Agoraphobia [Mutou]
Posted: Tue Mar 27, 2012 4:16 pm
Latest Update: --
I've always had this idea in my head that Mutou has a reason for working at Yamaku besides a sympathy for teens with disabilities. I figured, maybe that sympathy came from elsewhere and he'd had it for years. Perhaps a family member with a disability, or maybe someone closer. I noticed that there weren't many Mutou fanfics out there, and I figured... Why not? Here's a story about Mutou in all his hopeless romantic glory.
Agoraphobia
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
===
Chapter One
The two fluids dripped equally to the floor and blended together.
Hanako, absolute terror in her eyes, withdrew her hand from Misha's arm, a little noise accompanying the rustle of her sleeve. It thudded against the desk and curled into a fist, knuckles whitening fairly quickly.
Misha's cry alerted me to her distress, along with most of the class. I looked up from my work, an underlying fear stewing in me that I couldn't quite place. Shizune examined the wound; though it wasn't particularly deep, it was a malicious injury all the same. But she shrugged Shizune off of her arm, gritting her teeth to bite back tears as little trickles of blood started to stain the sleeve of her shirt.
Hanako, meanwhile, moved erratically, muttering incomprehensible gibberish as if she'd been possessed. Her twitching was spontaneous, triple-jointed, odd in all senses of the word. She flopped and writhed in her desk, eventually falling to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks like she was in horrible pain. She pushed from her knees to her feet, and when I got up to stop her she rammed into my shoulder like a freight train and sped out the door, off to god knows where.
I spun back to the girls to assess the situation a little better. Misha was wringing out her arm like she'd been shot, and I got to see just how grisly the wound was. The pencil, still tinged red along the side, stuck out of her arm right at the bicep. Blood squeezed out between the little space where wood and flesh met, and I realized we were in for some trouble.
"Nakai, get her to the Nurse, please. I'll be back." I spun on my heel, giving the bright young mind before me a point before heading out the door. "The rest of you keep working!" I added an afterthought.
I had no way of knowing where Ikezawa was running off too, but I certainly wasn't about to let her get away. I knew perfectly well how to defuse the situation, she was my student after all. None of the kids knew how to deal with what she was going through and I doubt she did either to an extent. Panic attacks are filled with subconscious thoughts and spur-of-the-moment decisions. If your brain freezes you up because of whatever sets you off, it'll start making decisions for you. Bad ones, as a matter of fact.
There were two places she could be heading in her panic; to her dorm or to the roof. I knew she'd want to go somewhere nobody could see her, where nobody could look at her. I had to think carefully. If she was far gone enough to stab her classmate with a pencil- just because she was asking if she was alright, nonetheless -then couldn't be sure she wouldn't do anything more drastic. As I entered the hallway, I caught her frail body disappearing up the stairs at the end of the corridor. The roof it was, then.
That meant this was going to be harder than I thought.
I caught up with her just as she burst through the doors and into the sunlight, her fear-stricken chest rising and falling in a very erratic motion. In, out, in, out, faster and faster. Like a child, she scrambled away from me, almost tripping over herself in her attempt to find solitude. I made sure to convey to her that each step was deliberate; I walked slowly, advancing on her like the calm version of a killer in a horror movie. She rounded the little building containing the entrance to the stairs and tried to hide around the corner, squeaking in fear when I found her with no trouble.
"M-Mu-Muh-M-M-" She stuttered, shaking like a leaf in the wind. I kept my eyes locked on hers at every chance I could get; though her gaze whipped about, she was otherwise completely frozen in place now. All she could do was bring her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms around them, desperately trying to hide her face from me.
I knelt down beside her. "Are you alright, Ikezawa?" I kept my voice calm and low; soothing. I was used to this kind of thing now, being a teacher introduces you to all kinds of situations, you see. Eye contact is most important, followed by keeping your own self calmed down. If you start showing that you're scared, they'll get even worse. Of course, I'm no professional psychiatrist; I was frightened just as much as she was. I knew better than to show it, though.
When she didn't respond to me, I put a hand on her shoulder. Her deep, dark eyes met mine, and she took in a deep, dry breath through her mouth. Were it any faster, I'd have assumed it was a gasp, as if she were noticing I was there for the first time.
"You really hurt miss Mikado, you know." I reprimanded her, lightly, of course.
She shook her head back and forth rapidly, her pupils dilating as she drew back into her fear. Doing this by myself was proving to be a daunting task. "S-She-Sh-She-she-s-"
I nodded. "I know, I know. She started it." I smiled, though to be honest I was having a hard time finding humor in the situation. "That doesn't mean you have to go around stabbing your classmates."
Her frown seemed to get worse, her lower lip quivering as another bout of waterworks started to spill down her cheeks. Disabilities, I can deal with. Panic-stricken teenagers, I can deal with. Crying, panic-stricken teenagers? I wasn't sure that was something I could handle.
My own grin faltered into a serious expression. "I'll ask you again: Are you going to be alright, Hanako?" I put my other hand on her opposite shoulder, giving her an intent stare. The third step is to personalize; you have to convey to the person that you know what they're going through and then remove them from the situation as quickly as you can. Thankfully, that part had already been taken care of by everyone's favorite fight-or-flight response.
