachiko said as gently as she could, putting her hand on Yumi’s. “Teddy bears are nothing to be ashamed of.” She said it so innocently that Sei could not resist giving a shit-eating grin, not even for an instant.
“On her panties?” Sei asked, and at hearing this, Sachiko did something that nobody had ever seen her do before, and gasped, jumped slightly, and went a very, very deep shade of red, and Sei knew she was spot-on.
Sachiko, you try far too hard to be innocent, she thought, and then, for some reason, found it very nostalgic.
But can you really criticize, when—
“Okay, but this is your last bottle, and then I’m going to change your diaper and put you to bed, Yumi,” Sei said.
“You’re mean,” Yumi grumbled.
“And you are oh-so-cute,” Sei replied even as she handed Yumi the bottle. “Or are you too grown-up to sleep in my bed tonight?” You’re going too far. Knock it off; that one was right out there, and you’ll—
“You’re being inappropriate, Onee-sama,” Shimako said. Her voice was probably louder than anybody had ever heard it, and it was thus rather ironic that most everybody in the room was intoxicated to the point where it didn’t have an impact on them, since their voices were all louder too.
It had an impact on Sei, though. Sei most definitely caught it.
This probably didn’t have the impact that it should have had—nobody froze like Sei did, nor did they all look at Shimako like Sei did. Yoshino was putting back her third mug by this point, and Yumi and Sachiko both looked fairly well shot (Sachiko’s low tolerance still surprised Sei, who wasn’t yet over the idea that the absurdly rich did anything other than drink and have sex with each others’ wives).
Sachiko glanced up, though. Sei saw it, and then remembered that Sachiko Ogasawara was a better fake than she herself would ever be. She never, ever, ever completely lost herself.
I’m sorry, Shimako, did you want first dibs on Yumi? No, that sounds bitter.
I had thought that was the idea? Too smart-assed.
My bad, Sister Toudou? Hell, I might as well just pop her one in the nose, and then fling myself out a window while I’m at it.
Hey, don’t let—
“I’m sorry.”
Dead silence.
Damn it to hell, why do I get all the attention? Shimako broke rank first.
For a second, Sei locked eyes again with Shimako.
What is this?
“Holy crap,” Yoshino said. “Who had a tape recorder? Anybody? Historic freaking event right in this little hotel room.”
Laughter unwound the tension, and Sei thought, Thank you, Hokkaido Prefecture.
“Yoshino,” Rei said. “Your language is as coarse as Sei’s.”
“Hey, why Sei’s and not something like sandpaper?”
“The metaphor only works if you use something infamously coarse.”
Laughter again.
I don’t think it’s the booze, though.
I think I just have good friends. God Himself couldn’t get them to keep their noses out of other peoples’ business, but it’s because they’re concerned, and they know when to back off and when to just…help.
Thanks.
Sometimes, I get anxious and stop.
Come on, go barefoot / you’ll be free / I want you to feel and see / it’s okay not to think too hard about it.
Really, that was the last straw. She had no real problem with the idea of the thing; in fact, it seemed to be doing wonders for Sachiko, who was laughing—and honestly, just behaving—more freely than Rei had seen her in years. She hated to take that away from her, but, while Yoshino roused a minute or two after, it still sent a terrified chill through Rei’s body when she simply dropped like that.
Not bothering to wait for a lull in the conversation, which was only about two-thirds coherent at this point anyway, Rei put on her best Kendo-instructor voice and shouted, “Okay, everybody, time to pack it up and get some sleep.”
Nobody objected. In fact, when Sei finally looked at Yoshino in Rei’s lap—now more or less roused, but with eyes which were not entirely focused—she sobered immediately and stood up, rousing the crowd along with Rei, pinching and nudging when necessary. “Up, everybody. If your roommate starts to have problems, come get me or Rei right away.”
“Rei or I,” Shimako corrected, her voice slurred slightly. She had apparently chosen the un-Buddhist path along with the rest of them—or perhaps, simply because of the rest of them.
“Yes, yes, you’re very good at Japanese,” Sei said, stumbling slightly as she nudged Sachiko and Yumi, both of whom giggled as Sei bumped into them, out the door.
“Are you going to be all right yourself, Sei?” Rei asked.
“I’m fine,” Sei said. “It’s my own damned fault for acting like a twice-damned idiot, drinking like a thrice-damned fool of a schoolgirl.”
Something showed on Sei’s face that Rei didn’t like. “Lay off of it, Sei,” Rei said. “We all made the same mistake. We wanted to have some fun, and I think we just went a little overboard, or maybe we’re just a bunch of lightweights.”
