Of course there's an Aya POV! I would never leave you guys hanging like that. And thanks for the comments. I'm glad I could bring smiles to some faces. It's amazing what light-hearted stories can do, huh? Quite a different reaction from WNTBD. Hahaha!
5.3 + ½: The Alternate Alternate Version
Let's get drunk and have sex.
My first reaction is to laugh. Not a loud laugh. A chuckle under my breath. A surrendering chuckle. One that kind of says 'oh, you and your silly sense of humour.'
But that's not the first thing I feel. My outside and my inside are like two completely different people. Inside, an icy cold fear grips my heart.
Is she for real? Does she mean that? If she does, then... then I don't know. I have no clue.
How do I feel?
Scared. That's what. Terrified.
But why would I be terrified?
Well, no duh. My best friend, whether jokingly or not, is proposing we do something that intimate couples (or, fair enough, strangers) do. She must be joking.
But half of the reason why I'm scared is because part of me suspects she's not joking. I think she wants to. I think she's cleverly disguised her true feelings as a joke and sent them to me to test the waters of our relationship. Our friendship. She'll act according to my reply.
Which leads me to the other half of the reason why I'm scared. My reply. What I want. This can't be possible, but something inside me tells me to say "yes." It doesn't make sense to me. Why would I even want to agree to it? Getting drunk isn't all it's cracked up to be. Frankly, it's a bit disappointing the next day. And sleeping with her? Out of all the people in the world, it seems so wrong. I mean, talk about super embarrassing. And I wouldn't have a clue what to do with her. It's just wrong wrong wrong. No matter how much I love the girl (in a friendly way), I won't do that with her. Because it's wrong.
I become aware of my surroundings. I'm at the bus stop in front of the mall. I hope I haven't been muttering anything strange. Nobody's giving me funny looks, so I continue my line of thought.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. No sex. It's wrong.
Yet there I was just recently, ready to rip off Keita's clothes and get intimately acquainted with him, and I never even liked the guy that much. I surely like Miki more than I like him. So what's the problem?
That's what part of me keeps saying. Despite all the potential embarrassment, the screw ups, and the... the general, overwhelming wrongness of it all, that part of me tells me to do it! Now. The ticket to my future is in my hand. It's at my fingertips. I can type my reply and make something happen.
And maybe I need a change in my life. Maybe if I do something wild, that nagging feeling at the back of my brain will be put to rest.
Suddenly I feel brave. That's what I'll do. I'll take a chance. Throw away everything I've established with her to try this out. I'm going to do it! Maybe it really will make me feel better.
But there's a big but.
I can only do this if she really means it. I can't tell if her offer's a joke or authentic until I go over there and evaluate the situation.
I walk away from the bus stop. I can't believe I'm doing this.
I create a new plan and make a phone call to the person who can hook me up. A person who coincidentally lives just minutes away from where I'm standing.
"Hello," says the sweet voice that answers the phone.
"Hi, how are you?" I ask politely.
"Not too bad. And you?"
"Never better," I say. "Listen, Abe-san, I need to ask you a big favour. Can you get me a bottle of alcohol?"
I wince at the silence that follows.
"My my, Aya-chan. Going over to the boyfriend's place?" she asks amusedly.
"Uh, yeah, kind of," I mumble.
"Well, no problem. I have an extra bottle of vodka lying around. How soon do you need it?"
I mouth a silent pray of thanks.
"Is now okay? I can be there in ten minutes."
"Sure, sounds fine. See you soon!" Abe says with her trademark cheer.
We hang up, and I feel relieved. Trust that girl to be able to hook us younger ones up when we're in need. It's no secret to the girls that she's the one to go to when you want to get into something not-so-legal. Most people outside our group would assume we go to Nakazawa, but she's far too overprotective. She would never let any of us touch a drop of alcohol or a cigarette even after becoming of legal age. I've heard that she freaks out whenever she hears Yaguchi's had a few drinks. Imagine what she would do if she knew Aibon's started to experiment with smoking (something I just discovered last month).
Abe is indeed my saviour of the day.
I take out my phone and type up my message to Miki.
Okay! On my way.
I suck in a deep breath of air.
I'm actually doing this.
I press the send button before I can hesitate any further.
I close my phone and my heart speeds up. I've sent that reply because it can be taken either as a joke or seriously. I'll let Miki decide and then follow her lead. Either way, though, I suppose a bottle of alcohol never hurts to have around. It can be my excuse. Our excuse. If anything awkward happens, I'll claim the next day that alcohol stole my memory.
