A sequel to A Bad Boy's Love, actually. Oh, how I do enjoy toying with side characters. Thanks for all the criticism and great comments I've been receiving. Feel free to leave a word if you like it or hate it.
*****
I flopped down face-first on the bed, not bothering to change out of my clothes. "Man, I'm exhausted."
Being involved in the family business wasn't as relaxed as I'd perceived it to be, although having a famous and fastidious fashion designer for a mom was fun to a certain extent. I smiled fondly as I recalled her stern voice commanding hairstylists to hasten the construction of avant-garde hairdos on her models just two hours ago. I happened to be one of her favorite models.
Misaki Takamura. No wonder my dad was so besotted with her.
Tomorrow, I'd walk down those corridors of lecture halls again. I lazed about in bed. What would have happened if I hadn't gone to Japan and stayed right here in California? Perhaps life would have been more intriguing. Five years later, I'm back to square one. The irony of it all.
There was no explaining why I'd been so adamant to finish my studies here. My parents had openly disapproved of it, but they eventually gave in to my stubbornness anyway. They always did.
As my eyes drifted shut, I was swept into the land of dreams, back to the time when I was still in Japan…
The last thing I saw was flashing headlights, and I could hear voices screaming for help around me.
"Oh my God! Asato! Someone call 911!"
"Asato! Can you hear me, boy?"
"He's bleeding! Is he going to be alright?!"
My body was numb; I couldn't lift a finger, and I was paralyzed with excruciating pain. Liquid trickled down my forehead and arm; I hoped that it wasn't blood. My lips moved, as I tried to tell a sobbing friend that I would be alright. Just then, the ambulance arrived and arms started lifting me onto the stretcher. Then, I fell into complete darkness.
When I opened my eyes, I was still feeling groggy due to the amount of drugs they'd injected into my system. My parents were sitting right by the bed and
okaa-san
was holding my hand. I reached up with my other hand to touch the bandages wrapped around my head, wavy hair matted with dried blood, and looked down in disgust at the tubes connected to my arms. I really despised needles.
"
Asato! Daijoubu ka?
Donna kanji?
"
Okaa-san
was still in tears, and mascara had streaked down her cheeks, ruining her makeup. She had always brimmed with a youthful exuberance as compared to the aged man who'd bought me ice-cream and taken me to numerous baseball games when I was a kid.
Otou-san
was looking more haggard and ancient than his usual composed self, bloodshot eyes hiding behind his glasses.
"
Daijoubu da yo. Shinu wa ke ga nai.
" I smiled to comfort her, although I was starting to feel a throbbing pain in my head. "I'm just a bit thirsty."
Water trickled down my parched throat, as I gulped it down greedily. Gradually, I sank to sleep once again.
It was a week later before I could actually summon the strength to leave my bed. I was sick of being cooped up in the room for so long, and I had the feeling that my parents were keeping something from me.
So, I'd followed them silently to the doctor's office and decided to eavesdrop on their conversation. "How is he? How's my son,
sensei
? Will he be alright?" My mom's voice was laden with worry.
Kashiwagi-sensei hesitated before answering her. "We've conducted a CT scan on his brain and we're under the impression…that he might suffer from post-traumatic amnesia. He has brain injury due to the severe blow to his head from the accident, which caused a part of his skull to be slightly fractured." This elicited a sob from my mom and even my dad was having trouble maintaining composure, as he placed an arm comfortingly around her slim shoulders.
The doctor continued to speak gently. "From the questions I've asked him, he only remembers events and the people he's met up to the time when he was 18 years old. This is why he is still familiar with you. Asato-kun probably isn't aware of this fact himself, so this has to be carefully explained to him."
I didn't hear the rest of the conversation. The world resumed its existence around me and I acknowledged none of it as I slowly trudged back to my room, trying to comprehend what I'd just heard.
Dazedly, I sat down heavily on the bed as I ran through my thoughts. If that was true, did I have a girlfriend? Did I leave anyone I cared about behind? God.
"Fuck!" I didn't know who I was anymore. Was I still "me" if I was stuck with an 18 year olds' memories?
"
Ochisuite, Asato
." I drew in a deep, shaky breath. Maybe this was only temporary. I raked a hand through my dyed-blonde hair, trying to come to terms with what I'd just heard.
On the following day, Kashiwagi-sensei gave me a thorough explanation on my current condition. However, according to his research, there was a high percentage that I would eventually recall those memories, as did most of his patients with similar cases.