The thudding of footsteps alerted me to someone else's presence. Who else should appear but Hisao, out of breath and exhausted. He nodded toward me, then leaned on the wall for support. He'd obviously made a break for it after delivering Mikado to the infirmary; as much as I wanted to remind him of his heart problems, he seemed to be just as conscious of them himself at the moment.
"I-I-I-I..." Ikezawa closed her lifeless eyes, putting a hand on her chest. Her head lulled to the side as her breathing equalized. "I think... I-I am g-g-going to b-be okay." Her words were carefully chosen, just like my own. Her stammer was more prevalent than usual, a staple of her timidness, and I was still concerned.
"Are you sure?" My mind was telling me not to ask her, but I had to be positive she was okay before I attempted to stand her up. If she fell right back over, we'd be in the same spot as before, and that would do us no good. My eyes kept traveling to Nakai, who was watching us with mortified eyes. Here was his friend, broken and frightened for a reason I'm sure he couldn't quite understand, and now he had to witness her coming down from it.
She said nothing again, giving her head a tiny shake. This was not good; I had to convince her to talk to me. The final step of bringing someone out of a panic attack is to converse with them. Make contact; bring them down slowly. Realizing they have potentially embarrassed themselves in front of several people will only make things worse, and it was my job now to make sure she didn't become aware of this right away.
"Can I try talking to her?" Hisao spoke up, determination lining his expression. At the sound of his voice, Ikezawa's eyes fluttered open and her head raised a little. I stood, brushing off my coat, and gestured to her. He took this as the go-ahead, and sat right down beside her.
"H-Hi...sao." Hanako's wide eyes turned to him. "I...I'm s-s-sorry."
The look he gave her made me sick to my stomach if only because I knew it so well. Mind you, it wasn't a disgusted sickness, more of a nostalgic feeling. It was a look of what a younger me might have called love. It was understanding, it was poignant. It calmed her down far better than I ever could have. She got lost in his eyes and he got lost in hers, and for a moment neither of them said anything. I suppose this was a fine alternative to the last step.
I'd given someone that look once. If I may diverge from the subject at hand for a moment, I'll explain. When I told my wife that I wanted to marry her, that was the look I shared with her. That very same longing stare, not one of lust but of realization. This was the person Nakai wanted to be with, and it was a very out-of-body experience seeing it for myself. It felt a little awkward in fact, watching something so personal happen right before me. Seeing it in someone so young upset me in a way I'm not sure I really get. The laws of science are always changing, sure, but what about the laws of romance?
Regardless, Ikezawa was calmed down now. What could have been an awful situation turned into only a mildly bad one. Nakai and I stood her up, and guided her down to the Nurse, slowly and carefully. It was a slow walk, and by the time we had reached it, class was over. I'm sure the other students had no qualms with me not returning, but I felt a certain dedication now that I'd gone this far into Ikezawa's personal life. Does that make me a bad teacher? I'm not really sure.
Thankfully, Mikado had already left. I'm sure it hurt to get shanked in the arm, but Mikado was a tough enough girl. A little disinfectant, some bandages, and she'd be right as rain. I could only hope she held no grudges. After we dropped her off there and Nakai had a quick word with the Nurse, we walked back to class so he could retrieve his backpack. I'd only gotten a little bit of a taste of what he and Ikezawa are like, but from the way he was almost instantly able to bring her out of her trance, I had a fairly good idea.
Still, though, there was a bluntness in him that I wasn't sure was necessary. I knew the look he'd given her, but whether or not he knew it was beyond me. I took a look out the window as we re-entered the now vacant classroom.
"Nakai, what do you think the purpose of this school is?" The words came out of my mouth with purpose, with intent. I saw a little bit of myself in him as odd as it sounds; he had his interests and young loves just as I did in high school. But if I wanted him to be the success his test grades showed, I'd have to start from his personal life.
Perhaps I'd learn a thing or two about mine along the way as well.
But, then, I suppose I haven't told you much about myself. To be honest, there's not really that much to know in the first place. As I said before, this story isn't about me, after all. My full name is Akio Mutou, named aptly after my father, though I don't really go by Akio much anymore. I grew up in the Sendai area, and I like coffee and long walks on the beach. That's really all there is to know.
No, I mentioned the real subject of this little retelling of mine once before. My wife's name is Kiyoko. I have a special place for her in my heart, if you can't tell. This story is actually about her.
She stayed at home while I was working, and I mean that in all senses of the word. When she stayed home, she stayed home. Getting her out of the house was always a problem, because Kiyoko was a recluse, you see. She had a fear of the outside world, that it was tainted in some way, off. She claimed that as soon as she left the front porch there was an immeasurable weight on her shoulders and she could go no further. I'd gotten her as far as the sidewalk before her feet refused to move anymore. In fact, I'd begun to believe there was a scientific reason behind it. She showed all kinds of signs of a fever as we made that short trip to get the mail- I feel like an idiot for coaxing her into coming with me -and as soon as we were back in the cool air conditioning of the house, she was fine save for her shortness of breath.