“You didn’t,” Sei pointed out. “You acted like a grownup.”
Rei shrugged as she helped Yoshino up from the spot on the floor which she had decided was a comfortable place to slump. “If I had asked you to be the grownup tonight, do you think you could have been?”
Sei sat down on the bed with some trouble, looking all the more bitter for it. “I doubt it.”
“You’ve done it before,” Rei said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Come see me if you need help.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sei said. “And I still think sandpaper is a better metaphor.”
“I’m telling you, you’ve got to use something people can relate to. If it’s the first thing that pops into your mind, it’s probably a decent metaphor.”
“Cute. Get your pile of a cousin out of here.”
Rei left, half-carrying Yoshino. The door shut, the click seeming to echo off of the walls.
The next sound Sei heard echo was the sound of a loud, wet burp; threatening and alarming, both at once. Sei looked at Shimako, who had found time to curl herself up into a little ball, her face contorted in fear.
(go sit next to)
“Oh, shit,” Sei said, all at once forgetting that she and her petite soeur weren’t speaking, much less
(touch)
touching. A weird combination of adrenaline and experience kicked in then, moving her feet one in front of the other instead of both at the same time, keeping her upright. She moved quickly, picking Shimako up under the armpits. When Shimako didn’t move, Sei whispered gently, “Come on, Shimako. I need you to help, or we’re not going to make it.”
Even from behind, Shimako looked green. For somebody who had never before so much as touched a drop of alcohol, this was probably terrifying, so Sei could understand where the girl was coming from—so to speak—but nonetheless, the girl started to move her legs, which were wobbly at best, but supported her weight, if only because she seemed to weigh next to nothing. This is not going to do right by her body. What the hell were you thinking? Shimako started to turn her head to look up at Sei, but Sei used her shoulder to nudge it away. “Keep your mouth pointed down, kiddo,” she said. “If you choke, then we’re really in it deep.”
They made it in about twenty seconds, with about ten to spare. Both spans of time seemed like an eternity to Sei. Into the white, white, white bathroom, taking care not to slip out of their slippers, and then Shimako essentially dropped to her knees in front of the toilet, flipping the lid up almost as an afterthought. She leaned into the bowl, and Sei knelt down beside her and gathered her hair up, holding it away from her mouth with one hand. With the other hand, she rubbed the girl’s back.
Shimako’s eyes were wide with fear. For half a second, she glanced at Sei, off to her side, and then a vile, horrid retch racked her body, and she contorted, bent even further, and heaved into the toilet. Her eyes stayed shut after that.
It was over in a few minutes. Shimako heaved three more times, and in between each, Sei flushed the toilet and used her handkerchief to wipe Shimako’s brow, which was coated in sweat each time.
After that, it was just Shimako breathing hard—panting, really—and Sei rubbing her back, still holding her hair back, for some reason.
“Got it all out of there?” Sei asked after a period that could have been a few minutes or more than an hour.
Shimako nodded, her eyes still squeezed shut, and Sei moved her head out of the way and shut the lid, and gave the toilet one last mercy flush. After the water had stopped circulating, she stood up and took Shimako’s hand and led her out of the bathroom, back into the main room, and sat her down on the bed, and then stood in front of her. The girl seemed to have picked up an unhealthy curve to her spine.
“Are you feeling better?” Sei asked.
Shimako nodded, looking subdued, not looking at Sei.
Sei sighed, and then sat down next to her, not close enough to touch. “Shimako, what were you doing? I don’t think I need to tell you this, but you’re not even really supposed to be drinking. Sila and all that.”
Shimako shook her head. “Nothing is set in stone.”
“How about this, then,” Sei said. “How much do you weigh?”
Shimako looked up this time, though not at Sei. She didn’t look troubled, just confused. She answered honestly, though: “About forty five.”
“You weigh about as much as my torso,” Sei said, privately wondering how truthful she was being. “How much did you have?”
“I don’t…really know,” Shimako said honestly, her words not slurred, but certainly moving out of her mouth more slowly even than usual.
“Usually, that’s bad. If this is your first time at it, a small person like you shouldn’t be drinking more than they can count.” It’s a wonder she didn’t pass out.
“It’s not that,” Shimako said. “I just…never really paid attention. I didn’t mean to. Whenever I thought about…it,” at this, Sei took another little hit in the gut, “I took another sip, and then somewhere along the line, somebody gave me a refill, and I wasn’t paying attention.”
“So you didn’t stop because you never dried up.” Yoshino should have known better. I should have known better than to give Yoshino a damn bottle.
