felt as if someone had thrown water into my burning face.
Fifth period was about to start. Where could he be going? Was Akutagawa
cutting class
?
Oops, no—I’ll pretend I didn’t see him. Don’t even think about following him. You can’t get involved!
I was so violently torn that I felt my throat dry out, but my feet betrayed me and moved in the direction Akutagawa had disappeared.
When I turned a corner in the hallway, I heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Holding my breath and listening carefully, I followed him. Overhead, the bell rang announcingthe start of fifth period. I was jumpy, wanting to get back to class, but I couldn’t keep my feet from following him. Cold sweat spread over the back of my neck.
We arrived at the open area where all the shoe lockers were. Hiding behind an aluminum locker, I searched for Akutagawa.
Then I spotted him standing in front of our class’s lockers.
He looked down harshly at an envelope he held in his hands. Had he taken it out of his locker just now?
It was not the white rectangular envelopes I’d seen before, but rather a sky blue envelope with white angel wings on it. It was from the same collection as Takeda’s binder, the one Miu had liked. A girl must have given it to him.
I sensed a fierce rage in Akutagawa’s expression, and I shrank back.
When I’d seen Akutagawa standing at the mailboxes before, he had always worn a morose, pained expression.
But now his eyes were filled with a fiery hostility and anger.
Akutagawa tore the letter.
My heart jumped at the sound.
He tore the letter a second time, walked over to the trash can beside the lockers, and started to throw the note away.
But then he stopped.
He groaned quietly and narrowed his eyes, looking troubled. He gritted his teeth firmly, closed his hand around the rumpled letter, and shoved it roughly into his pants pocket.
That was all I saw. I ran back to class, unable to hold back the tension that was crushing my chest.
The teacher wasn’t there yet.
About ten minutes later in the middle of class, Akutagawa opened the door at the back of the room.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for something in the library.”
He bowed to the teacher and sat down. My eyes had already shot to his pants pocket, but as far as I could tell from the outside, there was nothing unusual about it.
Who had that letter been from…?
That question tangled gloomily in my heart, along with the thought that I couldn’t get involved.
Do you like me, I wonder?
You said so in a letter you sent me without the slightest hesitation.
Ever since the incident, I’ve avoided becoming close to the opposite sex, and I thought for sure I would never be in love.
But that winter, when I saw you—you glared at me as if you were looking at the filthiest, most loathsome creature in the world, and when you attacked me, I felt hot stabs of pain in my heart.
I thought you were beautiful, though you abused me mercilessly. I was captivated by the vivid blush of your cheek, the sharpness in your glinting eye, and I couldn’t look away.
I knew only too well that you had not a shred of desire to accept me. That you wanted only to satisfy your own dark, cruel cravings.
And I was not the sort of illustrious person who might win your heart.
But I couldn’t stop myself from going to you. I wanted to see you and receive your cold gaze. I wanted to hear your voice hurl abuse at me.
Perhaps I wanted you to blame me.
Everyone heaped praise on me for being an honorable and upstanding person. So maybe I wanted to be reminded that itwasn’t true—that I was a despicable person who deserved your abuse.
You wanted to ask me about school.
How did I spend my day? Did I have any friends? Did I have a girlfriend?
You asked, claws hidden in each word, and listened to what I told you with a pale, tense face. Then in the end, you would always get upset and say, “Go away.”
So gradually I started to say ugly things about what I’d
Fifth period was about to start. Where could he be going? Was Akutagawa
cutting class
?
Oops, no—I’ll pretend I didn’t see him. Don’t even think about following him. You can’t get involved!
I was so violently torn that I felt my throat dry out, but my feet betrayed me and moved in the direction Akutagawa had disappeared.
When I turned a corner in the hallway, I heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Holding my breath and listening carefully, I followed him. Overhead, the bell rang announcingthe start of fifth period. I was jumpy, wanting to get back to class, but I couldn’t keep my feet from following him. Cold sweat spread over the back of my neck.
We arrived at the open area where all the shoe lockers were. Hiding behind an aluminum locker, I searched for Akutagawa.
Then I spotted him standing in front of our class’s lockers.
He looked down harshly at an envelope he held in his hands. Had he taken it out of his locker just now?
It was not the white rectangular envelopes I’d seen before, but rather a sky blue envelope with white angel wings on it. It was from the same collection as Takeda’s binder, the one Miu had liked. A girl must have given it to him.
I sensed a fierce rage in Akutagawa’s expression, and I shrank back.
When I’d seen Akutagawa standing at the mailboxes before, he had always worn a morose, pained expression.
But now his eyes were filled with a fiery hostility and anger.
Akutagawa tore the letter.
My heart jumped at the sound.
He tore the letter a second time, walked over to the trash can beside the lockers, and started to throw the note away.
But then he stopped.
He groaned quietly and narrowed his eyes, looking troubled. He gritted his teeth firmly, closed his hand around the rumpled letter, and shoved it roughly into his pants pocket.
That was all I saw. I ran back to class, unable to hold back the tension that was crushing my chest.
The teacher wasn’t there yet.
About ten minutes later in the middle of class, Akutagawa opened the door at the back of the room.
“I’m sorry. I was looking for something in the library.”
He bowed to the teacher and sat down. My eyes had already shot to his pants pocket, but as far as I could tell from the outside, there was nothing unusual about it.
Who had that letter been from…?
That question tangled gloomily in my heart, along with the thought that I couldn’t get involved.
Do you like me, I wonder?
You said so in a letter you sent me without the slightest hesitation.
Ever since the incident, I’ve avoided becoming close to the opposite sex, and I thought for sure I would never be in love.
But that winter, when I saw you—you glared at me as if you were looking at the filthiest, most loathsome creature in the world, and when you attacked me, I felt hot stabs of pain in my heart.
I thought you were beautiful, though you abused me mercilessly. I was captivated by the vivid blush of your cheek, the sharpness in your glinting eye, and I couldn’t look away.
I knew only too well that you had not a shred of desire to accept me. That you wanted only to satisfy your own dark, cruel cravings.
And I was not the sort of illustrious person who might win your heart.
But I couldn’t stop myself from going to you. I wanted to see you and receive your cold gaze. I wanted to hear your voice hurl abuse at me.
Perhaps I wanted you to blame me.
Everyone heaped praise on me for being an honorable and upstanding person. So maybe I wanted to be reminded that itwasn’t true—that I was a despicable person who deserved your abuse.
You wanted to ask me about school.
How did I spend my day? Did I have any friends? Did I have a girlfriend?
You asked, claws hidden in each word, and listened to what I told you with a pale, tense face. Then in the end, you would always get upset and say, “Go away.”
So gradually I started to say ugly things about what I’d
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