Sixty Beats Per Minute — 2024 Christmas Special [Part 2/3: "Storm in a Shot Glass" 7/1/2025]

[seannie4]

Sixty Beats Per Minute

Three people.
Three perspectives.
Three Christmases.

One memory which will never fade.

A massive thank you, as always, to Piroska.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

(Sidenote: this is not a Secret Santa! )

Part 1/3: Last Christmas | The flicker of a flame
Part 2/3: Storm in a Shot Glass | Eat, drink and be merry
Part 3/3: Sixty Beats Per Minute | Today, tomorrow, forever

[seannie4]

Part 1/3: Last Christmas

“Kanpai!”

The cheer went up, reverberating through the smoky air of the dim and cramped izakaya. Five, ten, fifteen beer glasses were raised to the centre of the table, clinking together like the sound of discordant bells. I gave a half-hearted cheer but failed to join in. Instead, I lifted my glass to my lips and took the tiniest sip.

A hand suddenly grasped my right shoulder, and I turned to find myself staring at a red-faced coworker, already inebriated only an hour into the party.

“Come on, Hisao,” he slurred, “it’s Christmas Eve and you haven’t even finished a glass yet! Drink up!”

I laughed nervously and gently brushed his hand off me. I was never good with parties or drunk coworkers. I took another sip of the bitter, frothy liquid and reflexively placed a hand over my heart, feeling its rapid, irregular rhythm. The anxiety of the night was getting to me, and the increasing rowdiness of my coworkers was not helping.

I checked my watch. 8:30 P.M. Every minute I stayed there was agony, but I couldn’t leave just yet. I scanned around the crowded room until I made eye contact with the person I was looking for.

Her pitch-black irises met mine and she shook her head slowly. Not yet. She discreetly gestured towards our boss with her wine glass, who was in the process of refilling the half-empty glasses of my coworkers with a pitcher of beer. His round, balding, middle-aged face was as red as a fire engine, and he had that sort of crazed, euphoric expression ‘happy drunks’ tend to get. So much for an otherwise stern and businesslike manager.

With the beer poured, the cheering and laughing became louder. I locked eyes with her once again, but this time she nodded, a determined expression set on her face.

Now.

Someone yelled, and the glasses were raised again.

“Kanpai!”

That was the signal. Placing my glass on the table, I quickly began to climb over my coworkers cramming the seats, who were too busy either drinking the toast or trying to stay upright to care. I muttered an excuse about going to the bathroom to a few of them as I passed, but I doubt anyone heard anything above the ruckus.

Finally, I managed to disentangle myself from the party and make my escape, breaking out into the izakaya dining room floor. The raucous laughter and the sounds of the kitchen faded behind me as I grabbed my coat and rushed out the exit, but it didn’t seem that anyone had reacted to my disappearance.

Well, all except for one, but I didn’t wait for her to follow. Instead, I quickly descended the narrow steps to ground level and stood before the clear glass door that led out onto the white-dusted streets beyond. Night had fallen long ago, and flakes of snow were swirling in across the neon-lit air of Tokyo, cars and people passing to and fro along the road.

I put on my heavy brown coat and beanie and took a deep breath of the warm indoor air, bracing for the frigid shock that surely waited for me outside.

“Leaving without even saying goodbye, are ya?”

A playful feminine voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned around to find the same young lady who had coordinated my escape from the party upstairs, dressed for the cold with a thick puffy jacket and a grey scarf wrapped around her neck. She smiled demurely, though her dark eyes were filled with a genuine concern which made me blush a little at my tunnel-vision.

“Ah, no… I mean… sorry, Mai,” I stammered. “I just have so many things on my mind, so…”

She laughed a little and shook her head, brushing wisps of long black hair out of her eyes as she did so.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. What matters is that you made a clean getaway.”

The fact that a getaway was necessary at all didn’t help my anxiety. After work drinks and company events weren’t mandatory per se, but it was a brave or foolhardy employee who blew them off. The stigma of being the odd man out was one thing, but the career implications were an entirely different matter. The fact that promotions were, in some way, tied to how blasted you got at office Christmas parties irritated me to no end, but I didn’t make the rules; I could only work around them.

“Do you think it was a clean getaway?” I asked nervously.

Mai nodded emphatically. “You’ll be fine. I mean, did you see the boss? He’s sloshed. By the time he wakes up tomorrow, he’s not gonna remember a fucking thing. Same with everyone else.”

We both laughed a little at that, but the mood quickly turned serious.

“You think you’re gonna make it in time?” she asked.

I looked down and checked my watch again. 8:40 P.M.

“The northbound Shinkansen departs just after nine. It’s about two hours to Sendai, give or take, so I’ll make it to the hospital before midnight, but…”

My voice trailed off, but Mai had already deduced the root of my anxiety.

“Visiting time’s long over, isn’t it?”

Hospitals have visiting times for a reason, and I wasn’t sure whether they’d bend the rules on Christmas Eve of all days. I was acutely aware of the narrowing window of opportunity, but I couldn’t let it get to me.

I had to see her, no matter what.

“I was never going to make it in time,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just praying that someone there will let me in.”

Mai rested a hand on my shoulder, drawing her face near so she could see me, eye to eye.

“Just focus on getting there. You’ll have a heart attack on the train if you keep worrying about the time, you get me?”

Her eyes were piercing yet at the same time comforting. Still inside her was the scrappy, strong-willed fighter from high school, but tempered with maturity and a keen eye for social cues I could never match. Everything that had transpired over the past few years burned in my memory, and a strange mixture of guilt and gratitude suddenly flooded through me.

“I… I want to thank you, Mai,” I blurted out.

She drew back and cocked her head. “For tonight? Oh, it’s nothing.”

“No, not just for tonight. For… everything,” I began. “For finding me. For forgiving me. For being my friend again. For helping me come back here and get this job. For being here for me, especially now, when it gets so hard to keep going back to the hospital.”

Guilt flooded through me. In that moment, I felt what Iwanako must have felt, the pain of returning to the place which hurts you the most, over and over again. How much fortitude it took to make that journey. How hard it was on her heart and her soul.

“I’m so sorry, Mai. You know, I put you guys through so much back then. I hurt everyone, I hurt you, Mai, and then I ran off to make a new life just for myself. I just feel so guilty about it, because-”

“Stop,” she interrupted firmly, raising a hand. I shut my mouth immediately, as her expression seemed… frustrated, almost angry. She took a deep breath and looked me dead in the eyes with that piercing gaze.

“That was six years ago, Hisao,” Mai admonished. “You were going through an insane life changing event. We were all different people. Yeah, we hurt each other, but that’s because none of us knew how on earth to deal with all that crap. I’m grateful for the apology, but you can’t keep beating yourself up over it.”

