It's difficult to remember a time now, that I didn't feel the deepness of the ocean rock in my soul... sometimes there were torrents and others it was calm. Now that he's gone... my sea has been sucked dry. I'm a hollowed body, grasping for water... to drown even. Alas...
When I came back from America the first time, my things were packed carelessly. Objects shoved like useless pawns of in my life. My suitcase reeled uncomfortably at every pound I plundered into it. With my heart racing, and fingers trembling I boarded the airplane. Never liked airplanes, always the opposite of my comfortable element. The sea. I was going home. Home. But what did that really mean? The first thing my mind jumped to was Yuki. Then Dad, Sakura... Akira and Haru. I scratched Akria's name out, knowing he wouldn't be there anymore. He was a small hole, but there was depth to it. Ever since the Bermuda incident we had grown close. Texts sent, from India or Norway. Always traveling, that one. Though, unlike Akira, Yuki almost never had the habit of texting me. Too nervous, I guessed. A part of me was upset about the fact he didn't have the courage to do it... but then again I didn't have it either. What was wrong with me... back then? If I could now, nothing would stop me. I'd fly in any aircraft for any amount of time.
My father had phoned me days before I came home, asking to be there on a specific date. His voice wavered, but I thought nothing of it. Like the noise traveling to my ear wasn't in tune to ear something like that. Something I hadn't felt in a while. Grief.
I got off the plane, neck wrapped in a navy blue plaid scarf. My favorite black button up coat covered my body, black pants, blue shoes. I'll never forget what I was wearing then.
My father decided not to meet me at the airport, instead I got a cab home. My feet skidded across their backseat, fingers burrowed into the pockets of my coat. It was cold. Freezing almost, and I could barely breathe.
When I finally arrived, my fingers had grown numb so I raced to the door. Before I reached my house, the door flung open for me. Without even making eye contact my feet led me inside, dropping all of my things. Then it happened. Sitting across the room, drinking hot tea was Akira. His turban laid casually around his neck as a makeshift scarf. In confusion my eyes darted to my father, whom had opened the door. I saw it then. What I had missed on the phone. "Natsuki..." He had that look. A look I'd only seen one other time before.
When he told me mother died. The sorrowful... apologetic... broken spirit.
"W-what's going on?" My mind wouldn't stop. Why was Akira here? Why... did he look at me like that?
Out of the corner of my eye, Akira moved from his seat and came over. It only heightened my concern, my breath shortened.
"It's Yuki." My dad finally said. Yuki... "Two weeks ago, Yuki was helping out in the shop and he went to grab some things from his house. When he came back, he got hit by a truck rounding the corner. His lungs had collapsed, and he had severe internal bleeding. He'd been in intensive care ever since."
"I want to see him." The words blurted out of my mouth without thought or reason.
"Natsuki," It was Akira who spoke now. "He didn't make it."