I woke up around lunchtime, my muscles aching from a night spent on the floor. I jolted awake, startled to find a girl right in front of me—showing a fair amount of skin in just a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.
The events leading up to my sleep came flooding back. This was Megumi Hayashi. She was my high school classmate, and we had been reunited during my late-night shift here in the city. She was a victim of domestic violence.
It had been several hours since we met again. It only just registered that her hair, which had been flaxen in high school, was now black. Had she dyed it... or dyed it back? Well, it wasn't particularly important.
"She’s changed."
I felt a wave of dismay at the sheer cruelty of the passage of time. The girl sleeping before me had been a high schooler only recently; now, she was living with a partner and drowning in trouble. She was experiencing things far removed from the carefree days of our youth. I didn't envy her in the slightest. If anything, I felt sorry for her... yet I couldn't help but feel like I was being left behind. Why, though? It wasn't like we were even close back then.
Feeling a bit hungry, I sat up and decided to make lunch. Hayashi would probably wake up eventually, drawn in by the savory aroma. I opened the refrigerator and decided on yakisoba. I chopped the ingredients and started stir-frying them with the noodles.
"Nngh..."
"You're awake. Are you sore?"
She really had been lured out by the smell. I kept my eyes on the pan as I spoke.
"Ah—right."
Hayashi scratched her head. I wasn't sure what "Ah—right" was supposed to mean.
"Morning, Yamamoto. My whole body hurts."
"I told you to sleep in the bed."
"Jeez, stop being so nitpicky. You're a guy, aren't you?"
You're the one who said you were in pain, I started to say, then bit it back. Then again, she only said it because I asked. That made it my fault.
"Yakisoba?" she asked, appearing behind me before I realized she had moved.
"Yeah."
"You can actually cook?"
"A little."
After living alone for a few months, you learn to fend for yourself at least a little. Emphasis on the "little."
"It’s almost ready. Just wait a bit."
"Is it okay if I have some?"
"Of course."
"...Thanks. He never said anything like that to me."
She was dwelling on her own wounds—no, her current, open wounds. She was quite a fool. But as I stole a glance at her, Hayashi looked as if she’d finally reached some kind of resolution.
After a few minutes of cooking, I plated two servings of yakisoba and headed to the living room.
"Let’s eat."
"Let’s eat."
We put our hands together and began. It was pretty good—or at least, it tasted exactly like the store-bought kit should.
"It’s delicious."
"Thanks."
I pulled out my phone and started scrolling as I ate. Since I'd started living alone, there was no one to nag me about using my phone at the table. I’d done it out of habit.
"That’s bad manners," she chided.
I realized I had a guest. I mumbled a "Sorry" and set the phone face-down on the table.
"That was good."
"Thank you for the meal. It really was tasty."
"Well, I just followed the instructions on the back of the package."
"Honestly! I’m trying to compliment you, so stop being so cynical."
"...I’m sorry."
The image of her from high school was still fresh in my mind, and since she was terrifying when angry, I offered a reluctant apology. There were two empty plates on the table. I stood up to wash them.
"It’s fine. I’ll do it."
"Why? You’re the guest."
"...Think of it as thanks for the room and the meal."
When she arrived yesterday, Hayashi had already thanked me for letting her in to cool her head. No matter how you looked at it, she felt a sense of obligation toward me.
Personally, she had been through a terrible time, so I wanted her to just rest while she was here. However, if she tried to repay that debt in a strange way like she’d attempted before we fell asleep, it would be a massive headache. I decided it was better to just let her do the dishes and satisfy her conscience.
This time, without being scolded, I went back to my phone. I had things I wanted to look up.
"Finished."
"Thanks."
Hayashi sat down across from me. Facing her like this made the memory of the "body pillow" incident from earlier resurface, and I found it hard to meet her eyes. Seriously, no matter how scared she was, I wished she wouldn't treat a person like a stuffed animal. And I definitely wanted her to stop provoking me like that. I wanted to lecture her—tell her that she was only safe because it was me. If it had been anyone but a spineless coward like myself, she would have been in a much worse position.
Of course, I didn't have the backbone to actually say that.
"Has your head cleared a bit?" I asked instead.
"...Yeah, I think so."
"Then let’s talk. Though, knowing my personality, you know how this will go. In the end, it all comes down to what you want to do."
"...I said this yesterday, too, but you’re so detached. It’s almost like you’re on Life’s Second Lap."
"That’s not it."
"Right. As if someone like that actually exists."
"No, that's not what I mean. You make it sound like a second lap automatically makes you better at navigating the world, or that you'd suddenly be guaranteed a successful life."
"Isn't that how it works?"
"No," I stated firmly. "Even if someone experienced Life’s Second Lap, I can guarantee you that if they stay the same, their life will end up exactly like the first lap. It makes sense. If you encounter the same turning point you faced in your first life, you'll make the exact same choice unless your mindset has changed. People only think a second lap would be better because they assume their mindset would be different."