I met her many, many years ago. I was still in high school, and was on a paper route for money as none of the stores near my home were hiring at the time. My aim was a little off, and I accidentally hurled the paper right through their open living room window and hit her in the head. She refused to come out- I didn't know why at the time -so, me being the casanova I was, parked my shiny ol' bike and went up to apologize. She accepted my apology firsthand, and offered to share some tea she'd just brewed with me. I much prefer straight black coffee, but tea is alright in a pinch.
We dated throughout high school, though I quickly found out she was homeschooled. She always requested that I come to her house instead of us going anywhere special. I'd assumed it was her playing coy with me at first, but when I asked her parents, they simply told me she didn't like leaving the sanctity of their home and left it at that. We didn't do much, really. I attribute my love of science to her, or at least astronomy, as we'd spend much of our evenings together hovering over a gigantic telescope on her roof and getting a better look at the stars above us. It doesn't sound very romantic, but believe me, I had some of the best nights of my life huddled up on the couch watching horror movies with that girl.
She was very shy to say the least. At the end of our schooling, she revealed to me that not only did she dislike the outside world, she lived in constant fear of it. Getting used to dirty ol' Akio coming in from whatever she imagined was out there was a day-to-day problem of hers, and the only reason she invited me into her house in the first place was because she felt lonely. She told me that she loved the way I smelled, the way it contrasted the cleanliness and sterile nature of her house. I felt a little taken aback at first because she was basically calling me unclean, but she meant well enough. Coffee and cigarettes, that's how she described it. I loved both, and she'd never been around either. So, that day, I hauled over my coffeemaker, and we had our first pot of coffee together. She said it tasted disgusting, but the smell instilled a pleasant dizziness in her. From then on, I always had some coffee with me when I came over, to give her that same feeling every time she saw me. I suppose that was how my unfortunate addiction to the stuff came about; even my students have noted the fresh cup of joe when I walk in just after the bell on occasion.
Both of her parents were working people, so she was home alone a lot. She often called me and asked me to come over when I was in the middle of doing what she referred to as "outside things". But, this particular night, I was willing to give up the world for her as per usual, and I excused myself from the dinner table and hopped on my shiny ol' bike to get over there as fast as possible. I think I still have that bike in my garage somewhere; the place is quite the mess.
But when I got over there, all of the lights were off. I could hear her humming somewhere far off in the house, and when she heard the front door open, she beckoned me to her. I rounded the stairs and found a light peeking out from beneath the crack in the bathroom door; ever the gentleman, I knocked, confused. I heard some splashing and giggles, and then she told me it was alright for me to come in. I'm sure she'd smack me one if she saw me actively recalling this event, but I have a certain adoration for her ingeniousness given the situation.
That was the first time I ever saw her nude, as a matter of fact. The splashing I'd heard was her getting out of the tub, and there she stood, sopping wet and holding her arms wide. She and I had a thing going for a few days prior to this, where we were in a constant shift in conversation. She asked me several times if I wanted to see what she looked like beneath her spotless clothes, beneath the makeup and the sanitation, and I always changed the subject. Personally, I wasn't sure I was ready to see all of her; being only the ripe age of nineteen, I didn't know if she was the one I wanted to give up my life for, especially not this early on. When my parents had "the talk" with me- you know, the one kids fear like the plague -they told me to keep myself as reserved as possible, to avoid giving myself up to someone who didn't deserve it.
And, that day, I decided Kiyoko deserved it. She, body dripping and hair pressed to her skin, held her arms out and asked me if I would come forward and embrace her. This was the true test of our relationship, to her. She knew I'd just come in from the outdoors, and I carried all kinds of dangerous things on my clothes and my body and everything, and she looked genuinely afraid as I took the first few steps into the bathroom. Mind you, I was still in awe at the fact that she'd even jumped to this point. She certainly had all the right curves in all the right places to say the least. I'm not going to go into the specifics as this isn't really 'that kind' of tale, but she was very beautiful. From her dark brown hair to her soft, snow white flesh, she was exactly what I was looking for, and in that moment, I took her into my arms and gave her the tightest hug skinny young Akio could possibly manage. This was it, then. She was the proverbial 'one' everyone searched so desperately for. A few years later, we were married and thus inseparable.
As with every couple, we had our ups and our downs. Eventually we realized that she'd have to move out of her parents' house at some point, and that was a very large hurdle for us. My new wife, and she had to stay at home for the few weeks it took me to purchase a house. It was impossible to get her to go house hunting with me, so I brought the choices to her instead. We picked a good looking one- I paid for the whole thing, furnishing and all -and just like that, we were ready to settle in together. The last step, which was actually moving her from house to house, was the toughest. As soon as she realized we were going to have to walk to the car, she threw an outrageous fit. She acted like I was betraying her, like I was only doing it to spite her. I got to see how truly disabled she was in her condition, and it hurt me. After a little while, however, I made peace with her and got her to calm down.
