Escapism

Their fingers laced together, and she sighed deeply. Her back pressed against his chest, she could feel his heartbeat and the warmth from his hand seeping into her body. He rested his head on the crook of her neck and breathed in, his long bangs falling over his eyes and brushing against her collarbone. "Sao..."

This scene had played out many times before, but the implications had been lost on her. A vintage movie played on low volume in the background, just noise to fill the space between them. He played with her hand, tracing the lines on her palm. His breath tickled her neck, and she blushed. His hand was shaking slightly.

"I really..." he groaned, stopping himself before he went too far. Since they got back from the love hotel, he couldn't stop his mind from running wild. Sleeping in bed with her again stirred something in him. He noticed her acting differently, too, and it worried him. He didn't want her to see his feelings. He was fine with how things were. Since the moment he laid eyes on her, he wanted her for himself. She was his type, and she was perfect for him, but he couldn't let her know. He would only be profiting from her naivety.

"Mn..." he wrapped his arms around her, his hand traveling up and down the curve of her hip. The tension was killing him. She was distant emotionally, but physically, she was glued to him. He'd tried to separate from her for a while, but she kept coming back to him, begging to cuddle more.

"I know you're curious about me," he said, feeling her skin passionately. Yoli seemed to melt into him as he held her. "I'll tell you everything if you want me to. In return, will you tell me more about you?"

"Yes, I want to know," she smiled. She tilted his chin up with her hand and looked at him. Their lips just centimeters apart, he could feel her warm breath. Soft, red, and pillowy- Masao's head was going to explode. He swallowed hard and shifted his hips uncomfortably.

"How much have I told you?"

"Not much."

"Um...well, I grew up on a farm. I lived out in the country with Ren and my parents. My parents were really good people compared to the losers here. They worked hard, and they held onto their traditional values from before the takeover. They sheltered Ren and me, so we had no idea what the world was really like."

"You were raised by people like that? I would have never guessed," she giggled, running her hand along his leg, which was bent beside her. He shivered from her touch.

"I don't remember them very well. It bothers me a lot...I forgot their voices and their faces. I almost forgot Ren, too. Ren was really sick when we were kids. He always had a cold or some bullshit. When we were little, I think I was 8, his sickness got really bad. We had to take him to the hospital in Central City. My parents wouldn't let me go with them. They wanted me to stay behind and watch the farm."

"They left you all alone at such a young age?"

"Yep. I was a pretty responsible kid, and they trusted me a lot. After they left, though, some people from COT came to seize our land, and they took me back to Central City with them. By the time I got there, my parents had already been killed by a street gang."

His voice grew heavy as he spoke, and he stopped. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow. That vile feeling that came up when he thought of them was what he tried to avoid. He didn't talk about them, and he didn't try to remember them. It was more painful than even his heart.

"I stayed in a protected facility for a while...and then they told me my parents were dead. I didn't know where Ren was, and honestly, I thought he was dead too," he brushed his fingers through her hair to calm himself. "I couldn't stand living in their stupid storage building, so I escaped and started living on the streets. That's where I toughened up."

He loved how she listened to him and didn't interrupt. His story was meaningful to her, and for some reason, she seemed to hang on every word.

"I wasn't built for that life, but I ended up living it anyway. There are some really rough people out there. They aren't all bad, though. I met lots of strange guys who let me live with them, provided for me, and taught me a lot about life. There was one man who would only let me call him "King of Storms", and he was a character," Masao laughed. "He was a crazy bastard with long white hair, and he was obsessed with collecting historical stuff, things from hundreds of years ago."

"He was into 2000s stuff, but he had some shit from the 1900s too. He's the one who got me into stuff from the '60s. I was always jealous of his collection. I lived with that guy for about 6 years, and at some point, he started to feel like family to me. He didn't have any relatives or anything, so I was like a son to him. He showed me how to smoke, and he gave me some alcohol, but I found out I didn't like it pretty quick."

Yoli was disturbed listening to his story, and he could tell. She probably hadn't thought that he had lived such a weird life.

"He died when I was 15, so I secured his place and made it my own. That also meant I "inherited" his collection, heh. After that, I was looking for something else to do. I hated COT for what they did to me- I still do. So, I went to look for some friends. That's the time I met Hideo. He was a dumb kid like me then, and I stopped him from killing himself."

