Pain, Passion & Obsession

A rare moment of silence settled over Tatsu's mind. The constant thoughts and worries all drifted away by the guiding hand of music.

It was a temporary break from the constant, churning analysis of her own failings. However, in a single millisecond the calm faded from a soothing tune to the sharp, immediate shriek of reality.

"Tatsu!”

A voice, sharp as a shard of glass rang out carrying its usually irritated tone.

The summons was a jagged sound, signifying dinner was ready. And with it came the inevitable confrontations and arguments her father conjured every shared meal.

The moment she entered the dining room, the atmosphere was already saturated with the usual familial friction.

As Tatsu took a seat at the table the soft black leather squeaked underneath her. A wave of heat washed over her, and with it came a sudden, deafening awareness of her own body.

Tatsu's heart was no longer just beating in her chest; it had migrated to her head, pounding against her eardrums.

Lub-dub, lub-dub, it was a sound so loud she was amazed no one else could hear it. The world seemed to shrink until it contained only the frantic, booming rhythm in her ears. Each beat was a confirmation of the panic coursing through her, a private thunder that drowned out all other sound. Evidence of the anxiety dinner time had always brought to Tatsu.

Her father was already pouring generous measures of whiskey. His philosophy on alcohol as unyielding as the rest of his ideologies, however flawed. He considered the legal drinking age a modern weakness. “Liquor fortifies the spirit of even the most timid man.” he would declare, his gaze often lingering on Tatsu, a silent challenge in his eyes.

Her existence had been a complication in his rigid world. The daughter he never anticipated. He immediately tried to mold Tatsu into his vision of rugged independence, a woman who could endure whiskey and cigars without complaint. And stand her own in a fight nor submit to anyone.

Yet, this aggressive promotion of strength was shackled by a paranoid possessiveness. She was perpetually vulnerable, a creature requiring a man’s protective shadow in a dangerous world.

This fundamental duality, her father demanding strength while enforcing dependency, was the root of Tatsu’s own profound stubbornness.

The irony of being twenty years old, preparing to re-enter high school to appease this man and secure her inheritance, was a bitter pill she didn’t want to swallow. Yet she was left with little choice.

"You’re going back to school tomorrow, correct? I trust there will be no fiascos this year." Her father’s voice sliced through her daydreaming.

Tatsu’s mental guard snapped up. Going back. The phrase was a stark reminder of her humiliating situation. She would be twenty-one before she finally held that diploma. The internalized shame of this failure, of being fundamentally wrong about the trajectory of her life, instantly fueled her defensive posture.

"What?" Tatsu replied, the single syllable escaping before she could stop herself. An instinctive reply to his question since she had been lost in her own self-loathing thoughts.

The air congealed. His voice, once conversational, became rough, a low, tectonic rumble of brewing rage.

"What! What did you just say to me?"

His eyes, fueled by a terrifying, instant fury, locked onto hers.

The delay in her response, the fraction of a second it took her brain to register the imminent danger, was all the incitement he required. His face darkened, looming over her like an impending storm.

"How dare you take that tone with me!" he roared, the venom in his voice raising the pitch to a deafening register.

A familiar, cold dread seeped into her veins. The word ‘what’ was a personal trigger of his, a word of disrespect.

“I wasn’t using a tone. I just-” she countered, her own voice tight, the instinct to defend herself.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he seethed, his grip on his utensils tightening as his knuckles whitened and the tips of his fingers reddened. “Do you think I’m ignorant? Incapable of recognizing a disrespectful tone.”

The last question was the ultimate trap, the one Tatsu knew she could never challenge. She swallowed the hard knot of pride stopping herself from arguing further with him. Shame took place and formed in her throat for some reason.

"I apologize." she whispered, a futile offering to the whirlwind. Tatsu's head lowered her eyes, unable to meet his glare.

The lecture commenced, a relentless tirade of sharp, cutting and authoritative. Tatsu sat rigid, focusing on the ceramic pattern of her plate, enduring the storm until, as quickly as it began, it dissipated.

Her father settled back down, his expression regaining its casual composure, and they continued the meal, leaving the lingering residue of his words a toxic, silent reminder of her defeat and inability to stand up for herself.