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
Sei leaned back on the bed, stared at the ceiling. “Do you want me to tell you I’m sorry?”
Shimako shook her head. Sei saw it out of the corner of her eye.
“That would be dishonest,” Shimako said.
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“Then it would be too hard to hear.”
“You’re a tough girl. I’m the one who’s not tough.”
That was cold. What the hell is wrong with you? She’s obviously still shaken.
(if i say anything else shell get the)
right
(wrong impression)
“Please don’t tell me that. It’s not true.”
Why? I don’t understand it. Why would she just…do that all of a sudden?
(because you’re as blind as a bat)
(blind as a sei the metaphor only works if you pick somebody everyone can apply it to)
“You should get some sleep, Shimako. I can sleep on the floor.”
Shimako shook her head.
“You’ve got to be sleepy. Somebody else might not have considered it a lot, but for you, there’s a lot of alcohol sitting around in your body, even after that.”
“Please don’t talk about that.”
“Are you feeling sick again?”
“Would you come with me if I was?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s good.”
Silence. Then, Shimako said, “For a minute, I thought I was going to die. I’ve never felt like that before.”
Sei felt something blocking her throat. “Me too. I was…scared.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
“Hey now,” Sei said in spite of herself. “I really was scared. I hadn’t even seen how damn much beer you had put away. If I’d had any idea that Yoshino was doing that to you I’d have lopped her off at the ears.”
“I did it to me.”
“Did you want to?”
“Yes. It felt good. I’m not supposed to do it, but it was better than thinking. My father will scold me.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Probably.”
“Which part?”
Shimako looked at Sei, her face clouded. “Which part should I tell him?”
It certainly wasn’t what she said, but the look on her face broke Sei’s resistance.
(don’t you’ll give her the wrong idea)
You can take your ideas and shove them up your sorry ass.
(do you really want to let her in)
Yes. I don’t know why, and I don’t know if I can handle it, but I overestimated this girl. Maybe I just didn’t know it about her; that she was like the rest of us, that she had a limit somewhere. She’s a tough girl, and nobody doesn’t know that. When I walked with her that day, hand-in-hand, I had thought that she was just sad because I was leaving, but it wasn’t just that, was it?
Damn it all, I’m a lousy sister sometimes.
Sei stood, moved closer to Shimako, and sat again. This time, they did touch; Sei pulled her in, and Shimako laid down so that her head rested on Sei’s lap. From above, Sei could see only her profile, all graceful lines and thick, rich hair.
She really is beautiful, isn’t she.
Huh.
“You were scared too, weren’t you?” Sei began to gently stroke the girl’s hair.
“Yes. I didn’t want…it was hard when you left Lillian.”
“You got by okay.”
“I know I did, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard. I can deal with it. With distance between us. But with this…I felt like it put up a wall, and that was worse than all the distance in the world. I don’t know how well I would be able to deal with that. I don’t think it was very well at all.”
“You’ve never needed me to help you get through things.”
“You’ve never seen how you help me when you do. Neither have Yumi or any of the others. Nobody can do it by themselves, Onee-sama.”
She’s right, you twit. You give her her space because it’s what she seems to want and what you’re inherently comfortable with, but you can’t lie and say that that night, when you offered her chocolate and took her hand instead, that it didn’t feel nice. She cried because she was going to miss you, and only Yumi and Shiori did that before her.
That feels nice, doesn’t it? To know people care about you. Even if you know it, when they show it, it feels nice.
Yeah.
“Shimako,” Sei said, her throat a little tight. “If you want to, you can try again with…you know.”
“I don’t feel like it right now,” Shimako said.
Sei felt something fade in her. “I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t misunderstand, Onee-sama,” Shimako said, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, that old playfulness, so gentle and subtle that you barely knew it was there, entered her voice. “My mouth still tastes foul and I’m sure my breath is the same way, and right now, I’d really just like to sleep. But maybe…”
“Later.”
“After I’ve brushed my teeth several times.”
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“You’re also drunk, and I’m not steady on my feet either, though I’ve sobered since…you know. Maybe that’s the other reason. Let’s wait. For a while.”
“Sure,” Sei said.
You’re making a mistake, Sei.
Maybe. Maybe not.
The real mistake was how quickly you said no, though. As though you hadn’t even thought about it. As though it was the only thing you could say. Being surprised and skeptical at the sudden, unspoken admission about her sexuality was a shitty, shitty way to justify it to yourself.
“Thank you,” Shimako murmured, and then, a second later, she dropped off into sleep, as though she had just been waiting for that. A minute later, Sei finally felt the tug of the alcohol and exhaustion at her, and then she was asleep too.