"Hideo? Hideo tried to do that!?" Yoli asked, shocked. Hideo appeared to be such a calm and put-together person, not the kind of guy who would try to kill himself.

"He had a lot going on in his home life. We made a gang together, as you know, and from there I was living the high life. When you're the leader of a powerful gang, there's a lot of attention on you. It's both good and bad. There were plenty of women who wanted me. It was mostly older women, which was weird, since I was a kid at the time..." he frowned. "But would you believe how many fully grown men had grudges against me? I liked danger, and I loved doing bad things."

Yoli bit her lip nervously. He didn't want to scare her, but Masao thought it was important for her to know who he really was. The good and the bad, all of it.

"I killed a lot of people, and I enjoyed it. They were bad people, but...sometimes they appear in my dreams. I see all the people who died because of me, and my hands are covered in their blood, and I wonder if I did the right thing. We killed in the name of change, to protest what COT did to our country, but what good did it do? They still rule this city...this world," he sighed. Yoli held his hand tightly, and she started to cry. "Shit, I'm sorry!"

"You...kill people," she shuddered. "I knew, but I didn't think it was so many!"

She shook with fear, but she didn't let go of him; instead, she drew closer to him. Turning over in his lap, she buried her face in his shoulder and hugged him. His eye twitched.

Resist. Resist.

"I'm still the same person. I've tried to change, trust me, but I don't know how. Just because my lifestyle is different doesn't mean my heart is," he said. "You're scared of me, so why do you cling to me?"

"I- don't know!" she choked.

He lifted her and forced her to look him in the eyes. She loved those eyes, his tired ones that were a deep brown and seemed much brighter than the day she met him.

"I got what was coming to me, Yoli. I was punished for my sins. The man in front of you is someone who suffers eternally for all the pain he caused. Don't think I'm some unpunished criminal, because I'm not. This house is the prison I've been chained to for three years."

He wiped her tears, his hand lingering on her cheek. He pulled her towards him and gently planted a kiss on her forehead. Yoli's eyes widened, and her mind blanked. Memories came rushing back to her. Lying in bed with him, kissing his neck in the dark, hugging him, and her cheeks turned red.

"On my 20th birthday, I had a big party with my friends and people from all over the city. Our place was crammed. I don't drink, I don't even like the taste of alcohol, but that day I decided to drink anyway. A girl who was into me offered it, and I didn't want to look like a snob. I was so drunk, I passed out multiple times that night."

Three years ago...that's when...

"I snuck away from the party at some point, and I went out for a ride by myself. I was drunk as hell, and I could barely see. That's when I got into the motorcycle accident. On the day I was supposed to be celebrating my existence, I almost took myself out. Some people found me and took me to the hospital. The doctors replaced my heart with a metal one, which you know. They disabled me on purpose. They knew I was a criminal, but they decided not to kill me, for whatever reason."

It was hard for him to talk about that night. He couldn't remember any part of it, so all he had to say was what had been told him by his friends. He thought about the girl who'd offered him a drink, who vanished after his accident, probably due to the guilt she felt. His friends, who hadn't noticed him leave, and the doctors who operated on him.

"You've seen my scar before, right?"

"Scar?" Yoli repeated. She did remember a scar, multiple ones. He walked around the house without a shirt all the time. Masao had a large scar that stretched all the way across his back, and one on his chest beneath his heart. It wasn't just that. There were smaller scars all over his body, and she was sure there were more on parts of him she hadn't seen.

"They did a shitty job of stitching me back up, I'd say," he laughed.

She knew all about his past now, but it didn't satisfy her. The thing she wanted to know for so long didn't ease the jitters in her stomach or the pain she'd felt since she met him. Lighting a cigarette, Masao blew a puff of smoke above them. She'd grown used to his scent, and the strong odor that clung to the walls of his apartment- or maybe it was that she was beginning to smell that way too.

"Are you going to tell me about you?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," she blushed, realizing that she was thinking about him again. "There isn't very much to tell you, I'm sorry. I lived with my father alone. My mother died when I was young. I wasn't allowed to go out, and I never went to school. My father taught me everything I know, and he took good care of me."