"You're going to be alright," I said to her again and again. I whispered it, softly in her ear, stroking her hair lightly. When she got upset, that was what I did, and it always worked. I have an innate ability to keep people calm, not sure why, but it helps in a pinch.
I promised her that nothing would hurt her, and she vehemently denied it. I suppose that was one of the traits of her disability; she flat out thought people were lying when they told her that the outside world held nothing that would kill her. In a way, I was lying; the nature of science dictates that anything can happen to anyone at any time, and for all I knew, we could both be hit by some invisible microwave and collapse and die the moment we set foot outside. In fact, the chair I am sitting in right now could decide it's had enough tension and explode right underneath me; but I won't delve too much into probabilities for the moment, if my students fall asleep while listening to me talk about it, I can't imagine how boring reading about it would be.
I ended up scooping her up in my arms and carrying her out the door, down the driveway, and into the passenger seat in my car. Her eyes were squeezed shut the whole time and she constantly put her hands to her face to wipe away her tears. It was a very emotional moment, and several times during the drive over I thought she was going to clutch the sides of her head and start screaming. As soon as she was inside our new house, I closed the door behind us and then she never left. I floated around from job to job for a few years, and then saw a position open at the Yamaku Institute for the Disabled, and lo and behold, I got the job. I took it at first to learn about my wife; I ended up taking away much, much more than that.
All this came back to me that day, and as I removed my shoes and Kiyoko greeted me, I felt a little more remiss than usual.
She noticed it immediately. "Akio, are you feeling okay? You look a little pale." She put her hand up to feel my forehead, but it hesitated over the flesh for a minute, as she knew I'd just come in from the outdoors and was still infected with whatever it was she was frightened of. She'd gotten used to touching me before I showered, but the idea of it still scared her. In fact, I suspected I was the only dirty thing in the whole house; she had a lot of time to herself while I was at Yamaku. Everything got cleaned day in and day out. When we weren't spending time together, she was cleaning something. Calling her a neat freak would be the understatement of the century.
"No, no, I'm fine. I've just been thinking a lot today." I waved her hand away, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. I learned early on that she doesn't like kissing me on the mouth before I wash up.
"About what?" She floated back through the house to the living room, taking her seat on the couch. A large pile of laundry sat on the coffee table before her, still half-folded. Busywork was her number one priority, and I felt sort of bad for her for having to rely on it for entertainment.
"Two of my students had a little conflict today, and one of them reminded me of you, I guess." I shrugged. It was hard to explain, and it still is. I'm having trouble putting it into words as is, but I'm sure at their core everyone has experienced nostalgia at some point.
"Sounds juicy." She smirked, inbetween murmuring the number of folds in each shirt. One, two, three, four, folded. One, two, three, four, folded. It was easy to get lost in the rhythm of it.
"She stabbed her friend with a pencil." I shook my head. "It wasn't her fault, though. She had a panic attack in the middle of class."
This stopped Kiyoko in mid-fold. She hesitated for a moment, as if she'd lost count, before continuing. Three, four, folded.
"Sounds like you had a rough day." Her voice was even, soft; almost musing. I took a seat on the couch beside her, and watched her turn toward me slowly. There was a sadness in her eyes; she knew panic attacks all too well, as did I. She leaned in and gave me a quick sniff, pleased at the smell of the roasted coffee that made up my scent. I promised her I'd be right back, and went to shower as I usually did when returning from doing "outside things".
When I returned, I realized she hadn't heard me coming. She has occasionally referred to me as her personal ninja, as I naturally move very quietly. Without shoes, I'm almost silent. I caught her staring out the window, partially folded shirt sitting square on her lap. A little bluebird was perched on a branch just beyond the glass, doing whatever it is birds do to keep themselves occupied. She was watching it, hands curled tightly into fists against the fabric of the shirt. She sometimes looks out the windows when she's bored; we don't go up on the roof to look at the stars anymore. I promised her that someday I would take her outside to see the sunset, which she claimed she'd love to do at the time; but every once in a while I suggest it and she always politely declines. She sniffled, and I realized I had found her at a very private moment. She has those sometimes.
"Hey." I said, putting an arm around her. I returned to my place beside her on the couch, and she jumped a few inches, startled by my sudden presence. Her big, blue eyes were filled with sorrow now. She wants to go outside, I know it; she hates her illness, and it hurts me to see her break down. I try to keep her distracted so that things like that don't happen very often, but it's mostly unavoidable. When she saw my concern, she silently went back to folding the laundry, unwilling to let me see her down. She's always tried to keep her spirits up when around me, which I appreciated. It was hard for her to speak her mind, though, and that was one of the problems our relationship constantly suffered from.
That was the day I promised myself I'd get her outside, one way or another. I was going to watch the sunset with her, and we were going to love it. I've lived my whole life refusing to change myself for the better, instead letting the world change around me. I'd always conformed to Kiyoko's personality, because I understood her and I wasn't willing to push her. But, then, this story isn't about me. It was never about me. I realized at that moment that I hadn't proved myself, not as a man, but as a husband. I was willing to let her live indoors for her whole life, and it took a practical Kodak Moment of sadness for me to figure that something needed to change.