All of a sudden, the room spun in circles, and images blurred and shattered. I looked into a pair of the warmest-looking eyes I'd ever seen…and woke up to the sound of an alarm ringing in my ears.
"Goddammit! I feel like I was run over by a truck." Absent-mindedly, I scratched a mosquito bite at my neck. Those eyes…I wondered if they belonged to an ex. I knew that I was waiting for something miraculous to happen, to regain those lost memories, and I wanted an unambiguous answer to all of my questions.
I patted shaving cream on my face and studied myself in the bathroom mirror. Vaguely, I recalled an amused voice telling me that my hazel-brown eyes reminded him of chocolate. I shook my head, trying to clear the wave of nausea that filled me right after. A man? I wondered if he was a close friend.
For some reason, the photography course had me hooked, and despite my parents' objection to it, I'd refused to budge on my decision. I just knew that photography was my calling.
As I stepped into class, girls looked at me and giggled in hushed tones, and some guys even approached me to introduce themselves.
Right. I'd forgotten that I could be considered a celebrity, considering how many magazines my face had been plastered in. Today, I wasn't really in the mood for flirtatious banter. All I wanted was to find a quiet spot so I could re-discover myself again.
"Excuse me, guys." I pried myself away from my startled fans and scanned the lecture hall for a perfect spot. The second last row was empty, except for one antique-looking guy wearing an "I'm A Dreamboat" T-shirt and jeans so faded that they must have been re-used a gazillion times.
He looked pretty harmless, just like a typical average Joe, busy with scribbling notes and fiddling with his SLR. I took a seat next to him, eyeing him curiously.
"Hmm. I wonder if I should adjust the shutter for this scene. Maybe I should increase the ISO number for now and..." He was so preoccupied with his camera that he was oblivious to my scrutiny of him.
"Hey." He glanced up immediately, and froze. His face paled to a sheet of white as though he'd seen a ghost. I waved a hand in front of his face.
"Hello? Anyone home?"
No reaction. Na da. Zilch. He was still a block of ice. Ah. I know. Guys like me don't usually approach guys like him.
"Relax, man. I don't bite. Unless you happen to be female, in which case, I'd deliver a painless yet succulent bite." I gave him my most charming smile. I held out a hand. "The name's Asato. You?"
He stared down at his camera quietly, and seemed to have trouble forming words. That's okay. I seem to have that effect on people sometimes, and that isn't just my narcissistic personality talking. "Chet," he murmured quietly.
"Good. Nice to meet you, Chet." When he'd whispered his name, I had a distinct sense of déjà vu. I brushed off that feeling, but remembered to store it somewhere at the back of my mind.
Unfortunately, I didn't manage to chat much with him and he'd always disappear before I could grab hold of him.
For an entire week, he managed to elude me. The only times I'd managed to see him were during classes, and even then, he answered my friendly questions with monosyllables. It was pretty strange, being treated this way. I'd always been popular, and here was someone who seemed to treat me like the plague.
I was alive with curiosity about him, and since he hadn't appeased it, I'd started to hound him for no particular reason. Chet was easily the most photogenic person I'd ever come across and I couldn't seem to stop snapping pictures of him from every angle possible.
Alright. I'll admit that that was probably my own biased opinion of him but before I'd realized it, I was completely infatuated with Chet. I liked the sound of his soft-spoken voice when he explained a Math problem to a classmate, and I'd noticed how attentive he was when talking to someone. Well, to everyone except me, that is.
One morning, I'd woken up to enjoy the view of some of the pictures I'd taken of him secretly, and realized that my entire wall was plastered with his photos; I'd become a stalker.
That day, I didn't feel like myself. I was moody, annoyed with what I'd become and frustrated with him for not giving me the time of day. As I sauntered through the hallway, strangers and friends greeted me, but I ignored all of them because my eyes had zoomed in on only one person; Chet.
He didn't look like the quiet guy I'd made him out to be, because he had his arm slung around this Japanese dude, who was pretty hot for a guy. The worse thing was, I'd never seen him look so…so happy. He'd thrown his head back in laughter, which was damned sexy. Slowly, I inched my way closer to eavesdrop a little on their conversation.
"So, when are you going to go out on a date with me, Kei? I won't wait forever, you know." Chet chuckled at Kei's expression of disgust. Date? He couldn't possibly like this Kei guy, right? I leaned against the locker for support as my heart gave a sickening lurch.
"Really. If you manage to get Jake's permission, I will." Kei flashed his buddy an innocent smile. Jake. Huh. So Kei has a boyfriend, which means…Chet is still mine.
