I still have that dream sometimes. Two months after graduating high school, a friend from a university circle I belonged to invited me to a mixer. Going to those events wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for me. It became a regular occurrence once I moved to Tokyo and started living on my own; with my parents no longer watching over me, I suddenly had far too much free time.
It wasn't my first time attending one of her events—it was actually the third. That day, all the girls were noticeably more intense than usual. Their makeup was thicker, their outfits more calculatedly cute—they were ready for battle. Apparently, the guys were all bank employees, and the girls looking to land a rich husband were out for blood.
I didn't care about any of that. I was just there as a social courtesy.
I had always been constantly invited to things like mixers. People told me that just having me on the guest list ensured the men would bring a high-quality lineup. Since I wasn't the type to get greedy or ruin the atmosphere of the party, the other girls liked having me around, too.
Deep down, I was sick of being treated like a useful prop—just like during my High School Days—but in a city where I didn't have any real friends, even people like that were a precious connection to the world.
Needs must; I participated in the mixer, and that was where I met him.
My first impression was of a clean-cut, pleasant young man. He had a boyish face, a friendly personality, and seemed so earnest. We swapped contact information, started seeing each other after the mixer, and before I knew it, we were living together.
I wonder where exactly I went wrong.
The nights I spent with him felt eternal. Wrapped in self-loathing, I would stare out the window at the pitch-black sky. The darkness offered no answers. Time simply crawled by, cold and indifferent.
I was at my breaking point.
I really was at my limit.
"Go to the convenience store and buy tomorrow's breakfast."
Kicking me awake just as I was drifting off, he shoved a thousand-yen bill at me and forced me out. When I told him I needed money for basic necessities too, he refused to give me another cent. "Cover it with the allowance I give you every day. That's your job, isn't it?" he snapped.
Maybe he was worried about appearances, because he made me change my clothes before I left the room. He handed me a pair of long-sleeved gray sweats—hardly the right attire for the season.
Not wanting to go back home, I aimed for a convenience store as far away as possible. I passed more shops than I could count on one hand. Every time I saw the glow of a sign, I told myself, "Not this one. The next one." By the time I finally stepped inside, I was desperate to stretch out the minutes. I tried to browse the magazines to kill time, but even the ones I used to love felt hollow.
My mind was a whirlpool of fear.
What would happen to me if I went back now? I had been gone too long. Would he hit me again?
I felt like I was on the verge of tears, but they wouldn't come.
What should I do?
I agonized over it, but no answer came.
Time passed heartlessly.
I found myself missing the past.
Back then, I had hated my High School Days. I had close friends, sure, but there were also people constantly trying to tear me down. I had wondered why just going to school had to be so miserable.
I had begged my parents to let me stay home, but they wouldn't hear of it. They told me adulthood would be even harder, that I had to learn to endure. I hated them for saying that back then.
But standing there, I realized my parents had been right.
I couldn't bear to live through this hellish existence for another second.
And yet, I still followed his orders. I filled my basket with his breakfast for tomorrow and some daily essentials, then headed to the register.
I set the shopping basket on the counter, but the clerk—who was likely in the back—didn't show himself for a while. Back in high school, a wait like that would have made me snap, but now, the delay was a gift.
When he finally emerged, he didn't even glance at me as he started scanning the items.
Listening to the cold, mechanical beeps of the scanner, I suddenly froze.
"Wait... Yamamoto?"
The boy I had hated most during my High School Days.
In a random convenience store I happened to enter, I had crossed paths with that awful man again.
And that was how it happened. I was saved by the man I had despised more than anyone back then.