Whispers of the South Wind

Chapter 4

"Shit," he muttered, glancing at the tomatoes resting on his counter with a tinge of regret. He was just about to start preparing lunch for himself when he realized they had gone beyond soft and were finally starting to mold. He should've known better than to let them sit for so long. Letting out a sigh, he gathered the small wooden bowl they were oozing and rotting into before dumping its contents into his trash can. Walking over to the sink, he glanced out the window as he started the water, quickly scrubbing the tomato guts out of the bowl.

A trip to the store was on the agenda for today anyway; he hardly had anything left in the fridge. Although his own garden was doing fairly well, nothing was quite ripe enough to harvest. He had heard about a local market that people in the area seemed to rave about. It wouldn't hurt to stop by there before making his way to the grocery store. Fresh fruits and vegetables from a local market always had a distinct quality compared to the supermarket offerings, and he had quickly learned to appreciate that here.

Turning off the water, he knocked the bowl against the sink a few times before flipping it upside down on the drying rack. Drying his hands on his sweatpants, he made his way into his bedroom. Stepping into his closet, he flipped on the light before frowning as he considered his options. In Japan, the Commission had always bought his clothes for him, supplying him with all the latest fashion. Most of it had been left behind, rendered useless due to the holes in the back of them. When he'd arrived here, he spent a lot of time studying the way men dressed, not wanting to stick out like a sore thumb.

Most men around here seemed to favor a wardrobe of t-shirts, flannels, blue jeans, and his personal favorite, cowboy boots. It had honestly taken some getting used to at first, but now he rather enjoyed the southern look. In a way, it felt liberating because it was a style he got to pick, not something that he was forced to wear for apperences.

He swiftly changed out of his ratty undershirt, opting for one of his favorite flannels. The fabric was soft, gentle on the scar that ran along his back and neck. Besides, it boasted the bonus of being one of his preferred shades of yellow, complementing the color of his eyes perfectly. Rolling up the sleeves to combat the late summer heat, he pulled on a dark pair of blue jeans, securing them with a quick loop of his belt. Finally, he reached for his dark leather boots.

The boots had caught his eye in the store, the little feathers etched into the rich leather drawing him in almost instantly. What were the fucking chances of that? He stared at them for a while, aching with loss as he contemplated the purchase. If he bought them, would they only serve as a painful reminder of everything he had left behind in Japan? Swallowing hard, he walked past them, pushing further into the store to avoid opening that emotional can of worms. It was the last thing he wanted to think about because, every time he did, the desire to bury it all and escape back into drugs overwhelmed him.

Finishing his shopping quickly, he couldn't shake the flood of thoughts and anxiety that coursed through his body. His addiction fucking scared him. It felt like a constant battle raging inside him, triggered by even the smallest things. The yearning for that high, that rush, was strong, but he knew it was wrong. He was finally on the path to recovery, and the last thing he wanted was to fuck all that up.

Fuck, he was going to need a meeting.

He hurriedly drove home, tossing his shopping bags on the sofa before reaching for his laptop. Clicking on his sponsor's name, he prayed for a response despite the time difference; he seriously needed to talk. Perhaps it was finally time to take Tomi's suggestion and find someone in America to lean on.

"Keigo," Tomi's voice came through the speaker, instantly providing a sense of relief. "Is everything okay? It's late here; I almost missed your call."

"I'm so sorry, Tomi. I'll work on finding a sponsor here, but I really need to talk. I came across something today, and it sparked that urge..." He confessed, a tinge of shame coloring his words. He felt like he was disturbing people because he couldn't summon the strength to say no to something that harmed him. What the actual fuck was wrong with him?