Her manner was stern, and it felt a little like I was being lectured to, like a small child. Still, Mai’s voice was filled with an irresistible conviction.
“If you spend every year, every Christmas, looking at the snow and thinking about what went wrong and how fucked up things got, you’re gonna tear yourself to pieces. You have a new life now, so live it.”

Her tone softened, that more sensitive side of her I didn’t see too often coming out.

“You deserve someone to be here for you, so you can be here for someone else. What happened years and years ago doesn’t matter to me anymore. I’ll always be in your court. Don’t you dare ever forget that. You get me?”

I wondered exactly how many other people in my life were backing me, unreservedly. One was lying on a hospital bed. Another was… well, it was complicated. My parents could only do so much. Mai was in my court. With everything about to come to a head, I needed that one certain fact to count on.

I nodded.

She smiled, before turning around, bending down, and picking up a brown paper bag with black straps, holding it out to me.

“Forgetting something?” she teased, smirking.

I mentally kicked myself. One more thing that had slipped my mind, so great was my rush to get out. Blushing, I took it from her hands.

“Say hi to your girl for me, will ya?”

“I will,” I replied, before turning to the glass door and pushing on the handle. Instantly, the chill hit my face, biting at my skin. The frigid air burned my lungs, but there was nowhere else to go but forward.

I stepped out onto the pavement, shoes crunching against the white mat of fallen snow. It would be a ten minutes’ walk to the station, less if I ran. I took another deep, burning breath, and braced myself.

“Oh, and Hisao?” Mai called. She was standing in the doorway, a few flakes of snow clinging to her hair, giving a wave with her right hand, that small, demure smile still on her face.

“Merry Christmas.”

I smiled too.

“Merry Christmas, Mai.”

Then, I turned in the direction of the station and started to run.

…

I ran, and ran, and ran.

Well, not exactly. I made sure not to slip on black ice and stopped every now and then to catch my breath and check on my heart. But still, I ran. The hospital was my only destination.

It was up ahead, on the road, the lights from the many windows casting an eerie glow over the snow-covered streets. A few cars were on the roads, but there were no other people walking around at this time of night, on this day, of all days. As I passed by the sleepy apartment buildings that lined the street, I wondered how many families were gathered in their warm rooms, sharing a meal, reveling in the joy of simply being together. I wondered how many were alone, in their bedrooms, partaking of something special cooked for themselves, or maybe just a cup of instant ramen, watching the snow drift slowly past their windows.

The ride on the Shinkansen, despite its speed, seemed utterly interminable, but now I was regretting not savouring the warm interior of the train carriage when I had the chance. Every icy breath, every pound of my feet on the snowy pavement sent a small shock of pain through my chest. I gripped the straps of the little brown bag tightly and made my way through the deserted hospital carpark.

The automatic doors at the entrance opened with a sigh, the blast of warm air a welcome relief. I slowed from jog to a slow walk, permitting myself a few moments pause to let my lungs recover and to slow my wildly beating heart.

The lobby around me was empty; even the usual gaggle of receptionists and triage nurses that hung around the front counters were gone. In their place was a single, sleepy-eyed nurse, head resting on a hand, trying not to fall asleep. She lazily looked up at me, and then there was a second of mutual recognition. I didn’t know her name, but I knew her dark brown eyes and short hair from the many times I had passed through this very waiting room.

It's never a good sign when the nurses in a hospital begin recognising you on sight.

She certainly knew who I was here for, and why I was rushing to get there. The nurse gestured towards the elevators with her eyes, a concerned expression crossing over her face. Time was of the essence; both of us knew that, and she wasn’t about to ask questions. I gave her a small nod in return and dashed for the elevators, pressing on the button and waiting anxiously for one of the doors to open.

But the fact she hadn’t outright stopped me was a good sign. I still had a chance.

An elevator arrived and I rushed in, slamming the button for the floor number next to the Intensive Care Unit label, like I’d done so many times before. I checked my watch. 11:30 P.M. It was down to the wire.

Please, I begged, please give us just a few more minutes, a few more breaths, a few more heartbeats.

One more door.

The elevator chimed, and then I was on the ICU floor, which was totally deserted and preternaturally silent. It was way, way past visiting time, but I was sure at least one of the nurses there could help me. Just one favour, on Christmas Eve.

One final favour.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I approached the reception desk that barred the way into the ICU ward, searching for a familiar face.

One nurse manned the desk. A young man with cropped black hair, maybe my age or even younger, dressed in thin blue scrubs and a face mask. Getting closer, I could see a little tag attached to his breast pocket which read TRAINEE.

I had never seen him before in my life.

“Oh, damn it,” I muttered. Befitting the fate of an intern, he’d clearly been dumped on the graveyard shift on Christmas Eve. He very likely had no idea who I was trying to see, what the circumstances were, how often I had made this very same walk to the ICU doors for months and months. I could only pray he’d understand me.

He looked up at me with bored eyes but frowned like he was surprised that I was even here.

“Hi…” I tentatively began, “my name is Hisao. I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I really, really need to see-”

“Sorry, but no visitors.”

His tired voice stopped me cold. He didn’t even bother to listen to who I was here for, let alone an explanation of why I needed to get through. The anxiety stormed through my veins, but I kept a calm front and tried to explain myself again.

“Look, you may not know who I am, but I’ve been coming here for months to see this one patient. I got a call saying that her condition has deteriorated rapidly, and I came here as fast as I could. I know it’s an absurd time, but it’s serious and I need to see her. Her name is-”

“Visiting time ended hours ago, sir,” he interrupted, somewhat irritated. “I was told no one except medical staff were supposed to be on the ICU floor after hours. How did you even get up here?”

My heart was roaring in my ears. I had wasted hours upon hours, at the party, on the train, running here. Every breath she now took could be her very last.

“Please, you have to understand, it’s extremely urgent.”

“Are you family?” he asked.

In a grotesque way, I basically was. I was the one always making the journey here. I was the only one who stayed by her bedside, even when it clashed with my studies and my work. I was the one who was sacrificing the most. Even my one other companion in this struggle had slowly ceased to come with me to this cursed place. Only I remained.

Yet, we had different surnames. I was family only in action, not in writing.

“Well, no, not technically…”

“Then in that case, no matter who you’re looking for, you’re not allowed in. The ICU is restricted access for a reason, sir. The elevators to the lobby are behind you and to the left.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. She was still alive, mere meters away through the swinging doors, and now I was being obstructed by a trainee nurse who was welded to the rulebook. I leaned over the counter and lowered my voice, staring into his dark eyes with the most pleading expression I could muster.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” I begged. “Could you please just help me out, just this once? It’s my last chance.”

The young man paused for a moment, as though seriously considering my request, but then slowly shook his head.

“I’m sorry, sir. You can come back tomorrow morning.”