This was probably the first time in many years that either of them went to sleep without brushing their hair or their teeth, or putting on some sort of nightgown to avoid wrinkling their clothes.
Maybe that was why doing it together for the first time was all the more special.
“It was always there, Yumi,” Sachiko said through a giggle. “The way it is, you’re too stubborn to face how solid it is, is what it is.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s two too many is’s is what that is, Onee-sama,” Yumi said, fumbling the keycard out of her pocket.
“I’m quite certain I know how many is’s are appropriate,” Sachiko said. “I know how much everything is appropriate for everywhere…ever…here.” She frowned. “Definitely.”
“You’re always so appropriate, Onee-sama,” Yumi agreed.
Well, you didn’t have to be so honest about it, Sachiko thought.
“Always?” Sachiko said. A moment later, Yumi realized that she was inserting the keycard upside down into the slot, flipped it, and started trying to open the door again.
“Always,” Yumi said. “Like, even when your insides are spilling out your appropriates you’re outside. No, hold on.” A click, and Yumi thrust the door open with a bit too much force, nearly toppled inside. “Darn,” she murmured as she caught herself. “I think I had too much.”
“Is that your first time doing this? No, hold on,” Sachiko echoed.
“No, I’ve drunk before, but I only did it this much once before.”
“When?”
“It was this much, you know?” Yumi stretched her arms out, showing Sachiko how tall her glass had apparently been—nearly as tall as Yumi herself.
“But when?” Sachiko giggled. Somewhere deep underneath the haze that encompassed most of her brain, she thought, what are you doing? Get hold of yourself, woman, you’re acting like an idiot.
No, she argued, you’re acting like an idiot. I’m acting like a Sachiko.
You’re not acting like an Ogasawara.
But I’m a Sachiko. So that doesn’t make any sense.
“Oh boy, it must have been…two years ago? Mostly I drink with my brother or Yoshino, only a can or something.” The door shut behind Sachiko, and Yumi flopped down on the bed—there was only one of them, because apparently this hotel is all about being that comfortable with whoever you were rooming with.
That doesn’t make any sense.
Neither do you.
To Sachiko, it seemed a compelling argument.
Sachiko sat down next to her—until the little corner of the bed gave out on her and she fell with a small thump to the floor.
Yumi snorted heartily, and Sachiko couldn’t help but erupt in giggles with her. “This is so stupid,” Sachiko said. “If my mother saw me like this I think she might die.”
“She’d be glad you’re giggling like a stupid,” Yumi said.
“That’s a stupid,” Sachiko countered. “I’m not acting like a proper Lady. Lay-dee.”
“But you’re more than that,” Yumi said. “You’re a Sachiko, right?”
Somehow, it all seemed so simple. “If only,” Sachiko said, and then, all at once, she began to sniffle.
Yumi dropped down beside her and immediately grabbed her around the shoulders. “Onee-sama? What’s the matter?”
“I have no idea,” Sachiko admitted as tears began to well in her eyes. “Just that the thought of you saying that makes me very happy.”
“Saying what’s the matter?”
“No. That other thing. About me being a Sachiko.” Tears began to creep their way down Sachiko’s face.
“That’s silly, though,” Yumi said, hugging her tighter. “What else would you be?”
“A fake,” Sachiko whispered.
“I don’t think you are.”
And Yumi was being completely, utterly honest. Even through her drunken haze, Sachiko could see that.
“Being a Lady isn’t easy,” Sachiko said.
“No,” Yumi agreed, strangely serious in spite of her earlier playful, tipsy attitude. “It’s not. You should be a Sachiko instead.”
That seemed, for some reason, impossibly philosophical to Sachiko.
I must have been a monk in my past life.
“Why is that?” Yumi asked.
“What?”
“You said you must have been…um.” Yumi frowned. “Forgot. Hey, you stopped crying.”
“I said that?” I did?
“Mmm.” Yumi laid her head down on Sachiko’s shoulder. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you say that, silly.” Yumi snorted again—had she ever been serious? Had Sachiko just imagined that? She began stroking the girl’s hair, finding it almost unbelievably soft, though she realized in the little rational part of her mind that never left her, even after a long round of drinking, that she was exaggerating.
Normally, she probably wouldn’t have said anything. She might have wanted to, but her pride would never allow her to say such an honest, dangerous thing.
But now…
“I said that because I got a beautiful petite sher…s…souer…sour…” Sachiko frowned, stumbling over the word.
“Soeur.”
“That. I got a beautiful petite soeur who can defeat everything my stupid, stupid self throws at her without even breaking a sweat.”
