Debt, love… Fight!

When I open my eyes I realize two things:

One: I’m alive.

Two: I’m in trouble. 

The piercing pain in my right arm, or that I can barely open one of my eyes are the least of my worries. The worst part is that I’m somewhere I know very well and that’s not good. At all. 

I guess most hospitals are somewhat alike, but this is too much of a coincidence. I’m in my brother-in-law’s clinic, and that can only mean that I’m in deep trouble. 

I try to get up and immediately realize my precarious situation. I am wearing a horrible green hospital gown, my right arm is in a cast and my leg is burning up. My throat is dry and my head is spinning. There’s tight bandaging around my forehead and my left eye. 

Who won the fight? I have to know right now. I raise the sheets with my free hand and find some bandaging around my thigh. That’s gonna leave a scar. I clench my teeth and try to sit up, but something is pulling at my arm. There’s a bunch of IV drips hooked up at multiple points over my arm, making it look like a pincushion. 

I’m in much worse condition than I thought. 

Suddenly something stirs in my peripheral vision; I realize there’s someone else in the room. A big, male figure curled up in a narrow armchair opens his eyes abruptly, and leaps at me, placing his hands on my shoulders and pushing me back onto the bed.

“You can’t get up!”, he exclaims, upset. “You lost so much blood!”

I gasp, surprised at the sight of his tormented blue eyes, filled with suffocating worry. He doesn’t let go, remaining bent over me, gripping my shoulders and surveying the wreckage that must now be my face.

I want to say so much to him, things I’ve been meaning to say for weeks, all the time, all day long I’ve been wanting to scream that I need him more than anything, more than anyone. I wanted to say it before the fight but I was a coward, and now, I feel that anything that comes out of my mouth will sound like an excuse, a flimsy plea for his forgiveness. 

“Did I win?”, I ask nonetheless, and his brows furrow. His hands abandon me and he stays still, watching me from the edge of the bed.

“No.”

My stomach lurches, and I blink, with my one working eye. It can’t be. She cheated!! She poisoned me and stabbed me, and I still held until the end. 

I feel tears welling up at the edges of my eyes, stinging like boiling lava. It’s not fair.

“I want a rematch,” I say through gritted teeth, my pride as wounded and battered as my poor body.

He grunts in disbelief, like he thinks I’ve lost my mind.

“You just regained consciousness after twenty-four hours, and that’s the first thing you have to say?!”  he shouts, his voice thick with emotion. Only then do I notice his wrinkled clothes, his disheveled hair, his sallow skin, and the awful dark circles under his eyes.

Ranma has been watching over me, never leaving my side. In fact, he’s probably the one who brought me here.

I swallow hard and lower my eyes, ashamed. I’ve lost, I’m all beat up, I don’t have the money, and I’m at my brother-in-law’s clinic. The feeling of failure drowns me, overwhelms me. I bite my lower lip, knowing he was right, knowing that I never even tried to listen to him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, fighting back the urge to cry against his chest, to beg him to hold me tight.

He sighs, rubbing his temples, as if my waking up was the beginning of a massive headache.

“I’m getting the doctor,” he says, turning away, but not before giving me one last tired look as he heads out the door.

He’s angry again, or maybe he never stopped being angry, and I’m completely to blame. Wait a minute, who did he say he was going to call?

I don’t try to get up again, not because I don’t feel capable, but because I don’t want to deal with the consequences. I sit on the edge of the bed, assessing the damage.

Shampoo broke my arm; I felt my bones crack, but I held onto the hope that the tendons had held. The cast doesn’t go all the way up; it goes from my hand up to two centimeters below the elbow joint. I try to bend it, feeling the wet, stiff pain of the swelling. It’s heavy, but it’s not damaged. Thank goodness.

I hear two knocks on the door. I look up, and before I can say anything, I see my brother-in-law appear. His usual affable expression has been replaced by a scowl. He approaches my bed, and Ranma follows, but he remains leaning against the wall, watching in sullen silence.

“Akane, how are you feeling?”

I look at him with my good eye; I suppose my sorry state speaks volumes.

“My head hurts,” I say, filled with dread, because his tightly pressed lips and deep displeasure is the opposite of  everything Dr. Tofu has been: kind, understanding, and patient.

“I’ll tell the nurse to give you some painkillers,” he replies, taking a clipboard and jotting down a few details. Then he examines me methodically, checking my bandages, taking my vital signs, listening to my heart and lungs, and observing my bruises. “You could have died,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. I look away only to find Ranma’s tormented eyes on the other side of the room.

