Point of View: Joe
I got too confident.
I underestimated the situation far too much.
Taking care of Benji since the morning, constantly going up and down from the basement... And on top of that, him.
Ayanokoji Kiyotaka
The son of a bitch has no other expressions; he's always wearing the same shitty face, and yet you give more importance to him.
Did you tell him about your meeting with your professor?
—That's right, quite a predictable situation —a voice comes from the front, but I can't take my eyes off my phone.
Looking at photos of you is regulating me in a good way right now.
Why the fuck do Ayanokoji and you still keep so much contact? You invited him to one of Peach's parties? Why him and not me? I've been treating him badly these past few days so he'll quit. I could fire him directly and give weak excuses; there's nothing I can invent if his performance is excellent, but I don't want to. It's not that I can't.
It's that knowing I don't have much control over the hours he spends with you gives me anxiety. Because, after all, unfortunately for me, the two of you have a "friends" relationship.
He's already had a first kiss with you.
I still haven't.
If he loses his job because I fire him, your heart would pity him and you'd dedicate more time to him. And that apathetic piece of shit would spend more time with you because he'd have more free hours. If his home situation became unstable, I even fear you'd invite him to temporarily live with you.
No, that's not going to happen.
Ayanokoji Kiyotaka is slowly losing the pillars that keep me from getting rid of him. He gives me reasons to kill him.
—She probably went partying with her friends Annika and Lynn. Am I wrong? —I don't stop looking at your photo because of him; I do it to look at the table where my maintenance tools used to be.
—Actually, she went to see her thesis advisor, but... I'm glad you're calmer now. —I stand up from the chair, running my hand over the different objects on the table while I look at him.
He leans against the small opening where I pass his food through, that exchange box.
—Hey, pay attention. Honest kidnapper, let me enlighten you, because it's what I've been telling you. —Benji steps back a little—. You see an honest writer, right? —He stops smiling and sighs—. How could you not, when she posts everything online? She sells the story of being some poor soul surviving in New York.
I'd like to let you know that, if it weren't because I'll be late to see you, I'd beat him for the way he talks about you. It disgusts me that he pronounces your name with his filthy mouth. It disgusts me to share the air with this cocaine addict.
—Right now she's probably wearing a pretty short dress, showing more leg than usual. Her lips probably have an intense reddish color, the welcoming lipstick for her professor. She'll give it her all, a great effort to get a good grade. —He says the last part while making gestures. Gestures of someone sucking a dick.
But that won't happen. I trust that you won't do that. Still, I need to make sure.
—See you, Benji. —I grab my jacket from the chair and walk toward the stairs. As I climbed them, I heard his words one more time.
—Don't leave, I'm hungry!
For all I care, I could secretly put some animal shit in his food. I'll keep that in mind for when I have to come feed him.
...
I can't say for certain what shade of lipstick you used to come see your professor. It wasn't hard to find you among all the people; I have to say the place was pretty crowded. Different couples occupied the tables; I don't even think there was a chance for me to get a table by myself. In any case, it isn't my intention to expose myself that much. Sitting at the bar and ordering something to drink was the calmest option for today.
You're only a few steps away from the bar. Your dress isn't that short, it isn't even completely black; it's not meant to be suggestive. I think it's pretty cute, it suits you a lot, although I can't say whether it highlights your figure much since your back is the only thing I can see. But I can't look in your direction discreetly.
Okay, you got me, I'll take a glance.
It's a little hard for me to hear them. He raises his left hand, showing his ring.
—Yes, you can practice with me. I'm not a danger —he says. He laughs—. You don't have to be nervous around me. —He places his hand on top of yours and I feel like I'm going to crush the glass of vodka with Sprite I'm holding.
He's talking more quietly and, fuck, I can't hear him anymore. I can't keep staring the entire time; then I can't see his movements anymore. But he starts speaking louder again.
—The world is your shining apple —he says.
Do you think he writes this beforehand? Like a poem? For a professor who has several published poems, I should mention that his lines are shit. And I know you hate the hand of an old man resting on yours. I want to think he can't be more than... sixty?
—Showing your work to the public is an act of good.
—I'll try to remember that —you reply.
—I wouldn't say it if you didn't have talent. —He leans closer—. I'll be happy to share all my secrets. So then, Beck, perhaps we should acknowledge what's happening here.
I don't have the slightest idea what he did while saying that. You abruptly got up from your seat and people from other tables started looking over.
Stay calm.Don't move.I need to maintain focus.
Unconsciously, I planted my foot on the floor; I almost intervened without meaning to, but there's no way I could casually appear here. There he goes, trying to touch your shoulder.
—Don't touch me. This isn't sexy, it's disgusting.
—You invited me to do it.
—No, I didn't.
—Yes, you flirt shamelessly. Your clothes are so transparent I can see your nipples. —Since I could only notice your back, I hadn't realized that detail—. What would you call that?
—This is insane, you misunderstood it.
—If you want to use denial and make it believable, cover your tits. Don't look at me like you want to suck my dick, and write better. I liked you, honestly, but it'll be best if I get myself another assistant. —He pulls bills from his wallet and drops them onto the table.
—No, no, no, please, no —you beg.
—Get some sleep. —He leaves.
You have every right to be angry right now. He wanted to take advantage of you. But anger isn't what you have right now; perhaps a mixture of everything, but what dominates your emotions most is sadness. You sit back down and you're crying, silently, but I can hear your sniffles a little.
You take out your phone.
—Tell me, tell me you heard it… Oh, thank you, yes… We'll talk tomorrow.
Were you on a call?
Then my phone started ringing, and I didn't have the ringtone volume lowered. Shit, I need to get out of here to answer it. I move as carefully as I can between the tables and people. I'm getting stressed because I have nothing to hide my face with and, if you happen to turn toward the entrance, I'm fucked.
I'm outside.
—Hello? —I say.
—Hey, where are you? —You had just been crying, but you make an effort not to let it show in your voice—. I'm at Village. Shall we finish our conversation? Sorry for leaving our meeting early.
So you were thinking about me too.
—Sure, I'll be there in fifteen minutes.
I hung up the call. I can't stop thinking about it right now.
Who were you on a call with while meeting your thesis advisor?