It was all I could do not to yell at the young nurse. The whole point was that morning would be far too late.

For a moment, I seriously considered running the gauntlet and bursting through those doors, damn the consequences. However, there were likely some more nurses in the ward, and I didn’t fancy what would happen to me if I forcibly intruded on an ICU ward.

My anxiety was reaching a fever pitch. I was left standing there with no options.

Then, the double doors swung open.

“Thank you for taking the shift, Kentaro! I know it sucks, I really do, but we were all trainees once and I guess that’s part of the…”

A familiar voice pierced the quiet, and a young lady wearing a thick grey overcoat and carrying her blue hospital scrubs in her arms burst onto the waiting room floor. Her voice trailed off and her blue eyes went wide as she spotted me.

“Oh, Mr. Nakai… you made it.”

Instantly, I was flooded with relief. “Nurse Yamaguchi…”

She smiled and shook her head. “Mr. Nakai, I told you before that you can call me by my first name. How are you?”

The trainee, Kentaro, stared at us in shock. “You… you know him?” he sputtered, incredulous.

Nurse Yamaguchi shot me a sad smile before turning to her stunned colleague, twirling a lock of curly brown hair as she did so.

“Mr. Nakai is a… regular here, Kentaro,” she explained gently, “he’s been very diligent with his visitations for one particular patient, and I’m afraid he’s… been through quite a lot.”

She turned back to me, her expression turning grim. “I’m afraid I don’t have any good news. Come with me.”

The nurse pushed on the double doors, opening them for me, but Kentaro rose from his seat,

“Wait!” he shouted. “He said that he’s not family. It’s against regulation to just let him into the ICU without-”

Nurse Yamaguchi raised a hand, silencing the trainee instantly. Her voice became low, and carried an authoritative, almost threatening tone.

“Kentaro. It’s Christmas Eve. Let’s show a little Christmas charity now and then.”

He was left sputtering, and Nurse Yamaguchi leaned in with a deadly quiet whisper to seal the deal. With that, she went through the double doors, gesturing at me to follow.

The ICU was as bright and sterile as ever. The long white hallway with fluorescent lights was totally quiet and empty, save for our footsteps clacking against the spotless linoleum flooring. It always surprised me how lifeless a place so dedicated to preserving life felt.

We moved to a small side room where we repeated the familiar routine of donning the thin hospital scrubs, face mask and fabric shower caps.

“Thanks, Nurse Yamaguchi,” I said quietly. “Thank you so much.”

“Sorry about Kentaro,” she sighed in reply, fussing with her face mask. “He’s a good worker, but he’s new.”

Now all suited up, we began making our way down the hallway, past the many closed doors and banks of computers and medical equipment in little bays along the sides. Despite the crushing feeling I associated with this place, we usually had something to talk about as we walked. Now though, even the usually upbeat nurse was solemn, looking at me with concern every ten paces.

Then, we were in front of the door, the same beige door I had stood in front of for months. It was all about to come to a head, right here, right now. That sense of finality struck something deep within my heart, and the anxiety I had been feeling the entire trip here bloomed into full terror.

“Nurse Yamaguchi…” I asked, shakily, “tonight’s the night, right?”

After a brief hesitation, she looked at me dead in the eye, her tone low and serious. “Mr. Nakai, she was very, very lucky to make it through the last twenty-four hours. She’s deteriorated since the phone call, and she’s struggling to breathe even on the ventilator, but she’s still conscious.”

The nurse didn’t answer my question outright, but the implications were clear. She had fought tooth and nail to make it all the way to Christmas, but she would not live to see morning. It was now or never.

Nurse Yamaguchi spoke up again. “By the way, your friend… the one with the white hair… came by earlier this afternoon.”

That took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting to hear that, not after I had spent weeks coming to this place solo, sitting by the bedside alone as the situation became more and more crushing.

“Is… is she still here?” I ventured.

“No, she left after an hour, or so I’ve been told. I only saw her enter the ward.”

I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or angry. The only thing I could feel was terror, but I had to be strong, put everything else out of my mind, and focus on the girl behind the door. Mai had told me to do so; commanded me to do so. I couldn’t break now.

I turned to the nurse and bowed, deeply. I had a feeling that I wouldn’t see her again after this. “Thank you so much, Nurse Yamaguchi. You and the rest of the nurses here have had to take care of her, watch her deteriorate over all these months… I’m still not sure how you do it.”

She shook her head. “I should be thanking you, Mr. Nakai. Without you, she wouldn’t have had the strength to fight this long. You’re the only person from the outside she can rely on. This is our job, Mr. Nakai. What you’re doing is from your own heart. That’s something special.”

But that was the rub. I had become less and less sure that fighting was worth it. The promise to make it to Christmas had been built on immense and almost intolerable suffering on her part. She had insisted, again and again, that it was her fight, that she wanted to see the snow and the festivities one last time.

But did she really? As her nerves died, as she lost control of her movements, as her own body turned against her as the weeks and months passed, did she regret her decision? Did she regret subjecting herself to this fight? Was she doing this out of a sheer desire to survive?

Or was it for me?

I never had the strength to ask her. I didn’t want to live with the fact that she was putting herself through unbearable pain just for the person who stayed by her bedside. I always wondered if I should just take her smile and her insistence at face value. That she truly wanted this.

Mai’s words came back to me.

You have to be strong for her.

It was way too late now. We had come to the end of the path we had chosen. I checked my watch. 11:40 P.M.

“What’s in the bag?” the nurse asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I held up the paper bag but didn’t let her see inside. “It’s a… little Christmas present. For her.”

Nurse Yamaguchi nodded once and smiled but said nothing further. I took a deep breath and placed my hand on the cold metal of the door handle, bracing myself as though I were about to step into the cold.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Nakai.”

Her words made me pause for a second. One last Christmas greeting.

I didn’t turn to face her. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I feared that if I dared turn away from the door, I would lose my nerve.

So, instead, I fulfilled her last request.

“Merry Christmas, Sayaka.”

And I opened the door.

The lights inside were turned off, the room illuminated only by the dim glow of the various machines and displays of the medical equipment. I could see the readout of the EKG machine, the green line moving up and down in steady rhythm. The curtains on the opposite wall were open, giving a few of the brightly lit Sendai suburbs as flakes of snow drifted slowly past.

In the center of the room was the hospital bed.

And the girl lying on it.

“Saki.”

She was thin, so thin. Even when lying down, the hospital gown she was wearing seemed to hang off her skeletal frame. Her honey-coloured hair was cut short and matted in some places, obscured by the blue shower cap all the patients wore. So many wires, drips and IV lines seemed to emerge from Saki’s body that she looked more machine than human. Steel and science were keeping her alive, but only barely.

