Tadashi's Apartment
Seattle, WA
United States
of America
August 2009
It’s seven in
the evening when Tadashi Sato manages to pull himself out of bed for the nth
time that day. He wasn’t so sure on the count, but he was at least certain that
the number was less than ten, maybe even five.
This depended on
the weight that sat on his shoulders. It never seemed to leave, not quite; it
had been there for a week, had been there since the dreams started, had been
there ever since he shut off the lights and sentenced himself to what felt like
solitary confinement underneath the bedsheets.
Knocking. Insistent
knocking, knocking that went on and on and on.
Each one makes
him flinch. Each one catches him off-guard.
Knocking, more
knocking; with each knock does Tadashi swear that it’s resounding in his ears,
resounding in his head. There’s the desire to mumble “stop”, but the word
catches in his throat. The knocking sounds ominous, sounds like a familiar
warning that makes him stop in his tracks and look at the doorknob with doubt,
fear, hesitation.
There’s a
familiar adrenaline rushing through his veins.
Tadashi stumbles
back and nearly hits the back of the couch, eyes widening and darting around
the room. The room is dark, the room is cold, the room feels like it’s closing
in on him, walls so close to crumbling.
Gunshots. They sound
like gunshots, sound like warnings, sound like footsteps, sound like screams
and yelling and look out and no wait don’t go there, step back, and it’s a trap, we’ve been lured into a trap and
no don’t go don’t go—
The apartment,
decked in greys and darks and cold, flashes red for a split second.
There’s red on
the floor and red on the walls, red on the doorknob, red on his hands and the
scent of iron filling his nose. There’s another knock that sounds scarily like
a thump and another knock that sounds
like another thump, and for the
longest second he finds himself drenched in memory, drenched in fear, drenched
in screams, drenched in red.
The red is
everywhere, the red is dark, the red is trickling, pooling, oozing. Tadashi
feels the weight on his shoulders grow hands, and so does the weight in his
stomach; the world is stripped off of oxygen and the hands grasp firmly at him,
starts to drag him down, down, down.
He blinks once. The
apartment is red.
He blinks twice.
He’s no longer in the apartment but in a warehouse, no longer inside but
outside, no longer safe but in danger. Tadashi is no longer alone but he might
as well be alone because there are two bodies in front of him and he’s certain
that they’re gone, it’s over, Eun-ha they’re
down Eun-ha they got them Eun-ha please do something do something do something
please do something—
“—concentrate,
come on. Concentrate. You’ve got this.”
The red
dissipates. Tadashi takes in a large, shuddering breath of air. There’s purple,
faint purple in front of him and Tadashi chokes out Eun-ha again, only to be shushed. “Breathe,” the person says. Their
voice is calm, steady. Tadashi clings to the voice like a lifeline. “We’ll talk
later. Breathe, come on. You’ve got it.”
Ten to fifteen
minutes later, Tadashi finds himself on his couch with a cup of warm tea in his
hands. He can’t meet Eri Nakagawa’s eyes, she sitting across him on the other
couch. He’s not looking at her, but he can already sense the mixture of concern
and something else.
“You’ve been
skipping work for days,” Eri scolds him. Tadashi doesn’t reply. “What else could
I do? Of course I’d come and check up on you. You weren’t answering the door. I
figured that you were asleep, but I heard you slump to the floor and repeat her
name over and over.” She exhales, and he barely glances up to look at her.
Dressed finely
in work attire with her blazer crisp, Eri regards him with a sharp, yet
concerned look. Her hair is cut short, styled in a pixie cut. He wonders
briefly if she had gotten it cut.
“…you’re looking
better,” He mumbles. His voice is hoarse, quiet. Tadashi hadn’t heard his voice
in days. The look in Eri’s eyes flicker and bleed worry.
“Don’t change
the topic. Drink.” He follows. Tadashi takes a long drink and barely says
anything more when the taste of bitterness fills his mouth. “Gaius wanted me to
check up on you after Ross and Soledad told him that they hadn’t heard from you
as well. And no,” she adds, “none of the admin are mad. They’re just worried.”
“Worried,”
Tadashi repeats. “About—about me?”
“Why wouldn’t
they be? Listen.” She looks at him fully this time. Tadashi raises his head to
meet her eyes, and immediately does she scan him from head to toe. There’s something
calculating in his gaze that makes him uneasy. The frown on Eri’s face deepens,
and Tadashi feels like sinking into the couch to hide himself. “They’re not forcing
you to come back immediately, that’s unreasonable. But they are asking for you to spend the time
adequately recovering from what happened.”
He stares at her
blankly. The words click a second later.
“I am
recovering,” he says slowly. “I’m sleeping.” Eri doesn’t look too convinced. “I’ve
been…I’ve been sleeping, Eri,” Tadashi responds, voice thick with exhaustion.
“I’ve been resting. If HQ wants me to come back, then I will.”
“I’m not telling
you to come back ASAP.” She folds her arms over her chest, “I’m asking you to
take care of yourself. And I’m not an idiot,” she cuts before Tadashi can say
anything else, “I know you’re not. Your kitchen barely looks used, the
television hasn’t been on in ages, and I can tell that the couch was starting
to get dusty.”
Tadashi’s mind
flickers back to all those hours spent in bed.
“You haven’t
switched the lights on for a long time. You’re squinting.” She gestures to his
eyes; Tadashi finds it a miracle that she doesn’t mention the circles under
them. “You’re not used to it being bright anymore. You’ve been keeping to
yourself. That’s how you’ve been spending your days off. And not to mention the
state I caught you in when I barged in here,” she argues. Tadashi shuts his
eyes momentarily.
The hands are on
his shoulders and they’re pulling him up, pulling him back towards the bedroom.
His head feels empty, his mind feels elsewhere. The words leave his mouth
before he can stop them, but he knows that he’s had enough.
“Stop that.”
Eri raises a
brow but doesn’t say anything more. Tadashi gets up slowly, rises from the
couch with the empty tea cup in his hands. “I’m recovering,” he manages
quietly. Whatever sharpness that had been there in his voice beforehand dulled
considerably. “Tell the admin I’ll be back soon. Please.”
“S—”
He turns away.
“I need to
rest.” Tadashi almost sounds pleading. He can’t look at Eri anymore; not when
her purple tie is what stands out the most in the dullness of the living room. “Just
let me rest, Eri. I want to rest.”
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