Metanoia (Part II)

Tokyo, Japan.
2010.

She was thankful to go home early for once.

Leaving the lollipop wrapper in the other seat, a black-haired lady kept driving as she ate the apple-flavored sweet, removing her sunglasses and keeping her eyes on the road as she continued driving down the road, away from the office and closer to where she lived. The lights of Tokyo eventually faded away, trees greeting her and calming her down in the slightest.

“Jean Onix, you better have some drinks for me by the time I get back,” a woman complained as she drove home. A woman’s voice came from her phone and she rolled her eyes, ending the call and tossing the phone into the other seat. The black sports car zoomed across the roads of Tokyo, the woman taking sharp turns until she reached the street where she lived.

The red apartment looked like it was waiting for her presence. After smoothly parking into her usual spot, the woman turned off the engine and got out, locked the car doors and swept her streaked green hair into a high ponytail.

From the outside, she could hear rock music playing. A low chuckle left her lips and she entered the house, taking off her coat and hanging it by the door.

“Lock the fucking thing, I don’t want to wake up next to a murdered body when I rise in the morning,” another person yelled from the kitchen. And she did so, dropping the keys into a glass bowl and removing her heels right after, carrying them as she walked in.

A tangled mess of black curls greeted her, the other woman finishing up on her drinks. Jean smirked as she walked inside, pointing down at the rather tall glass she had prepared for her roommate.

“Something new I devised at work. And the idiots still don’t know that I was the woman fortunate enough to escape the bastards.”

“To be fair, you’ve changed your appearance a bit,” she replied easily, sitting on the bar stool and letting her shoes drop on the floor with a soft thud.

“I know. But still. Anywho, how was work today?”

“Same old.” The drink rushed down her throat. “Asshole didn’t make an appearance.”

“Word on the street’s that he flew to Europe for a bit.” Jean met the other’s green eyes. “You still mad at him for doing that?”

“Of course I am,” Arianne growled, “Wouldn’t you be pissed off to see him doing that? Nearly shot him myself.”

The blue-eyed Romanian sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. He was a drunk bastard trying to pull off something on you. You pushed him away. I don’t blame you for shit,” Arianne replied sharply. Jean nodded. “I’m through with him, J. I don’t want him.”

“Kudos.” The woman lifted her own glass.

Arianne gently bumped her own against Jean’s, and they drank.

“So,” the bartender spoke slowly when all wasn’t as tension-filled, “What are you going to do when he comes back? Or rather, before he comes back? I can come with you to your place. Get your shit and live here instead. Maybe fuck up the house and leave him in for a nasty surprise.” A cruel smile lit her best friend’s lips, and Arianne couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wouldn’t mind living here,” she glanced around the apartment, “It’s all good. I can get my things. My clothes, whatever the hell belongs to me. I’ll nick his sweets, but I’ll leave his shit there. I’ll let him keep whatever he owns. I’ll just get my clothes, sweets I love, and my other belongings without anything else, and I’ll stay with you instead. Split rent.”

“But what if he pulls that BS again? The I’m sorry, I was drunk I love you and want you back?”

“‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me’.” Arianne replied. “I’m not going to buy it anymore. He’s fucked it up so many times these past few months, and-” she made a face, “I’m not going to let that happen anymore.”

“…so what you’re saying is, you’re still going to be a Maxwell?”

“Definitely. This,” she looked at her ring and took it off, “It’s nothing to me.”

Jean could only nod silently. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“When can we do it?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Arianne glanced at the calendar hanging on the fridge. “Friday good?”

“Definitely – I’ve been itching to not overtime for once. I’ll tell Ned.”

“He won’t mind?”

She smirked. “After spending almost five days overtiming? He might send me off to Bora-Bora when I ask if I can leave early.”

At that, she laughed and finished the rest of the drink. “I’ll head on and rest, J.”

“Sure – I’ll just check out the news, test some new drinks and get some shut eye myself. Night.”

Getting down from the bar stool, Arianne picked up her shoes and went straight to her room, dumping them on the floor and closing her bedroom door, locking it and proceeding to change before falling asleep five minutes later.

She woke up squinting and slamming her hand on the alarm clock, cursing loudly at the pain that shot up her arm. From the other room, she didn’t hear Jean waking up at all and got up rather groggily, leaving her bedroom and going to the kitchen to prepare something to eat.

“Morning, sunshine.” Jean greeted half an hour later, hair up and a smirk lighting her lips. Arianne grunted a reply into her toast as she ate slowly, facing the television and watching the mornings’ news. “I had an amusing dream about someone smashing their fist into iron and cursing their lungs out. Sound familiar?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I thought it was. I’ll be heading off in a few, lock all the shit when you leave. I don’t want to come home to a ransacked apartment and my liquor all gone.”

“Our liquor,” she corrected, but Jean had already left. She heard the other’s motorcycle and chuckled quietly, finishing off her toast before exiting the living room to shower.

When she entered the office building with a lollipop in her mouth, everyone relaxed.

Maybe she was okay this time.

And she felt okay.

For once.