Her eyes were closed, and a ventilator was wrapped around her face. I could hear the rush of air with every breath, the mechanical inhale and exhale of the machine as it breathed for her. I figured after months of seeing her like this, I would’ve become numb to it all, but the sight still wrenched my heart.

She didn’t immediately respond to my voice, and for a moment I feared I was too late, that she’d already slipped beneath the tide of painkillers.

But then Saki moved her head ever so slightly and slowly opened her gold-coloured eyes, as though she was fighting against the weight of her very eyelids.

A mix of relief and terror flooded through my head. Saki was still conscious, just as Sayaka said.

I approached the bed. “It’s me, Hisao,” I whispered, gently. “I’m back.”

She stared at me, looking me over, and the tiniest of smiles crept over her face. Her expression was cloudy, deadened by the painkillers and her failing body. I reached over the side of the bed to caress her arms, feeling her bones through the gown and her sickly skin.

Be strong, I thought to myself. Just a little longer.

I reached for the usual chair by the bedside table, only to find it turned at an awkward angle, as though someone had jumped out of it and spun it around.

Sitting upturned on that bedside table was a Polaroid camera and a half-open packet of instant film.

Rika’s Polaroid camera.

It was true, then. The white-haired ghost had come around sometime that day to pay Saki one final visit, but had left behind one of her most treasured possessions. She rarely went anywhere without it, but it looked like it had simply been dumped here in a hurry. It left me with more questions than answers. Why had she left her precious camera behind? Why did she visit alone, without telling me?

Most of all, why didn’t she stay? She had to have known the end was near, so why did she leave after only an hour?

I quickly pushed the thoughts out of my mind. Saki was my priority. Every second counted.

My fingers reached her bony hands, and I squeezed them, holding onto them tightly. She didn’t squeeze back; there was no strength at all in her fingers. They were dead weight, an indication of just how atrophied her body had become.

For a long moment, silence reigned. There were no words we needed to say to one another. Each other’s presence was comfort enough already. I ran my thumb over her knuckles and joints as I watched the snow fall and listened to the sound of her slow, laboured breathing.

I remembered the little brown bag I brought with me to the hospital. Letting go of her hand, I put the bag on the bed, the rustling of the paper causing Saki’s eyes to light up.

“I got you a little Christmas present.”

I reached into the bag and pulled out a single, small pillar candle, with wax of pure white and a little brown wick sticking out the top.

“A candle. So we can have a candlelit Christmas, like we used to do.”

I was grateful that Sayaka didn’t check the contents of my bag, because lighting an open candle in an ICU ward probably violated all sorts of health regulations. Saki’s mouth parted slightly, and even with her ashen, sunken face, I could tell in her eyes what she was feeling.

Joy.

One last gift. One last memory. A candle for eternity.

Reaching once again into the bag, I pulled out a book of matches, took one out, and struck it, the little crimson head bursting into flame. Carefully, I moved it over the wick, watching as the fabric smouldered, and then lit, the candle growing its own head of dark yellow flame.

Immediately, the room changed. The gloom which had been illuminated only by the stark tones of green, white and red from the machine displays suddenly transformed into a warm, sunset hue, bathing everything in that soft, comforting glow. With the snow that drifted past the window, it really did seem like Saki was back in her bedroom on a cold winter’s night, surrounded by books and stuffed animals rather than oxygen tanks and EKG machines. This sterile place where she was condemned to die now felt a little bit like home.

I blew out the match and set the candle on the bedside table, watching as Saki slowly turned her head to face it, the flame dancing in her golden eyes.

For a moment, there was a lovely, peaceful stillness. I allowed myself to finally relax, release the tension that had seized every muscle in my body, close my eyes, and simply listen to the beeping of the EKG.

Then, her breathing changed.

The mechanical sighing suddenly became more forced, and a soft but alarming rattle began to sound with every inhale and exhale. I lifted my head to find Saki’s eyes staring into my own, her brows furrowed in an urgent, pained expression on her face.

I looked down at my watch.

11:45 P.M.

Saki was so close, but her eyes were struggling to stay open as it was. I couldn’t imagine the pain she felt in fighting to simply stay awake. She was putting herself through torture, just so she could cross this arbitrary line and fulfill this one, stupid promise.

That stung my heart. I cupped her face with one hand and begged her, as tenderly as I could manage with my shaky voice.

“Saki, you… you don’t have to fight anymore. Please. You can let go. It’s okay. Promise or no promise, you don’t need to do this to yourself…”

There was a sharp intake of breath, rattling in her lungs. With one last effort against the spreading paralysis, she slowly managed to shake her head.

She wanted to fight until the end.

I considered lying and saying that it was Christmas Day already. She had no way to know for sure, and she would no longer have to fight. It would ease her suffering, so she no longer had to go on living this tortured existence. It would be so easy.

But her eyes ensnared me, like they always did, like they did when I first met her. The eyes that seemed to know my deepest fears and thoughts. The eyes that saw me for who I am. The eyes that saw truth. Ataxia could never rob her of that power.

I owed it to her. She had come so far and fought so hard already. She deserved to know how close she was to her victory.

So, despite my fear, I nodded and held onto her hand.

“You’re almost there. Fifteen more minutes.”

Satisfied, Saki released her pained expression and finally relented to the weight of her eyelids.

The candlelight cast shadows on the wall as it wavered and flickered. I focused my gaze outside the window, at the falling snow and the distant lights of the suburbs beyond. With this view, I could really believe that it was just another winter’s night, with Saki’s hand in mine, and that tomorrow she’d wake up to celebrate Christmas Day with me.

I had taken all of it for granted. Her voice, her eyes, her warmth, her presence, I knew it couldn’t last forever, and yet I had simply lived day to day with her, taking whatever joy we could in small moments. The inevitable conclusion was always something for our future selves to deal with. But the future had become the present. We’d always joked that she was living on borrowed time, but that debt had come due.

The rattling in her breathing became louder, but I refused to speak or to move, fearful that the least movement would break her, somehow, and that silence would descend on the room. As she fought for every heartbeat, I fought to keep the tears from my eyes, gripping her cold fingers as though my warmth alone could keep her alive for just a few moments longer.

Five long years. Was it enough?

Just a little longer, I prayed. Please… just a little longer.

A sudden wind passed by the window, shaking the glass and sending snowflakes tumbling in random directions. I looked down at my watch.

12:01 A.M.

She’d made it. The promise had been fulfilled.

I laid my head down on her chest and muttered the words I had been waiting to say.

“Merry Christmas… Saki.”

There was no reply.

I turned my head and looked at the candle, sitting on the bedside table.

The flame flickered once, and then went out.

[Hacksorus]

Sixty Beats Per Minute

Three people.
Three perspectives.
Three Christmases.

One memory which will never fade.