"That makes two of us who never went to school. You said before that your dad didn't give you a name. Do you know why?"

"He wasn't good with names, he said, and he didn't want to become too attached to me. A name would make him see me as permanent, and after my mom died, he didn't want to be hurt again."

She barely remembered her father, but his weird habits and strict rules were familiar. She could recount her daily chore schedule, the gifts she was given each birthday, the songs she used to sing with him, and the warnings he gave her about the outside world. But a name? She'd never had one as far as she knew. It never bothered her, and she hadn't even considered that she needed one. It was only when she met Masao that she realized the importance of having a name. Something that others could call you by, and what you were recognized as.

"Were you lonely?"

"Lonely...no. I was never lonely. I had my father."

"But when your father left for work, you were alone, right?"

Alone...no, she'd never been alone. Her father did have a job, but he made sure to be with her as much as he could. Still, Masao was right; there were days her father left. She was alone in that house for hours. Once the chores were done, and she'd gotten tired of studying or playing games by herself, what did she do?

She tried to remember, but she couldn't. "I wasn't lonely. I did something...When I was alone, I did something, and it always cheered me up. I don't remember what it was."

"Hm, interesting. It probably isn't important, so you don't need to push yourself to remember."

"N-no! It's very important. I know it was!" she persisted. It was dumb, but something about this memory felt critical to her. She could feel it in her heart; the shape of the memory was soft and warm. It brought her comfort. Whatever she did when she was alone, it was her favorite thing to do.

Masao took a drag of his cigarette. Smoke coiled into the air.

Yoli watched with wide eyes, her brain connecting pieces quicker than she could comprehend.

"Smoke. It was smoke. It said... 'don't mistake me for another' and 'All it takes to find home is a change in perspective.'...it was with me, and it had a triangle nose."

Masao was perplexed and watched her ramble with great interest. "Who said that? Something you saw on TV?"

"No...it was my friend. He was made of smoke."

"You had an imaginary friend? How old were you? No way you were a teenager who still relied on an imaginary friend to keep yourself company," he laughed.

She shook her head, frantic for him to understand, but couldn't find the right words to explain. "I wasn't awake. I slept, and he came to me. When I was alone, I slept!"

"Oh! So you slept a lot like me, huh, and you remember your dreams?"

She nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. A childhood memory had returned to her. As she lay in Masao's arms, she felt like she could remember it all if she tried hard enough. Maybe even her mother.

"My mother had an illness. I don't know what it was, but it killed her. After that, my father started thinking that the world was evil. Everything was dangerous, and he needed to protect me. I just wish...I could have shown him this world. Our life really wasn't bad compared to this. What you've been through..."

Masao petted her head. "You're strong. That's why you can survive here. Your father really underestimated you."

He put out his cigarette and relaxed his head on the armrest. He was extremely tired, and their long conversation had drained him.

"I'm gonna take a nap, kay?" he yawned. His hand fell from her head as exhaustion took over his muscles. Getting up, Yoli watched him for a moment. He fell asleep quickly. It was an odd talent of his, and one that had contributed to the dark circles under his eyes. His breath was shallow, and she could sense his pain.

As she walked towards the door, several visions flashed through her mind. When she looked into the kitchen, for a split second, she saw a figure sitting in Masao's chair. A man made of smoke, an upside-down triangle nose, and two holes for eyes. Glancing around the apartment, memories flooded in and out of her brain like waves crashing against the shore.

Every time she met him, she soon forgot. He was a memory that could not last. Every dream was no longer remembered, but the feeling it gave her lingered. She wanted to know why she couldn't remember her dreams. Surely she must have lovely memories of him, her dear friend made of smoke. That dream she remembered best. The last time she saw him. Their goodbye.

His words were distant, but she could pick out a few lines. The reason she couldn't remember, it must have been because of who he was. He was nobody. He did not hold enough space in existence to make an impression. Even in a dream, he could not be remembered because he didn't exist. But even smoke leaves lingering effects on its surroundings.

Tears poured down her cheeks. She watched Masao sleep from across the room, and she reached for the phone hanging from the wall in the kitchen. Just like smoke that dissipates in the wind, and the flame of a burning candle is put out by the slightest movement, would Masao too leave her without any trace?