Red As Snow...(BWAM, Yakuza Romance, 18+)

Chapter Forty Two

I sit inside the bedroom of a private jet in the company of Tsumibito. His buff body rests between my spread-out thighs on his backside, the back of his head pressing gently into my abdomen, his one palm clutching onto book while the other he softly rubs against my left calve. I too hold onto thickness of book, one titled Black As Blood.

The atmosphere is one comforting, one that offers a sweetly solace. And yet my mind wanders back to the conversation I'd held with Karai only hours back. The lass had -yet again- warned me, told me to tread carefully in this game of love and death. She'd questioned me as politely as she could on what it was I had been conversing about with Joktan.

And I'd spoken, confided in her earnestly, told her the entire truth of my intent to escape my bounds. She'd listened intently for an hour or so, uttered not a single word till my speech came to a nigh. Of course she'd told me to utilize this opportunity for the purpose of escape, pleaded that I take my leave whilst I still could.

Drawing back to my reality, I drag in one long whiff of the air to vaporize all thoughts that seek to wreck havoc on my momentary peace. I flip pages of book once more. Tsumibito, though upside down, lifts eyes to my own, adjusts the glasses at the bridge of his nose, his facial features neutral, undecipherable.

"What is the matter, Rosa?"
Oh, how should I be honest with the man, speak my truth despite the consequences? And so, I opt for deception, coerce myself to smile down at his observing gaze.
"Thoughts, just thoughts. Nothing I shouldn't be able to handle."

He keeps mumm, does not speak his response. He doesn't have to, though. The way his eyes burrow holes into my face, the way those eyes rake and narrow a tad bit is enough a testimony of his knowledge that I lie. His one arm levitates, his palm feels for the back of my head. He lowers my face to his, presses a kiss to my lips. He draws back, looks upon me again.

"Joktan?"
No, not quite.
"Yes, I'm still working to sort through the emotions is all."
For short minutes, he maintains a hold on his quiet, deeply ponders over a matter. His gaze moves to look upon the book I clutch, subtle smile curving. Then, his attention switches back to his own novel.

"Which character do you fancy thus far, Rosa?"
It takes me a couple of seconds to internalize the query and I blink once, blink severally.
"What? Uh, Shimei? What, you've read this book already?"
The smile that tags on his lips seemingly widens.

Yet, his attention still remains trained on the words of the book he clutches.
"It is my novel after all, no? Tell me, why Shimei and not Agra or Zilpah despite they being of one supernatural kin?"
And I take a minute or three to simply ponder a reasonable response, to clear my throat in readiness for speech.

"Well, where should I begin, really. Shimei is the epitome of all that is pure and divine, Agra is the spitting image of all that is seductive, lovely, and sensual, and Zilpah? Well she is the embodiment of lustfulness, sultriness and desire. Need I go on?"
"Please do."

"Shimei was not always perfection, was not always holiness. Yet, as the eons continued to fleet, to evolve, she sought out truth, sought out to mend her brokenness, sought out to tread upon the path of goodness. Was she not the mother of rage, the demigoddess of all that was wrath, once? She signifies that indeed man can change.

Man only needs to proceed with purpose and deliberation inorder to attain true change, that it does not happen overnight or at the single snap of a finger, that old habits are like a second skin. And yet even this second skin can be shed with the assist of one's own determination as well as with support from loved ones."

And as I speak my thoughts, the man remains mute, intently listening, silently nodding head in quiet comprehension.
"And what of you? Whom did you like most?"
He takes time to internalize, takes even more time to conjure his response.

"Well, at the time I first read the book, I was a neutral party. But yes, I guess I can comprehend things whilst looking at them from your lenses," more quietness until,"Rosa, I am not asking you..."
But I shush him before the words can escape from past his lips.

"Tsumibito, I am scared for you do you not see? I do not wish that you be trapped in the confines of this life from your birth till your date of death. I cannot bare the thought of you dying by the bloody hands of an enemy or by gun or bullet or by knife or dagger to the heart from foe. I care about you."

Heavens, it is a battle to keep my voice serene, to keep my tone firm.
"I still die regardless, no?"
"Yes, you do. We all do. Death is but an inevitable journey we must all per-take, but by grace, don't you have a higher chance at a prolonged life if you do exit than stay? We could flee together, build a home somewhere far."

"And that right there is your truth. You cannot stick with me despite myself and I do not demand that you do, Rosa. But neither can I just up and leave. I have known this lifestyle for all of my living. I have obligations here. I breathe this life, I drown in it every waking moment of my life."
The anger, the hurt, the turmoil all bubble to the surface much as I work to numb and ignore their presence.

"Or maybe the idea of stepping out of your comfort zone horrifies you beyond imagination. Maybe you are petrified by the thought of trying and failing and falling back into the ways of your past. But better we attempt and fail and attempt and fail again and again till we get it right, than we let ourselves be buried in the murkiness of it all, accepting surrender, Tsumibito."

He lifts himself from my abdomen entirely, gets off the softness of bed, stands and turns to face down where I sit. I crane my neck, swallow the trails of bile that scorch holes into my throat.
"Tsumibito..."
"You cannot just strut your way into my life and expect that I bend to your will, Obal," cool, his tone is cool, tranquil.
Yet his words burn like acid to a wound.

"And what of you? Did you not do the very same with me? Can't take the plate you dish out, is it, Tsumibito? Did you not abduct me? If and that is if shit does transpire and I end up conceiving, tell me, should they be safe in your world? Should they be safe amidst the violence that blossoms and the chaos that blooms? Would you wish that they succumb to your fate? Jesus, why do I even speak of this future bullshit."

The laughter that bubbles up his throat is one that drips with sarcasm, it lacks a sense of humour to it. Yes, this is the other Tsumibito, the crazed of the two. There is a mix of feelings that bombard and threaten to strangulate. They choke the peace from my heart. I brace myself.

"Exactly, Obal. Why do you speak of this future bullshit? I am incapable of deliberately bringing forth a child be it a daughter or a son. I am damaged goods do you not see? I cannot bring myself to love myself to completion so how should I fully love them or you? Caring for someone does not equate to loving them, does it? I care for you, you care for me and that's just as far as it should go, no?"

I chuckle a humourless chuckle, I shake my head from side to side. Heavens, my chest hurts too badly to breathe properly. Grace be my salvation.
"Now I truly see. You fear new life, you fear abandonment, you fear the thought of loving and losing again and again so you cling to that which is familiar. I cannot blame you, it was never really your fault, Tsumibito."

The rage flashes, it darkens his features, it causes his jaws to tick, causes the single vein on his temple to pop. The man has always loathed pity, has always despised it. He refrains himself still, refrains his violent urges, turns and exits the chamber entirely -palms in pockets- leaving me to submerge in the fresh waves of agony that rock. And so, I lay by the bed, curl myself into a tight ball, willing myself -body and soul- not to drown...

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