A massive thank you, as always, to Piroska.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

(Sidenote: this is not a Secret Santa! )

Part 1/3: Last Christmas | The flicker of a flame
Part 2/3: Storm in a Shot Glass | Eat, drink and be merry
Part 3/3: Sixty Beats Per Minute | Today, tomorrow, forever

Excellent work as usual, I quite enjoyed it!

As crazy as Japanese corporate drinking culture is, missing one drinking party because one's loved one is in the hospital on Christmas is probably pretty easy to get away with. Just bein' pedantic tho.

Merry Christmas to you too!

[seannie4]

Thanks so much!

As crazy as Japanese corporate drinking culture is, missing one drinking party because one's loved one is in the hospital on Christmas is probably pretty easy to get away with. Just bein' pedantic tho.

Don't worry, there's gonna be some real rethinking of past decisions in the next part...

[seannie4]

Part 2/3: Storm in a Shot Glass

The snow outside my window was really coming down.

It blanketed the quiet suburban street, the parked cars, and the apartment blocks in a thick white frosting. The flakes were so dense that the light from the distant streetlamps seemed to flash and sputter with the strength of the wind. It felt as chilly inside my apartment as it must have felt outside, even with the heater on full blast.

The knocking came suddenly, startling me. Scrambling to the door, I took a deep breath, put on my best smile, and flexed my fingers to get the last few shivers out of them.

A blast of freezing air rushed in as I pulled open the door, revealing a lanky young man dressed in a thick black parka with the hood up, dusted with snow and clearly exhausted from the trek up to my floor. He bent down to catch his breath, clouds of condensation emerging from his lips with every exhale, before standing back up to look me in the eye, eyebrows furrowed in a frown.

“Ah, Nakai! Glad to see you didn’t freeze to death on your way here!”

My voice was bright, and my smile was wide, yet Nakai was showing nothing resembling Christmas spirit. His face was grim, and his frown deepened as he eyed me up and down.

“Rika. Good… to see you,” he replied, a tone of concern playing in his voice. He shifted uncomfortably on the doormat, as if wondering whether to step inside at all.

“Come in, come in!” I chirped. “Wouldn’t want you getting hypothermia at my door, would we?”

That finally got Nakai moving, though neither my warm apartment nor my sprightly demeanour seemed to be having any effect on him. “Are you cold?” he asked.

I looked down at my fingers to find them twitching again, so I balled them into fists and quickly stuffed them into my pockets.

“Oh, yeah, you know, just feeling a little bit chilly…”

Nakai cocked his head. “In here? That’s strange, it feels as hot as a greenhouse.”

“You’re the strange one, Nakai,” I countered, smirking. “Spending Christmas Eve with a woman you only ever see once a year? Peculiar behaviour, if I do say so myself.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he scoffed, but his eyes turned downwards, and his voice became quiet. “Dad’s … well, he’s in Taiwan on business, if you can believe it, so there’s not exactly a festive atmosphere waiting for me at my parents’ house. Mum’s really not happy about his trip either, so you can imagine why I’m especially eager to be out of there.”

“And you thought I’d be better company?” I asked, incredulous.

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe.”

I felt a bit bad, laughing like a maniac in Nakai’s face, but his look of both embarrassment and concern was so hilarious that I couldn’t stop myself. I reached over and closed the door behind him, finally cutting us off from the freezing air outside, noticing something rectangular in Nakai’s hand, wrapped in blue paper. He quickly discarded his parka and his boots, clearly affected by the extreme change in temperature and I wondered if I should adjust the thermostat.

“Tonight isn’t about me, anyway,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“About that…”

That same grim expression came over his face, and he began to fidget with his fingers. He looked like he was about to try and pry, and a dark feeling began to writhe in my stomach.

Don’t, I thought.

Attempting to stave off the words that were sure to follow, I quickly leaned into Nakai’s right ear with a little surprise.

“Now, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited two old friends along,” I whispered conspiratorially.

That startled him out of whatever question he had in mind. Nakai turned to me with fearful, confused eyes. “Two… old friends?” he muttered.

With control reestablished, I smiled cheekily and gestured towards my apartment’s dining room.

“Yes, two old friends. Why don’t you come along with me?”

A little bewildered, and still clutching that blue package in his hands, Nakai followed me further into my apartment. It was nothing much: a tiny, disorganised kitchen and a small table with two seats. Nakai was clearly spooked, as his eyes kept darting around to the doors leading to my bathroom and bedroom, searching for the unexpected guests I had supposedly hidden away.

That sight almost made me burst out in laughter again, but I suppressed it long enough to make it to the table and finally put Nakai out of his misery.

“Recognise your old companions, Nakai? This is Comrade Stolichnaya.” I reached down and picked up a one litre bottle of vodka, slamming it down on the table. “And this… is Comrade Smirnoff.” Smiling cheekily, I reached down again and slammed another bottle on the table. A little flourish with my hands concluded this rather poor excuse for a prank.

Nakai didn’t return my smile. Instead, he drew his mouth into a thin line as he eyed the vodka.

“Very funny, Rika.”

I giggled and reached for the handle of one of the kitchen cabinets, pulling out two shot glasses and placing them on the table with a dull clink.

“Thought I’d lighten the mood. It’s what Saki would’ve wanted, right?”

Nakai seemed to deflate at the mere mention of her name. He went over to the other end of the table, dumped the package on it, and slumped down into the chair, head bowed.

“Can’t ask her, can we?”

I felt a bit bad calling upon a literal ghost as justification. Saki only existed as the flashes between our neurons. We could make guesses about what she would say, what she would do, and what she would think, but it would be just that — guesses. We would never know for sure, and as time marched on and we guessed more and more, the Saki that lived in our minds would increasingly diverge from the real thing, were she still alive.

Only her likeness could be preserved. The colour of her hair, the glimmer in her eyes, the shape of her nose, the tone of her skin. What was Saki, then? A few colours burned onto film.

Sighing, I dropped the bright expression I had fought so hard to maintain since Nakai arrived, massaging my tired facial muscles with my frigid, twitching fingers. So much for trying to keep a holiday mood going.

I walked over to my desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a plain brown photo album I had stashed there. It was small, no bigger than a pocketbook and holding only one Polaroid per sleeve, but within it were snapshots of a person otherwise fading away in our minds.

I gently placed the album on the table in front of Nakai, who raised his head and looked at it quizzically. “For you,” I said quietly, pushing it towards him.

Gingerly, he opened the album to the first page. Saki, cane in hand, smiling in front of the Yamaku gates, her honey-coloured hair and green blazer dulled by the camera lens into a deep bronze and myrtle. There was a sharp intake of breath as Nakai traced a finger over the Polaroid, as though his mere touch could tell her the things he couldn’t say.