I've always had this idea in my head that Mutou has a reason for working at Yamaku besides a sympathy for teens with disabilities. I figured, maybe that sympathy came from elsewhere and he'd had it for years. Perhaps a family member with a disability, or maybe someone closer. I noticed that there weren't many Mutou fanfics out there, and I figured... Why not? Here's a story about Mutou in all his hopeless romantic glory.
Agoraphobia
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
===
Chapter One
The two fluids dripped equally to the floor and blended together.
Hanako, absolute terror in her eyes, withdrew her hand from Misha's arm, a little noise accompanying the rustle of her sleeve. It thudded against the desk and curled into a fist, knuckles whitening fairly quickly.
Misha's cry alerted me to her distress, along with most of the class. I looked up from my work, an underlying fear stewing in me that I couldn't quite place. Shizune examined the wound; though it wasn't particularly deep, it was a malicious injury all the same. But she shrugged Shizune off of her arm, gritting her teeth to bite back tears as little trickles of blood started to stain the sleeve of her shirt.
Hanako, meanwhile, moved erratically, muttering incomprehensible gibberish as if she'd been possessed. Her twitching was spontaneous, triple-jointed, odd in all senses of the word. She flopped and writhed in her desk, eventually falling to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks like she was in horrible pain. She pushed from her knees to her feet, and when I got up to stop her she rammed into my shoulder like a freight train and sped out the door, off to god knows where.
I spun back to the girls to assess the situation a little better. Misha was wringing out her arm like she'd been shot, and I got to see just how grisly the wound was. The pencil, still tinged red along the side, stuck out of her arm right at the bicep. Blood squeezed out between the little space where wood and flesh met, and I realized we were in for some trouble.
"Nakai, get her to the Nurse, please. I'll be back." I spun on my heel, giving the bright young mind before me a point before heading out the door. "The rest of you keep working!" I added an afterthought.
I had no way of knowing where Ikezawa was running off too, but I certainly wasn't about to let her get away. I knew perfectly well how to defuse the situation, she was my student after all. None of the kids knew how to deal with what she was going through and I doubt she did either to an extent. Panic attacks are filled with subconscious thoughts and spur-of-the-moment decisions. If your brain freezes you up because of whatever sets you off, it'll start making decisions for you. Bad ones, as a matter of fact.
There were two places she could be heading in her panic; to her dorm or to the roof. I knew she'd want to go somewhere nobody could see her, where nobody could look at her. I had to think carefully. If she was far gone enough to stab her classmate with a pencil- just because she was asking if she was alright, nonetheless -then couldn't be sure she wouldn't do anything more drastic. As I entered the hallway, I caught her frail body disappearing up the stairs at the end of the corridor. The roof it was, then.
That meant this was going to be harder than I thought.
I caught up with her just as she burst through the doors and into the sunlight, her fear-stricken chest rising and falling in a very erratic motion. In, out, in, out, faster and faster. Like a child, she scrambled away from me, almost tripping over herself in her attempt to find solitude. I made sure to convey to her that each step was deliberate; I walked slowly, advancing on her like the calm version of a killer in a horror movie. She rounded the little building containing the entrance to the stairs and tried to hide around the corner, squeaking in fear when I found her with no trouble.
"M-Mu-Muh-M-M-" She stuttered, shaking like a leaf in the wind. I kept my eyes locked on hers at every chance I could get; though her gaze whipped about, she was otherwise completely frozen in place now. All she could do was bring her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms around them, desperately trying to hide her face from me.
I knelt down beside her. "Are you alright, Ikezawa?" I kept my voice calm and low; soothing. I was used to this kind of thing now, being a teacher introduces you to all kinds of situations, you see. Eye contact is most important, followed by keeping your own self calmed down. If you start showing that you're scared, they'll get even worse. Of course, I'm no professional psychiatrist; I was frightened just as much as she was. I knew better than to show it, though.
When she didn't respond to me, I put a hand on her shoulder. Her deep, dark eyes met mine, and she took in a deep, dry breath through her mouth. Were it any faster, I'd have assumed it was a gasp, as if she were noticing I was there for the first time.
"You really hurt miss Mikado, you know." I reprimanded her, lightly, of course.
She shook her head back and forth rapidly, her pupils dilating as she drew back into her fear. Doing this by myself was proving to be a daunting task. "S-She-Sh-She-she-s-"
I nodded. "I know, I know. She started it." I smiled, though to be honest I was having a hard time finding humor in the situation. "That doesn't mean you have to go around stabbing your classmates."
Her frown seemed to get worse, her lower lip quivering as another bout of waterworks started to spill down her cheeks. Disabilities, I can deal with. Panic-stricken teenagers, I can deal with. Crying, panic-stricken teenagers? I wasn't sure that was something I could handle.
My own grin faltered into a serious expression. "I'll ask you again: Are you going to be alright, Hanako?" I put my other hand on her opposite shoulder, giving her an intent stare. The third step is to personalize; you have to convey to the person that you know what they're going through and then remove them from the situation as quickly as you can. Thankfully, that part had already been taken care of by everyone's favorite fight-or-flight response.