I head over to Abe's apartment, which is just a few blocks away. I knock at her door. She opens it up wearing a Big Nacchi Smile. The Big Nacchi Smile is Abe Natsumi's special version of what others might call a naughty, impish grin. She hands me a heavy cloth bag.
"How much do I owe you?" I ask, a little flustered by the all-knowing look she's giving me.
"Consider this a welcome-to-the-dark-side gift. First one is on the house."
I groan in embarrassment in my head.
"Thank you, Abe-san," I say politely.
"Now, you be careful with him," she begins to lecture me. "If you have any problems, I'm only a phone call away. And if he says he-"
"Thank you, Abe-san," I repeat a little more forcefully, dying of humiliation.
I smile nervously and back away.
"All right. See you later," Abe winks, and she closes the door as I turn around and leave hurriedly.
It takes me twenty-five minutes to travel to Miki's apartment from Abe's. By the time I get there, my nerves are frayed beyond recognition. I feel like I need a drink desperately. My opinion is slowly starting to change. Maybe getting drunk is a good idea.
I approach the door and hear familiar music playing. I also hear Miki singing along with it extremely badly. She sounds like she's already drunk.
Hey! I thought she hated that song. Little lying sneak, I think.
I ring the doorbell, and the music stops almost instantly. Footsteps come to the door. I detect a slight pause before the door is opened cautiously.
The girl is a mess of feelings, each one plainly written on her face.
She's terrified. She's actually scared of me. She doesn't know what to expect (I might laugh, I might kill her, I might reprimand her, I might cry). She's hopeful. I'm here like I said I would be, which means maybe my e-mail wasn't a joke. She's excited. For obvious reasons, of course. I'm at her door. She's always happy to see me.
It's plain to me that her e-mail - her suggestion - is not a joke. I don't know what possessed her to send it to me. But she did, and I got the message, which is now loud and clear as I stand in front of her.
And then within that split second, I also become aware of something else. I'm glad she meant it. I'm glad I'm here. Maybe Miki really is the reason why I broke up with Keita. Maybe she's even the reason why it never worked with him in the first place. Being with him was my fear's clever way of distracting me from what I really wanted.
Well, I won't stand for that any longer. Since when do Matsuura Aya and fear have anything in common?
Precisely! Since never. I'm a fearless, confident, and smart person, and I practically own this girl standing in front of me. The ball is in my court. It's my move. I hold both our tickets to the future.
I grin at her, and after she tries to say something and fails miserably, I push my way into the apartment and take my shoes off. She's more nervous than I've ever seen her before, and it thrills me as I drag her into her own living room.
"Hi," I greet her, my grin widening.
"Hi," her voice screeches and cracks.
It's adorable. My little Miki all scared of me. All unsure and shy and embarrassed. She's the one who sent me the e-mail. She should be teeming with confidence. She shouldn't be the shy one here.
God, I like her. A lot. No more stupid sack of Keita-brand charcoal to keep me away and make me deny it. Not anymore.
I open my bag and take out the bottle of vodka. It's a big one. If we drink it all, we'll be hammered through to the next morning. We'd better be careful.
I watch her reaction, and I see her come to conclusions in her head. We're going to drink. Whatever happens as a result depends not just on how much we drink, but also how far those hidden desires in us reach. Alcohol is merely what will loosen us up. There has to be something in us for something to happen. I guess we'll find out.
I laugh at her reaction, and then I look at her meaningfully. I don't want to waste another minute. I want her to know that I'm serious about drinking this stuff and about being here.
"I hope you have juice."
She stares back at me, her face seemingly without expression. I can read what she's thinking, though. Her eyes seem to say nothing, but in fact they speak volumes. They say 'let's do this.' Clear as crystal.
She takes the bottle from me, her hand brushing against mine slightly. She then turns around and goes to her kitchen. I put the bag down and watch her. She doesn't know I'm watching. Or maybe she does, but she doesn't turn around. She concentrates on what she's doing, pouring vodka quite liberally into two glasses filled halfway with orange juice. She turns around holding the two glasses and gives me a funny look when she sees me standing in the living room watching her. We walk towards each other and meet halfway. She hands me a glass.
So what happens now?
We look at each other. It's a stalemate.
It's a stalemate until she raises her glass.
"To break ups," she says with an ironic smile.
I smirk and raise my glass to that. I know what she really means, so I say it for her.
"To new beginnings."
That makes her smile. We say "cheers" and clink glasses together.
And so goes the beginning.
Topic: Friday's Children are Full of Woe (a continuing story) (Read 49477 times)