I stood frozen, unsure of how he’d react, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he carefully continued to flip through the album, lifting each sleeve like they would disintegrate beneath his fingers.

Nakai and Saki together, standing at the door to the Shanghai.

The two of them eating together inside, Saki feeding him a bite of cake.

The outside of an antiques shop; then inside, Saki in a wheelchair, admiring an ornately carved music box in her lap.

Aoba Castle; Saki, back turned to the camera, gazing out over the cityscape beyond.

Graduation; the couple at the steps to the main academy building, each clutching their certificates in their hands.

In her bedroom; Saki on her bed, Nakai seated beside her, stuffed animals all around.

On and on, Nakai slowly turned each page, his eyes carefully taking in every detail in the Polaroids. Every single one showed Saki in the moment, breathing, alive, yet as Hisao made his way through the album, that life seemed to be slowly draining from both the photographs and from Saki herself.

In the hospital. In a wheelchair at first, then to a hospital bed, then to IV lines and other medical machinery. There were still brief glimpses of the outside in between — visiting Nakai’s university; lying down at the beach, the waves splashing at Saki’s toes — but the overall trend was that of a young woman wasting away as her genetics took their toll. Sallow skin and matted hair replaced her healthy glow and honey-coloured locks. The camera increasingly struggled to capture that spark in her irises as she became thinner, and her eyes became ever more sunken.

Nakai paused at the album’s second last sleeve. Saki’s last birthday party. The balloons, streamers and smile on her face could not hide the hollowness in her expression and the deterioration of her body. It was a happy image, yes, but it was making the best of a bad situation.

My mouth suddenly became as dry as sandpaper as he turned the last sleeve. The semi-regular, chronological procession of images stopped. Instead, there was a glaring gap of almost three months.

The final photo in the album was a single, lonely Polaroid. Nakai, standing in front of an abandoned elementary school on the Sendai coast, cradling an urn with his hands, staring at the sea.

The trembling returned to my fingers with a vengeance. Nakai simply stared at his image in silence before finally opening his mouth.

“I… I can’t believe we were the ones who had to bury her.”

His voice was so weak and heartbroken it threatened to break my heart, too.

I shook my head. “I still don’t get it. How on earth could a family abandon their own child like that? Piling divorces, custodial battle and neglect on top of a girl already fighting for her life, and then they leave two outsiders holding the rope. If anything, we were Saki’s real family.”

In the end, everything had fallen to us. We scattered the girl we treasured to the ocean. We were the only ones to see her go.

Nakai closed the photo album without further comment, as though he was trying to hold something back. Instead, he gestured for me to sit down, his expression taut.

“Here.”

The package wrapped in blue was pushed in front of me as I took my seat. Picking it up, there was a little weight to it. This Christmas exchange was feeling pretty grim.

My eyes went wide as I peeled back the wrapping paper to reveal an instant camera, still in its original packaging. A newer model than that Polaroid camera I once had, but still in the old style, with a blocky lens casing and manual focusing controls.

“Fujifilm. Vintage, from the late nineties. Thought you’d like it.”

My heart was suddenly in my throat, beating like hell. I shut my eyes and tried with all my might to dampen the twitching of my quaking fingers as I opened the packaging and held the grey, cold plastic of the camera in my hands. I hadn’t held one in… so long, and the emotions which I had kept locked down just for this day began to swirl again in my stomach.

It was a good gift. A thoughtful one. Nakai knew me as I knew him, and he’d chosen accordingly. But for all the time we had spent together with Saki, he didn’t quite know what had happened in those last three months, or in the three years since.

I didn’t want to talk about it. I had spent those last three years avoiding it. Hell, I had spent every second since he arrived on my doorstep that night avoiding it. But with an instant camera in my hand, I was trapped.

“I…”

“You haven’t taken any pictures since the day we scattered her ashes, have you?”

I dropped the camera and balled my fingers into fists. Something about him had been off from the outset. This was far more than just a night to remember Saki.

“Nakai, I-”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “I’ve tried to bring it up to you the past two times we’ve done this, and each time I’ve let you deflect. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

I didn’t know this Nakai. I always prided myself on knowing exactly who people were, what they were going to say or do, and pre-empting them. This was a curveball I couldn’t easily wiggle my way out of.

“Why did you stop seeing Saki, Rika? I understand if you just couldn’t take it anymore. I’d be fine with it, if only you’d tell me the truth.”

That depressed look from before was long gone, replaced by a piercing expression in his eyes. It somehow reminded me of Saki, and the way her eyes alone could figure you out before you even opened your mouth. Saki was the only girl who could trap me in place like that, but it suddenly seemed like she’d possessed Nakai, demanding answers through him.

“But what I really want to know is… why did you visit on that last day without me?”

His voice moved into something beyond cutting. He sounded angry.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he continued. “Why did you stay for only an hour? Why did you leave behind your camera?” He leaned close, eye to eye, raising his voice until it was all that I could comprehend. “Why didn’t you stay with her until the end?”

At my silence, his voice dropped, and he sounded like he was about to burst into tears.

“Didn’t we make a promise?”

“… we did.”

The anger that had gripped Nakai cooled to a sad resignation, and he slumped back in his seat, head bowed as he spoke.

“Do you know how hard those last three months were, Rika? Having to go back, week after week, just to watch Saki wither away in front of me? We were supposed to go through it together. I didn’t push for an explanation then because everything was coming to a head, but… you hurt me. You hurt Saki. She tried her best to hide it, but she missed you, Rika.”

The shaking in my fingers was reaching a zenith, and it was as if I was about to fall to pieces just by sitting opposite him. Everything in my body screamed at me to keep silent.

But I had betrayed Nakai once already. He deserved at least that much, no matter how much it hurt.

I took a deep breath.

“… I stopped taking photographs for the same reason I stopped visiting Saki. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I woke up one morning and I couldn’t bring myself to walk out the door and follow you to the hospital. Just the thought of it made me feel physically sick.”

Nakai wasn’t satisfied yet, shaking his head. “That still doesn’t explain what happened on the last day.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

“I went back to take a photograph,” I admitted. “One last photograph of Saki.”

As I feared, Nakai’s face turned from surprise to total confusion, and I scrambled to explain myself.

“Do you know why I took photographs? Why I preserve all of them so carefully in those albums? They keep memories, Nakai. I... didn’t want Saki to fade away. If I couldn’t keep her alive through medicine, I wanted to keep her alive through film.”

I reached over and held the camera in my hands, turning it around in my fingers.

“Who would remember Saki’s last few days? The nurses wouldn’t, because they deal with hundreds of similar tragedies all the time. The only true witness would be you. You alone would really remember how she looked, how she suffered, and how she died. Just another burden I had selfishly dumped on you.”

Nakai didn’t move, and I couldn’t see his expression with his head bowed. Still, though, I continued to pour out the words which had been trapped within me for three long years.