The thudding of footsteps alerted me to someone else's presence. Who else should appear but Hisao, out of breath and exhausted. He nodded toward me, then leaned on the wall for support. He'd obviously made a break for it after delivering Mikado to the infirmary; as much as I wanted to remind him of his heart problems, he seemed to be just as conscious of them himself at the moment.
"I-I-I-I..." Ikezawa closed her lifeless eyes, putting a hand on her chest. Her head lulled to the side as her breathing equalized. "I think... I-I am g-g-going to b-be okay." Her words were carefully chosen, just like my own. Her stammer was more prevalent than usual, a staple of her timidness, and I was still concerned.
"Are you sure?" My mind was telling me not to ask her, but I had to be positive she was okay before I attempted to stand her up. If she fell right back over, we'd be in the same spot as before, and that would do us no good. My eyes kept traveling to Nakai, who was watching us with mortified eyes. Here was his friend, broken and frightened for a reason I'm sure he couldn't quite understand, and now he had to witness her coming down from it.
She said nothing again, giving her head a tiny shake. This was not good; I had to convince her to talk to me. The final step of bringing someone out of a panic attack is to converse with them. Make contact; bring them down slowly. Realizing they have potentially embarrassed themselves in front of several people will only make things worse, and it was my job now to make sure she didn't become aware of this right away.
"Can I try talking to her?" Hisao spoke up, determination lining his expression. At the sound of his voice, Ikezawa's eyes fluttered open and her head raised a little. I stood, brushing off my coat, and gestured to her. He took this as the go-ahead, and sat right down beside her.
"H-Hi...sao." Hanako's wide eyes turned to him. "I...I'm s-s-sorry."
The look he gave her made me sick to my stomach if only because I knew it so well. Mind you, it wasn't a disgusted sickness, more of a nostalgic feeling. It was a look of what a younger me might have called love. It was understanding, it was poignant. It calmed her down far better than I ever could have. She got lost in his eyes and he got lost in hers, and for a moment neither of them said anything. I suppose this was a fine alternative to the last step.
I'd given someone that look once. If I may diverge from the subject at hand for a moment, I'll explain. When I told my wife that I wanted to marry her, that was the look I shared with her. That very same longing stare, not one of lust but of realization. This was the person Nakai wanted to be with, and it was a very out-of-body experience seeing it for myself. It felt a little awkward in fact, watching something so personal happen right before me. Seeing it in someone so young upset me in a way I'm not sure I really get. The laws of science are always changing, sure, but what about the laws of romance?
Regardless, Ikezawa was calmed down now. What could have been an awful situation turned into only a mildly bad one. Nakai and I stood her up, and guided her down to the Nurse, slowly and carefully. It was a slow walk, and by the time we had reached it, class was over. I'm sure the other students had no qualms with me not returning, but I felt a certain dedication now that I'd gone this far into Ikezawa's personal life. Does that make me a bad teacher? I'm not really sure.
Thankfully, Mikado had already left. I'm sure it hurt to get shanked in the arm, but Mikado was a tough enough girl. A little disinfectant, some bandages, and she'd be right as rain. I could only hope she held no grudges. After we dropped her off there and Nakai had a quick word with the Nurse, we walked back to class so he could retrieve his backpack. I'd only gotten a little bit of a taste of what he and Ikezawa are like, but from the way he was almost instantly able to bring her out of her trance, I had a fairly good idea.
Still, though, there was a bluntness in him that I wasn't sure was necessary. I knew the look he'd given her, but whether or not he knew it was beyond me. I took a look out the window as we re-entered the now vacant classroom.
"Nakai, what do you think the purpose of this school is?" The words came out of my mouth with purpose, with intent. I saw a little bit of myself in him as odd as it sounds; he had his interests and young loves just as I did in high school. But if I wanted him to be the success his test grades showed, I'd have to start from his personal life.
Perhaps I'd learn a thing or two about mine along the way as well.
But, then, I suppose I haven't told you much about myself. To be honest, there's not really that much to know in the first place. As I said before, this story isn't about me, after all. My full name is Akio Mutou, named aptly after my father, though I don't really go by Akio much anymore. I grew up in the Sendai area, and I like coffee and long walks on the beach. That's really all there is to know.
No, I mentioned the real subject of this little retelling of mine once before. My wife's name is Kiyoko. I have a special place for her in my heart, if you can't tell. This story is actually about her.
She stayed at home while I was working, and I mean that in all senses of the word. When she stayed home, she stayed home. Getting her out of the house was always a problem, because Kiyoko was a recluse, you see. She had a fear of the outside world, that it was tainted in some way, off. She claimed that as soon as she left the front porch there was an immeasurable weight on her shoulders and she could go no further. I'd gotten her as far as the sidewalk before her feet refused to move anymore. In fact, I'd begun to believe there was a scientific reason behind it. She showed all kinds of signs of a fever as we made that short trip to get the mail- I feel like an idiot for coaxing her into coming with me -and as soon as we were back in the cool air conditioning of the house, she was fine save for her shortness of breath.