After the excruciating meal, Tatsu retreated to her room to pack the essentials for her apartment in the city. Tatsu's main motivation for going to a school in the city was the urgent need to free herself from the crushing atmosphere of her home.

She required space, physically and emotionally. She fought for this independent living arrangement because she felt the constant responsibility for the emotions of others like coworkers or friends and family was too much for her.

She wanted to develop independently away from the toxic, suffocating influence of her parents and the haunting memories of her brother.

Yet she was utterly incapable of understanding or aiding her own feelings or problems. Living alone was a chance to focus solely on the pragmatic task of survival and, just perhaps, to act her age without the burden of being premature for her age even though she knew she still had a lot to learn.

This year, she swore, it would be different, a deliberate departure from the past and her past self, she would invent herself anew.

By morning, the house was silent. There was no farewell, merely an absence. Tatsu felt a flicker of melancholic disappointment, quickly extinguished by the pragmatic realization that this silence was simply her planned estrangement beginning early.

After settling into her apartment, she realized her provisions were non-existent. Lacking the motivation for a full grocery trip, she headed to a nearby convenience store for a quick, cheap fix. The city convenience stores were a striking contrast to the humble rural shops she knew.

These were polished, gleaming, almost luxurious. Tatsu found herself amazed at the variation of items. It had much more to offer than the mom and pop shops back home.

She navigated toward the shelf that held ramen noodles and put one in her basket. As Tatsu turned she collided with someone. Looking up, Tatsu was immediately stunned by the woman’s height and striking appearance.

The woman seemed elegant and confident, her clothes looked expensive and she smelled good. A stark contrast to the people back home who often looked like they just walked off a farm.

Her hair, black and lustrous, framed sharp, pronounced cheekbones. But it was her eyes, a turbulent, grayish-green, like a deep, stormy sea, that held Tatsu captive, narrowing slightly as if instantly dissecting her thoughts. A nervous heat flushed Tatsu’s neck as she struggled to hold the gaze. She felt butterflies in her stomach dancing around intensifying her flustered state.

“Oh, sweetheart,”

The woman drawled, her voice a low, melodious cadence, yet underscored by a sharp, patronizing amusement. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a subtle smirk.

“You are aware that stuff is hardly a nutritious dinner, are you? And really, one should acquire the common courtesy to offer an apology when one collides into another person. But I suppose politeness is too much to expect these days, isn’t it?” Her tone was light, yet the calculated condescension was unmistakable.

The sudden flush of heat and butterflies was instantly replaced by a sharp surge of annoyance. Being addressed as "kid" or "sweetheart" by a condescending stranger was an incitement for Tatsu's legendary stubbornness.

"I apologize for the collision," Tatsu stated, her voice taut with restraint. "But refrain from calling me a child, and I certainly don't need your opinion on what I'm buying. Seems you're the one who needs to learn about politeness."

She pivoted toward the checkout, only for the woman to materialize directly in front of her, plucking the ramen cup from her basket.

"Such bravado," the woman murmured, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips.

"I find your spirit… engaging. I am heading to a restaurant for a proper dinner. Why don't you join me? Consider it a free meal, and I guarantee it will surpass this…processed astronaut noodles."

Tatsu felt a peculiar duality, the stranger was snobbish and rude, yet there was an undeniable, magnetic power to her presence.

“Well?” the woman prompted, her head tilting. “Will you stand there with your mouth gaping open like a baffled baboon, or will you accept? What's your name?”

“Baboon, apparently.” Tatsu muttered, looking away.

Ritsuka’s laughter was a sudden, rich sound. “A creature with spirit and humor, I like you. I am Ritsuka. And you?” Ritsuka repeated her earlier question, eager to find out the young woman's name.

“Tatsu,” she relented, placing the ramen back on a shelf. “And by the way, they are ramen noodles. Not astronaut noodles..and they are delicious for their price.”

Tatsu retrieved the ramen back from Ritsuka’s hands and placed it back on the shelf. "Fine, I will accompany you. But I don't want to hear any more judgment.”