“I didn’t know she was going to die that day, but that morning I had a sudden feeling in my chest. I looked at the photos I had taken of her, and I was struck by the gap after the birthday party we held. I could’ve left it on that happy image, but it wasn’t the truth. The truth would live only with you, and then it would fade, just like any other memory. That’s why I ran to the hospital with only my camera and film. It was a spur-of-the-moment, panicked realisation: I was about to lose Saki forever, and I hadn’t lifted a finger.”

I let go of the camera and drew my fist close to my chest, feeling my raging, arrhythmic heartbeat.

“I got to her room as fast as I could, but when I saw Saki for the first time in months, this wasted, bony skeleton all hooked up to those IV lines and machines and the oxygen mask strapped to her face, I couldn’t go through with it. They told me that she wouldn’t survive the night, and that she wasn’t even able to speak. In that moment, I just felt… scared. Terrified. I had never been terrified for the past five years, even when I knew what was coming, but being there, seeing her in that state… all I could think was, ‘this is what it means to die.’”

I spotted a single teardrop fall from Nakai’s eyes and onto his lap. He didn’t try to wipe it away.

“I couldn’t handle it. Saki was staring at me with those sunken eyes, but I must have lost the ability to read them, because I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. My camera was useless, because there was no life to preserve. Saki was already dead, clinging to a facsimile of life, and I couldn’t capture that. It would be like capturing my own future. So, I dropped my camera and film and ran. I ran away from that sterile hellhole and her dying body and her piercing eyes because she was what I will become.”

The pounding in my throat made me choke on my words.

“I saw the reality that you’d been living in for three long months. I’ve never been able to face it since, and I probably won’t, until I too am on my deathbed with a respirator down my throat and an EKG counting out my last few heartbeats. That picture of you with Saki’s urn is the very last photograph I’ll ever take.”

He still didn’t answer, and a sudden anger filled my veins. I wasn’t sure whether it was directed at him or myself, but I suddenly found myself on my feet, spitting my words with the sharpness of a razor blade.

“So yes, I fucked up. I abandoned you, and I abandoned Saki. I left you to deal with her final moments while I hid in my room. I was weak, selfish and I broke my promises. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t regret everything I did during those last three months with every fiber of my being, so don’t you think for a second that I don’t live with it, too.”

As quickly as it came, my anger died, and I was suddenly overcome with an unshakeable feeling of heaviness.

“Look, let’s just… leave this to one side. We already said tonight isn’t about either of us.”

With a sigh, I resumed my seat. Nakai finally lifted his head, staring into my eyes, but his expression was unreadable. Seeking to get away from his gaze, I reached over and picked up the vodka bottles.

Twisting the cap off released the strong, caustic smell of alcohol into the air. I placed the shot glasses side by side and very carefully began to pour out two measures of the cool, clear liquid, or as carefully as my shaking hands would allow. A few drops fell onto the table, but I managed to keep the bottle level enough to prevent myself from spilling it.

“Do you know what they called this sort of stuff back in medieval times? Aqua vitae. The water of life. A bit ironic, isn’t it?”

I filled the glasses to the very brim and gently pushed one towards Nakai. The frown from when he first laid eyes on the vodka returned, and he eyed both me and the shot of Stolichnaya before him with great suspicion.

Both of us wrapped our fingers around our respective shot glasses, though Nakai was noticeably reluctant to touch his at all. I lifted the glass to eye level, and, in a loud, clear voice, made the toast.

“To Saki.”

Nakai stared at his glass for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip, before slowly raising his to match.

“To Saki,” he repeated in a low voice.

With that, I closed my eyes, brought the glass to my lips, and threw back the shot of vodka in a single gulp. It was like swallowing lava, the bitter, burning liquid setting my tongue aflame and causing my eyes to water at the sting. The slug of pure fire slid down my throat and burst in my stomach, filling me with a dull warmth that radiated to every part of my body.

I blinked several times to wink away the tears in my eyes, before noticing that Nakai had placed his shot of vodka back on the table, glass still filled to the brim, his mouth drawn in a thin line, but his eyes burning with a strange determination I hadn’t seen from him in a long, long while.

“… you’re not going to drink?”

A pause.

“No,” he stated firmly.

“You’ve… always drank, Nakai,” I countered.

“I have before.”

He shoved the glass back over to me, letting some of the vodka slosh out and spill onto the table.

“But I won’t again.”

Nakai was different. He was different the moment he stepped through the door, and now it was really manifesting. This was not how this little tradition of ours ran. A threatening tone crept into my voice.

“This is for Saki.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t for anyone.”

“Then I’ll fulfil your end of the toast myself,” I sighed, reaching over to the vodka, pouring myself another shot and throwing the burning liquid down my throat once more. With a second dose of that devil’s beverage slowly making its way through my system, the trembling in my fingers began to subside, though the fire in my stomach seemed to only fuel my heated emotions.

“What do you think you’re doing, Rika?”

“Remembering what we’ve lost and forgetting about the future,” I answered sharply. “Each of us has regrets we’d rather not think about, correct?”

“I do,” he replied. “But-”

“Then shut up and drink, Nakai,” I snapped, cutting him off and pouring myself another shot. “Both of us are going to follow in Saki’s footsteps sooner or later.”

“So, what? Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die?”

I gave him a taut, bitter smile. “Now you’re getting it.” I brought the glass to my lips and downed it.

“How much have you been drinking since I saw you last year?”

“Enough to keep me sane,” I shot back, reaching for the bottle of vodka again. I had scarcely begun to tip it sideways to pour myself another measure when a hand suddenly wrapped itself around the neck of the bottle, stopping me dead.

I looked up to find Nakai staring straight into my eyes, a piercing quality in his irises that was so reminiscent of Saki that it sent a stab of pain through my heart.

“Then what about your hands, Rika?”

That caught me off guard. I looked at the vodka bottle to find it ever so slightly trembling. Even three shots worth of the stuff wasn’t enough to totally calm my shivering fingers.

I acted ignorant, and didn’t respond. Nakai let out a huff of frustration. “Oh, come on, don’t play dumb with me. Your hands have been shaking since I got here, and you’ve been trying to hide it the entire time.”

I averted my eyes. “I told you before, it’s the cold…”

“Right,” he snorted. “And I suppose it’s the cold that’s made you this thin? That made your eyes turn this bloodshot? That’s turned you so pale?"

I tried to wiggle the bottle out of his grasp, but Nakai’s hand remained firmly gripped around its neck. He wouldn’t let me escape.

“Haven’t you looked in the mirror, Rika? You’re thin. You’re shaking. You look sick. You’re starting to remind me of Saki, and that scares the hell out of me.”