I met her many, many years ago. I was still in high school, and was on a paper route for money as none of the stores near my home were hiring at the time. My aim was a little off, and I accidentally hurled the paper right through their open living room window and hit her in the head. She refused to come out- I didn't know why at the time -so, me being the casanova I was, parked my shiny ol' bike and went up to apologize. She accepted my apology firsthand, and offered to share some tea she'd just brewed with me. I much prefer straight black coffee, but tea is alright in a pinch.
We dated throughout high school, though I quickly found out she was homeschooled. She always requested that I come to her house instead of us going anywhere special. I'd assumed it was her playing coy with me at first, but when I asked her parents, they simply told me she didn't like leaving the sanctity of their home and left it at that. We didn't do much, really. I attribute my love of science to her, or at least astronomy, as we'd spend much of our evenings together hovering over a gigantic telescope on her roof and getting a better look at the stars above us. It doesn't sound very romantic, but believe me, I had some of the best nights of my life huddled up on the couch watching horror movies with that girl.
She was very shy to say the least. At the end of our schooling, she revealed to me that not only did she dislike the outside world, she lived in constant fear of it. Getting used to dirty ol' Akio coming in from whatever she imagined was out there was a day-to-day problem of hers, and the only reason she invited me into her house in the first place was because she felt lonely. She told me that she loved the way I smelled, the way it contrasted the cleanliness and sterile nature of her house. I felt a little taken aback at first because she was basically calling me unclean, but she meant well enough. Coffee and cigarettes, that's how she described it. I loved both, and she'd never been around either. So, that day, I hauled over my coffeemaker, and we had our first pot of coffee together. She said it tasted disgusting, but the smell instilled a pleasant dizziness in her. From then on, I always had some coffee with me when I came over, to give her that same feeling every time she saw me. I suppose that was how my unfortunate addiction to the stuff came about; even my students have noted the fresh cup of joe when I walk in just after the bell on occasion.
Both of her parents were working people, so she was home alone a lot. She often called me and asked me to come over when I was in the middle of doing what she referred to as "outside things". But, this particular night, I was willing to give up the world for her as per usual, and I excused myself from the dinner table and hopped on my shiny ol' bike to get over there as fast as possible. I think I still have that bike in my garage somewhere; the place is quite the mess.
But when I got over there, all of the lights were off. I could hear her humming somewhere far off in the house, and when she heard the front door open, she beckoned me to her. I rounded the stairs and found a light peeking out from beneath the crack in the bathroom door; ever the gentleman, I knocked, confused. I heard some splashing and giggles, and then she told me it was alright for me to come in. I'm sure she'd smack me one if she saw me actively recalling this event, but I have a certain adoration for her ingeniousness given the situation.
That was the first time I ever saw her nude, as a matter of fact. The splashing I'd heard was her getting out of the tub, and there she stood, sopping wet and holding her arms wide. She and I had a thing going for a few days prior to this, where we were in a constant shift in conversation. She asked me several times if I wanted to see what she looked like beneath her spotless clothes, beneath the makeup and the sanitation, and I always changed the subject. Personally, I wasn't sure I was ready to see all of her; being only the ripe age of nineteen, I didn't know if she was the one I wanted to give up my life for, especially not this early on. When my parents had "the talk" with me- you know, the one kids fear like the plague -they told me to keep myself as reserved as possible, to avoid giving myself up to someone who didn't deserve it.
And, that day, I decided Kiyoko deserved it. She, body dripping and hair pressed to her skin, held her arms out and asked me if I would come forward and embrace her. This was the true test of our relationship, to her. She knew I'd just come in from the outdoors, and I carried all kinds of dangerous things on my clothes and my body and everything, and she looked genuinely afraid as I took the first few steps into the bathroom. Mind you, I was still in awe at the fact that she'd even jumped to this point. She certainly had all the right curves in all the right places to say the least. I'm not going to go into the specifics as this isn't really 'that kind' of tale, but she was very beautiful. From her dark brown hair to her soft, snow white flesh, she was exactly what I was looking for, and in that moment, I took her into my arms and gave her the tightest hug skinny young Akio could possibly manage. This was it, then. She was the proverbial 'one' everyone searched so desperately for. A few years later, we were married and thus inseparable.
As with every couple, we had our ups and our downs. Eventually we realized that she'd have to move out of her parents' house at some point, and that was a very large hurdle for us. My new wife, and she had to stay at home for the few weeks it took me to purchase a house. It was impossible to get her to go house hunting with me, so I brought the choices to her instead. We picked a good looking one- I paid for the whole thing, furnishing and all -and just like that, we were ready to settle in together. The last step, which was actually moving her from house to house, was the toughest. As soon as she realized we were going to have to walk to the car, she threw an outrageous fit. She acted like I was betraying her, like I was only doing it to spite her. I got to see how truly disabled she was in her condition, and it hurt me. After a little while, however, I made peace with her and got her to calm down.