I couldn't tell if Hayashi was actually internalizing my lecture.
"The key is having an experience that forces your mindset to shift. To do that, I believe you have to stop running and face your problems head-on. If you can do that, you don't need a second life to make this one wonderful."
"Huh."
"That’s a vague response... Well, fine. My point is that you need to properly face your current situation."
"My situation...?"
"Yes. Stop running, look at your circumstances objectively, and decide what you want to do. If you really struggle through the decision now, you won't regret it later."
"How can you be sure?" Hayashi looked down, her voice trembling with anxiety. "Even if I look at things objectively, I’m still the one looking. I’ll get scared when I try to find an answer... There's no way I won't have regrets."
"It’s not impossible."
"It is..."
"It’ll be fine."
"...Why?"
"Because that’s what I’m here for, right?"
I forced a smile and said something entirely unlike myself. It was an uncharacteristically straightforward thing to say, lacking my usual cynicism, but it was exactly what I meant.
It wasn't complicated.
If you're too anxious to handle it alone, you rely on someone else. That is the fundamental privilege of being human—the ability to think and to share.
"...I didn't realize you were such a reliable person."
"I'm not. In the end, I'm just listening to your problems for my own selfish reasons."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I hadn't meant it as a joke, but Hayashi gave a little chuckle. It was the first real smile I'd seen since we reunited.
"Then let’s think together about what you should do next. First... I know it’ll be painful, but tell me everything that's happened with your boyfriend since you moved here."
For the next few minutes, Hayashi laid out her life in the city. To be honest, there wasn't a single pleasant thing in her story.
Meeting him.
Being disowned.
Moving in. Then violence. Violence... and more violence.
It was harrowing. It made my skin crawl just thinking about it happening to me. I couldn't "enjoy" the conversation in the slightest.
"But you know, he isn't angry all the time. He apologizes. He says, 'I'm sorry for hitting you. It hurt, didn't it? I'll never do it again. Please forgive me.' He always begs like that."
"There’s a cycle to domestic violence," I said. "A period of violence, followed by a period of remorse and self-loathing. And then a period where they get irritated by the smallest things."
"...Ah."
Hayashi clearly recognized the pattern. "You're surprisingly well-informed."
"I just looked it up."
"When?"
"While you were doing the dishes."
"I see," she murmured, looking impressed.
"Have you talked to anyone else about this?"
"You're the first."
Given the situation, it made sense, but it felt wrong considering her high school years. Her parents were out of the picture, but she’d had so many friends back then. Why couldn't she have reached out to any of them?
"By the way, what happened to your phone?"
From the convenience store until now, Hayashi only had her wallet and some clothes. In this day and age, a smartphone was a necessity.
"I don't have one."
"You don't have one?"
"...He said I only needed him."
"...Did he break it?"
Hayashi nodded silently.
"All my contacts, everything... gone. He won't let me buy a new one. I was completely trapped."
"...I see."
The situation was much darker than I’d anticipated. Despite my effort to stay composed, a shadow fell over my expression. Her boyfriend's possessiveness was chilling. Just hearing about it made the hair on my arms stand up.
"I think I understand. ...I'm sorry for making you talk about such painful things."
"Oh? An honest apology."
"...It seems I still have a human heart somewhere in here."
"I guess so."
Hayashi gave a wry smile. Perhaps she was just used to it, or perhaps being away from him made her feel calmer, but I was relieved she wasn't breaking down.
"All right, let's talk about your next steps. My opinion hasn't changed from before. You shouldn't go back to him. You need to walk away from that guy as soon as possible."
I said it firmly. I was repeating myself, and the last time I’d said it, I had incurred her anger. I wondered how she would react now.
I watched her every move with bated breath. Would she agree with me?
Earlier, I’d told myself that as long as I gave her the right advice, I’d be off the hook if something happened to her. I just wanted to dodge the responsibility. After all, her friends would never know we had met. I wouldn't be blamed by anyone.
But who would really be blaming me?
Me. I would be the one. If something happened to her—even if she was just an old acquaintance—I would be crushed by the weight of my own guilt. That was why I had to tell her the truth.
Until a few minutes ago, I thought it would be fine if she just ignored my advice.
But hearing the details changed everything. I had witnessed how deep this hole was. If I let her go back now, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. No matter what I had to say, no matter how much she ended up hating me, I had to make her cut ties with that man.
Hayashi looked up.
"...He was violent sometimes, yeah. But he had his kind side, too. He could be sweet. That’s just the kind of person he is."
"...Hayashi."
"...But," she continued, a gentle smile touching her lips. "I think you're right. In the end, he's just using me for his own selfish desires. He locks me down to satisfy his need for control. He’s just playing king. ...What you said woke me up."
"...Then..."
"I'm going to leave him. I don't want anything to do with him ever again."
I let out a long, heavy breath of relief.