True

a ficlet from the Walking on Hell series.
by scribblemoose

I found out eventually, why you left me. I know you would never have told me, and now I understand why. It's taken me a long time to find out, but now…

I felt like my life ended when you left.

For days I just wandered around the apartment, remembering things. I wore the shirt you left behind, too big for me, your shoulders so broad and strong compared to mine. It carried your smell, your warmth. I cried, every day.

I let myself believe you'd come back, that it had all been a mistake and whatever it was that had taken you back to Tokyo would be undone after all.

Every month you sent me money. I resented it at first; it felt like you were buying me off, made me feel like a whore. Then I remembered my promise, to go to college, to make something of myself. And then the monthly gifts felt more like love.

You were always such a good influence on me, Aya. You made me think I was capable of more, so much more than anyone else ever had.

I remember the way you held me, gently, firmly, as if I was something precious.

You were the first person to ever believe in me.

So I went to College, and I worked hard. Very hard. I only went to the beach at weekends, always turned my assignments in on time. Well, nearly always. I did well, confident that you'd be proud of me.

I didn't date anyone for nearly a year after you left. And when Saito came along he had a hard time getting me to even think of him as more than a friend. But he didn't give up. He'd come back to the apartment to study with me and we'd stay up for hours talking. I told him all about you, Aya. How could I not? Anyway, he didn't give up. I guess you could say he's the persistent kind. He listened patiently, all the while, until one night I glanced across the room at him and I felt different. Just like that.

I finally believed you were never coming home.

I suppose I was young when we met. I didn't know much about anything, except that I loved you. I wondered, back then, if you loved me, at all. If things might have been different. If.

Months turned to years, and although I never forgot you, my life changed. I didn't get a respectable job after all, I don't really think I'm the kind. But I take art more seriously now, and I get by with part time work and selling the odd painting, and Saito is a teacher, so we're comfortable.

In the end he moved in with me. I felt bad at first, because the apartment was ours, but I couldn't have moved in with him, I'd have missed this place so much. I've never been anywhere I felt so much that I belonged.

I know you'll understand. Perhaps even be happy for me. I like to think so.

And then, few weeks ago, I saw you. You didn't see me. You were at the airport, with a man, and Saito remarked straight away, how much he looked like me. His hair was shorter, but there was something about him…

I stood and stared. You were just as I remembered, strong and beautiful, and you were kissing him, he held onto your hand like a lifeline, knuckles white, and I knew. All at once I knew the truth. Why it ended and maybe, just maybe why it started, too.

It hurt. I willed you to glance my way, to hear your voice one last time.

But you left me a long time ago, and I know you'd never look back.

I watched the two of you leave for your plane with a heaviness in my heart that was slow to lift. I knew then, at last, that it was over.

Now, lying here with Saito sleeping by my side, the pain is fading. You told me once, when I was too young to listen, that life was complicated. That you were complicated. That love is complicated.

And now I know it's true.