"You're going to be alright," I said to her again and again. I whispered it, softly in her ear, stroking her hair lightly. When she got upset, that was what I did, and it always worked. I have an innate ability to keep people calm, not sure why, but it helps in a pinch.
I promised her that nothing would hurt her, and she vehemently denied it. I suppose that was one of the traits of her disability; she flat out thought people were lying when they told her that the outside world held nothing that would kill her. In a way, I was lying; the nature of science dictates that anything can happen to anyone at any time, and for all I knew, we could both be hit by some invisible microwave and collapse and die the moment we set foot outside. In fact, the chair I am sitting in right now could decide it's had enough tension and explode right underneath me; but I won't delve too much into probabilities for the moment, if my students fall asleep while listening to me talk about it, I can't imagine how boring reading about it would be.
I ended up scooping her up in my arms and carrying her out the door, down the driveway, and into the passenger seat in my car. Her eyes were squeezed shut the whole time and she constantly put her hands to her face to wipe away her tears. It was a very emotional moment, and several times during the drive over I thought she was going to clutch the sides of her head and start screaming. As soon as she was inside our new house, I closed the door behind us and then she never left. I floated around from job to job for a few years, and then saw a position open at the Yamaku Institute for the Disabled, and lo and behold, I got the job. I took it at first to learn about my wife; I ended up taking away much, much more than that.
All this came back to me that day, and as I removed my shoes and Kiyoko greeted me, I felt a little more remiss than usual.
She noticed it immediately. "Akio, are you feeling okay? You look a little pale." She put her hand up to feel my forehead, but it hesitated over the flesh for a minute, as she knew I'd just come in from the outdoors and was still infected with whatever it was she was frightened of. She'd gotten used to touching me before I showered, but the idea of it still scared her. In fact, I suspected I was the only dirty thing in the whole house; she had a lot of time to herself while I was at Yamaku. Everything got cleaned day in and day out. When we weren't spending time together, she was cleaning something. Calling her a neat freak would be the understatement of the century.
"No, no, I'm fine. I've just been thinking a lot today." I waved her hand away, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. I learned early on that she doesn't like kissing me on the mouth before I wash up.
"About what?" She floated back through the house to the living room, taking her seat on the couch. A large pile of laundry sat on the coffee table before her, still half-folded. Busywork was her number one priority, and I felt sort of bad for her for having to rely on it for entertainment.
"Two of my students had a little conflict today, and one of them reminded me of you, I guess." I shrugged. It was hard to explain, and it still is. I'm having trouble putting it into words as is, but I'm sure at their core everyone has experienced nostalgia at some point.
"Sounds juicy." She smirked, inbetween murmuring the number of folds in each shirt. One, two, three, four, folded. One, two, three, four, folded. It was easy to get lost in the rhythm of it.
"She stabbed her friend with a pencil." I shook my head. "It wasn't her fault, though. She had a panic attack in the middle of class."
This stopped Kiyoko in mid-fold. She hesitated for a moment, as if she'd lost count, before continuing. Three, four, folded.
"Sounds like you had a rough day." Her voice was even, soft; almost musing. I took a seat on the couch beside her, and watched her turn toward me slowly. There was a sadness in her eyes; she knew panic attacks all too well, as did I. She leaned in and gave me a quick sniff, pleased at the smell of the roasted coffee that made up my scent. I promised her I'd be right back, and went to shower as I usually did when returning from doing "outside things".
When I returned, I realized she hadn't heard me coming. She has occasionally referred to me as her personal ninja, as I naturally move very quietly. Without shoes, I'm almost silent. I caught her staring out the window, partially folded shirt sitting square on her lap. A little bluebird was perched on a branch just beyond the glass, doing whatever it is birds do to keep themselves occupied. She was watching it, hands curled tightly into fists against the fabric of the shirt. She sometimes looks out the windows when she's bored; we don't go up on the roof to look at the stars anymore. I promised her that someday I would take her outside to see the sunset, which she claimed she'd love to do at the time; but every once in a while I suggest it and she always politely declines. She sniffled, and I realized I had found her at a very private moment. She has those sometimes.
"Hey." I said, putting an arm around her. I returned to my place beside her on the couch, and she jumped a few inches, startled by my sudden presence. Her big, blue eyes were filled with sorrow now. She wants to go outside, I know it; she hates her illness, and it hurts me to see her break down. I try to keep her distracted so that things like that don't happen very often, but it's mostly unavoidable. When she saw my concern, she silently went back to folding the laundry, unwilling to let me see her down. She's always tried to keep her spirits up when around me, which I appreciated. It was hard for her to speak her mind, though, and that was one of the problems our relationship constantly suffered from.
That was the day I promised myself I'd get her outside, one way or another. I was going to watch the sunset with her, and we were going to love it. I've lived my whole life refusing to change myself for the better, instead letting the world change around me. I'd always conformed to Kiyoko's personality, because I understood her and I wasn't willing to push her. But, then, this story isn't about me. It was never about me. I realized at that moment that I hadn't proved myself, not as a man, but as a husband. I was willing to let her live indoors for her whole life, and it took a practical Kodak Moment of sadness for me to figure that something needed to change.