"I promise, Tatsu. You are in expert hands.”

Ritsuka’s nod was single, firm, and authoritative. Before Tatsu could fully process the affirmation, Ritsuka’s hand settled firmly on the small of her back.

The pressure was warm and deliberate, an unspoken command that guided Tatsu toward the exit, simultaneously soothing and asserting control.

Tatsu felt a flutter in her stomach again, an unwelcome, thrilling tremor of anxiety and anticipation. This was not the simple excitement she craved, but the palpable beginning of something more complex and dangerous.

At the restaurant the booth felt like a confessional. The silence was heavy, and Tatsu began mentally charting an escape route.

“So, Tatsu,” Ritsuka began, her gaze narrowing with analytical curiosity.

“What compels a young woman to purchase such a… bleak meal? Do your parents not provide for you?”

The judgment was palpable.

Tatsu looked down, a familiar discomfort settling in. “I live alone. I only just arrived in the city tonight so I didn't have anything. And I asked for no judgment.” She said, irritation evident in her tone and facial expression. She kept her replies minimal, a defensive maneuver.

Ritsuka simply continued her gentle interrogation, and Tatsu offered blunt, guarded replies. This continued for a while before a server brought them drinks and took the appetizer order. Then eventually Tatsu finally offered a little more to the conversation.

“This year, I just want things to be… exciting. It is my final year. I want it to be memorable.”

A subtle, knowing smile touched Ritsuka’s lips. She retrieved a napkin, scribbled a number, and offered it to Tatsu, her fingers lingering for a moment on Tatsu’s hand. “If you desire an exciting year, contact me. I am an expert in orchestrating…memorable experiences.”

A deep, fiery blush consumed Tatsu’s ears and flooded her neck. The woman’s presence was intoxicating, every detail.

The sharp architecture of her face, the knowing gleam in her eyes, the hypnotic rhythm of her voice, designed to captivate.

As Ritsuka raised a hand to signal the waiter, her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip in a gesture of such subtle, deliberate provocation that it sent a jolt of pure lightning down Tatsu’s spine.

Her breath hitched. She gripped the napkin. Panic, swift and absolute, seized her. “I will be right back…” she stammered, fleeing for the restroom with her heart hammering against her ribs.

Inside the tiled sanctuary, the weight of the encounter crushed down upon her. The prospect of further conversation, of navigating that intense, unsettling magnetism, was unbearable.

She was not prepared for this type of new relationship, or the possibility of emotional surrender and vulnerability it implied. Tatsu could see the look in Ritsuka’s eyes when she licked her lips, the way her touch felt when her hand touched hers. She knew exactly what the woman wanted and it made her nervous, she knew she wasn't ready.

Not ready to be vulnerable and open to someone new in her life. Especially not someone she just met and knows nothing about.

Her eyes scanned for an exit and found it: a window, just large enough.

Without allowing herself a moment to reconsider, she climbed onto the toilet tank, shoved the window open, and wriggled out into the cool night air. Her feet hit the pavement and she ran, not stopping until she flagged down a taxi, her chest heaving with a mixture of guilt, shame, and overwhelming relief.

Sliding into the back seat, gasping for breath, the realization of her rash, cowardly departure hit her all at once. Fleeing a situation that might have offered the very excitement she claimed to seek. Yet Tatsu ran from it like a coward.

She had been rude, a genuine jerk, abandoning a compelling woman simply because she feared the potential consequences of intimacy. Tatsu could hear her father scolding her in her head as the taxi took her back to her apartment.

Back in the hollow quiet of her apartment Tatsu finally slumped onto the couch. The night’s events, an exhausting weight. She glanced at the napkin, Ritsuka’s number scrawled in an elegant, decisive hand. With a weary sigh, she crumpled the paper and tossed it toward the waste bin. Miss Snob could find someone else to chastise over food.

Ritsuka was undeniably attractive, yet there was a palpable sense of danger about her, an unsettling aura that screamed bad news. Tatsu knew herself well enough to acknowledge the risk: she would inevitably fall too quickly, too hard, and the resulting heartbreak would be devastating, not to mention a terminal distraction from her primary goal of graduation.