The heat from the vodka and the buzz of the alcohol was starting to clog up my head, but I had the presence of mind to let go of the bottle, allowing Nakai to gently place it down on the table.

“This stuff is killing you, Rika,” he said in a gentler tone. “I’ve been worried ever since that first Christmas without Saki. I didn't know what to do back then because I was just as sad and lost as you were, so of course I drank as well, but… I didn’t realise just how bad the problem was until I came through the door and saw the state you were in.” I still refused to look him in the eyes, and Nakai suddenly raised his voice. “Come on, Rika! What would Saki think?”

That set me off. “Oh, don’t give me that crap!” I shouted back, “I don’t care what Saki thinks, because she’s dead. You said so yourself.”

At that, Nakai paled and recoiled, as if he’d been slapped. Then, his face became flushed with anger.

“Well, I care, Rika!”

He reached across the table and grabbed me by the shoulder, as if trying to shake my back to my senses. His face was alight with a mixture of fear, anger and sadness, and for the first time in my life, I was scared of him.

“Even if you don’t care about yourself, I still do. I always have. Look at it from my perspective. I’m already worried about you, and I barely hear from you during the year to begin with. I turn up at your door, and what do I see? You, shaking like a leaf, twitchy, nervous, trying to use a manic smile to cover it up.” His voiced dropped down, and he seemed to be pleading with me. “Just how much have you been drinking? What have you been doing to yourself?”

It felt like I was being treated like a small child, and resentment began to fill my chest. “I thought you understood me,” I muttered in a small voice.

“Understood you?” he replied, incredulous.

“Yes. I thought you, of all people, would know just how bleak my future is, because we’re in similar boats. Both of us are carrying time bombs in our chests. No matter what we do, how healthy we live, how much we try to fight it, it could strike at any time, for any reason. At best, we drop dead and it’s over quickly. At worst, we’re on a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, a respirator down our throats.”

I grabbed the open bottle of vodka.

“And I’m not ending up like Saki. No way in hell.”

I quickly poured out a shot and downed it before the full import of my words dawned on Nakai, who widened his eyes in horror.

“You… you…”

“So what? Can you magically fix my heart? Can you erase my regrets? The photographs can do the remembering for me. I don’t want to die thinking about Saki. Frankly, I don’t want to die thinking about anything at all.”

Nakai shook his head, trying to keep a steady face, but my admission of my intentions had clearly shaken him.

“Rika, you can’t do that to yourself. You know that if you die like this, it’s not just going to hurt you. It’s going to hurt me, and everyone else that knows and cares about you. Think about it.”

There was a pounding in my head, and I wasn’t sure if it was the stress or the alcohol. I suddenly found myself on my feet, shouting in his face.

“Come off it, Nakai! Don’t you act like a saint! You went to a bloody office Christmas party before going to Saki! How do you explain that?!”

The words were out before I could stop them. Instantly, Nakai blanched and turned away. I didn’t mean to strike a nerve that deep, but my emotions were really getting away from me.

I expected Nakai to explode on me, or just turn around and leave, but instead, his voice softened, and he turned away.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I was trying to avoid it. I got the call about Saki, but even though I knew I had to go… I kept delaying. I could have gotten out of that Christmas party with a bit of prodding, but I didn’t. I let it happen, and I had to rush myself there to make it in on time. I used it as an excuse to delay the inevitable.”

Nakai ran a finger over the cover of the album in front of him, but didn’t open it.

“I was scared too, Rika. I was scared to talk to my boss, scared to tell my coworkers, but most of all, I was scared of Saki. Scared that I hadn’t done enough for her. Scared of how she would die. Of course I regret it. I live with it too, Rika, just like I live with everything else we went through.”

He looked back at me and shook his head, clearly trying his best to keep his emotions in check.

“But that’s no reason to just give up, Rika. It hurts, yes, but giving up hurts more. Regrets don’t go away, and I’m still learning to live with that. I live because of Saki, not in spite of her. I know there’s still the girl I met at Yamaku somewhere inside you.”

He didn’t understand me. Maybe he never understood me in the first place.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

That seemed to snap something within Nakai. He slowly rose to his feet, a flame in his eyes.

“I don’t know a damn thing about you? You had friends. You had photography. You have a life, Rika, and short or not, it’s still a life. It’s the one thing that’s truly yours. You can’t just sit here, killing yourself!”

That did it for me. His words tipped me over the edge, and the angry buzz that had slowly been filling my brain blossomed into a feeling I had tried to suppress beneath a steely and cool exterior.

Rage.

“And why not?! I’ve already told you I saw what happened to Saki! I don’t need to be told like some child about living or dying, because I’ve seen firsthand what’s in store for me!”

I could feel the heat behind my eyes, in my face, across my whole body, as though I was on fire.

“You think just giving me a camera and a lecture is going to make everything the way it was before?! You, of all people, think you can tell me how to spend the rest of my life?! Go to hell!”

Without thinking, I grabbed the camera on the table with my right hand and threw it with all my strength, as though it alone was the source of all my pain.

Crash.

I blinked, and suddenly Nakai’s gift to me was a small pile of disjointed plastic, glass and wiring, lying haphazardly upon my kitchen floor. Small fragments were scattered all about, like a miniature plane crash. It was a scene of pure, unmitigated violence.

Both of us stood, frozen, staring at the wreckage of the instant camera, as though we weren’t quite able to comprehend exactly what just happened. Nakai’s eyes suddenly shifted from the camera to me, and I could see the one emotion dancing in his irises.

Fear.

“I… I didn’t mean it,” I stammered. “I just… lost control for a second.”

Nakai didn’t buy my explanation at all. With trembling hands to match my own, he quickly grabbed the album sitting on the table and held it close to his chest, as though my next move was to take that album and rip it to pieces.

“We’re… we’re done, Rika,” he stammered out. “Done.”

He slowly began to back out of my kitchen, quickly grabbing his parka and boots and throwing them on, never once taking his eyes off me, like I was some wild animal.

“You need to get help. Serious help. You’re not stable. It’s messing with your mind and body. I’m not staying here, if only for my own sanity. Please, Rika, you need to put a stop to this.”

I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t have any right to. He had discovered the truth about me and was wisely backing off before I could hurt him any further.

Nakai opened the door, letting a blast of cold air rush inside and swirl around in my apartment, but for some strange reason, I couldn’t feel the chill at all. Maybe it was the vodka.

He stepped outside, turning his back to me.

“I’m sorry, but… don’t try to talk to me until you’ve gone and found some help.”

Slam.

The walls briefly shook, and then a preternatural silence descended inside my apartment. All that was left was me, two bottles of vodka, and a broken camera.

“Well, Merry Christmas to you too, Nakai.”

The snow still falling gently outside was my only answer.

Sighing, I sat down on my chair, reached for the open bottle, and poured myself another shot.