“Ladies don’t sweat, Onee-sama. You ought to know that.”
Sachiko cracked up. For some reason, that was just too much; not simply giggling, but out-and-out laughter, hearty and honest, in a way that she couldn’t remember doing before. Yumi joined her, and after a while, they just dropped to lay down on the floor, facing each other. Since they hadn’t turned the lights on when they entered, Sachiko couldn’t see the girl particularly well, though the moon reflected the light off of the water into their room fairly well.
“The bed seems like the more appropriate choice for laying,” Sachiko said, and then stood—with some difficulty—and dropped down onto the bed. A few seconds later, Yumi followed.
Now, her face was fully illuminated, slack and unconcerned, her eyes closed.
“Shall we go to sleep, Yumi?”
Yumi nodded, not opening her eyes. “Good night, Onee-sama.” A moment later, she opened her eyes. “Pajamas.”
Sachiko nodded.
It was in this way that Sachiko saw Yumi fully nude for the second time. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe something
(the mood)
else, but whatever the case, Yumi changed, only half-turning away, perhaps too tired or too drunk or too something else, in front of Sachiko, who did not look away.
Who couldn’t help but watch Yumi’s slim, pale body shine in the moonlight.
Who couldn’t help but feel.
“What did I just do?” Sachiko murmured as Yumi crawled back in bed.
“You didn’t change into your own pajamas,” Yumi said. She opened her eyes then and looked into Sachiko’s, and her own became a little wider.
With comprehension, maybe. With understanding.
With (agreement).
Her voice became lower, throatier.
“Your turn,” she said.
Sachiko had never undressed in front of somebody before, but that didn’t make it hard. In fact, nothing was hard now—she did what she wanted first, without thinking about it, and it was wonderful in that way.
She turned herself away from Yumi only half-way as well, not looking at anything as she changed, quickly, in about the same way as she always did. Only the confidence of routine kept her from tripping over her nightgown as she put it on. She tried not to think about it. Tried hard.
(the way the moonlight played over her collarbone will it do that for me)
(I looked at her breasts is that where her eyes are is she even looking)
(what is she thinking)
(is she asleep)
“You’re…very beautiful, Onee-sama.” Yumi’s voice seemed to come out of the dark itself, if only because Sachiko did not look at her. She could not remember precisely in what state of dress she was in when the girl said it.
Maybe it was when she was fully clothed.
Maybe that made it all the sweeter.
Maybe it was when she was fully naked.
Maybe that made it all the more lustful.
Sachiko sat down on the bed next to Yumi, who sat up.
“You’re very beautiful, Yumi,” Sachiko echoed. She did that often, and she realized this now.
And really, there was one important thing you did with beautiful girls, right?
Yeah.
Who started moving first was unclear. Maybe both of them had the same thought at the same time. It wouldn’t have been the first instance.
Sachiko’s hand came up and touched Yumi’s cheek. Yumi’s hand touched the side of Sachiko’s neck, her palm touching her collarbone, stroking with her thumb. It felt
(she did see)
nice.
Yumi’s breath felt hot on Sachiko’s face. It smelled of alcohol and nerves.
Sachiko wondered what her own breath smelled of. It must have been identical.
(this can’t be proper)
(can’t be right)
(can’t be anything)
At one time, that thought alone would have pervaded Sachiko, stopped her before she had even started.
Now, it didn’t even slow her. She was drunk, and it seemed like her inhibitions (and very possibly her common sense) were a distant memory, an annoying fly at her ear.
The first thing that Sachiko found was that Yumi’s lips were very soft.
The second thing that she found was that Yumi was nowhere near as shy as she seemed. Yumi’s other arm curled around Sachiko’s head, her hand on her hair, drew her near, so that their bodies touched.
(what am I doing)
(kissing your petite soeur)
(why)
(because you love her)
(not like that I don’t. I can’t. I’m to be married to Suguru I can’t do this this is not right at all)
(then what are you doing)
Sachiko didn’t stop.
They parted after a time. Yumi looked Sachiko in the eye. Sachiko saw something like fear, and she smiled and stroked the girl’s face, and then lay down. Yumi lay down next to her.
“What now?” Yumi whispered.
Sachiko drew her close.
“Sleep,” she murmured.
“I love you,” Yumi whispered.
“And I,” Sachiko returned. It seemed like the simplest thing in the world just then. “Love you. We can sort this out tomorrow morning.” That she was drunk then never occurred to her.
As it was, though, alcohol was a cruel master, with its hand in everything from memory to behavior.
Nothing was ever that simple.
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