I decide that looking down at my own lap is the best course of action.

“I was so close to winning,” I whisper. He shakes his head and takes a breath.

“Your ulna and radius are fractured, miraculously they’re not near the joints, so they’ll heal fine as long as you rest. The leg wound was more than seven centimeters deep; I had to cauterize several blood vessels, and you lost a lot of blood before you got here. Besides that, you have a significant head contusion and a small pulmonary hemorrhage. I’d say that the fight wasn’t worth it.”

I look up at him, frightened. Obviously, he knows everything, and that means…

“Does Kasumi know?” I ask, twisting the sheet in my hand.

“Yes, and she’s very upset. She’s very disappointed and blames herself for what happened. She wants to talk to you.”

“Tofu…” I whisper, trying to plead for his mercy.

“You need to stay a few days, until we’re sure you’ve recovered from the shock and that you’re breathing properly. Take it easy,” he says, offering me something akin to a smile and placing his hand against mine. “We’re all very worried about you, Akane. Use this time to reflect.”

He gets up and leaves, but not before exchanging a sympathetic glance with Ranma and giving him a light punch on the shoulder. Have they become friends so quickly? Has everyone ganged up on me? Am I on the verge of a family intervention?

As the door closes, Ranma detaches himself from the wall and moves toward me, but this time he doesn’t come too close to the edge of the bed. He wisely stays a few steps away, anger glaring in his eyes.

“You heard him, don’t overdo it and take some time to think, damn it,” he says, then places his hands on his hips and sighs deeply. I don’t dare look him in the face, especially not in this sorry state. “I’m going back to my apartment to get some clothes and take a shower. I’ll be back later.”

“You don’t have to,” I interrupt. “You should rest too.”

I hear him huff with pure indignation and immediately regret having spoken.

“Clearly you recover quickly,” he says disdainfully, and in his gestures I sense the pain, the quiet anger at me dismissing his help again. He doesn’t understand how ashamed I feel; all I need is some space and quiet to purge my defeat away from his judgment.

I’m not even sure I can expect his comfort or just that anger brimming with “I told you so.”

“You fought out of sheer stubbornness, even though I begged you not to. You almost lost much more than a fight. I need you to understand that,” he snarls, gripping the foot of the bed until his knuckles turn white and his eyes flash with a clouded color. “You almost threw away your life for a handful of dirty money!” he repeats, trying to make the words sink in. I frown, and even that meager gesture feels painful.

“That’s not it,” I reply, unable to contain myself. His indignation converges on the metal railing, which creaks under the brutal pressure of his hands. He doesn’t understand, he can’t know what it feels like. This burning sensation, the need to prove something to myself. “I didn’t do it just for money,” I blurt out, looking at him with my eye full of unshed tears.

“What are you talking about?”

I bite my lip, because I can’t tell him the shameful truth; he wouldn’t understand. He’s the strongest of all, of course he can’t understand what someone like me feels.

Ranma lets go of the foot of the bed at my silent response and stares at me, dumbfounded.

“I’m leaving.”

And I feel that his words have the power to hurt me more than a thousand blows from Shampoo. He slams the door as he leaves, and I shrink back into my faded nightgown.

“I fought for you, idiot,” I whisper quietly.

.

..

…

The conversation with Kasumi goes even worse than I could have imagined.

I thought my sister would yell at me, shake me, and hurl hurtful words, but instead, she sat down on the sofa next to my bed and burst into tears.

She cried uncontrollably for over half an hour, and all my pleas for her to stop were useless. She kept crying while repeatedly saying that it was all her fault, that she should have forced me to go to university, that she should have taken care of me.

I ended up crying too, and I swore to her that I would never do it again, that I would never expose myself like that again. That my days as a street fighter were over. And it isn’t an empty promise; I truly mean it. I don’t want to make my sister cry again, not when she’s spent her whole life shedding tears because of other people’s bad decisions.

The conversation is both revealing and comforting. Afterward, they remove the IV drips, and I go for a walk around the clinic, trying not to open the stitches on my leg. Kasumi helps me with my food, helps me bathe, and when she says goodbye, I have the feeling that we’ve grown closer in a way I haven’t felt since my teenage years. That her love is breaking down all my defenses by letting her take care of me.

Perhaps that’s what she’s been trying to do all this time, I just never let her.

The day ends, and Ranma doesn’t return. At night, I have trouble sleeping despite the painkillers. My thoughts keep returning to the pit, to the pain, to his screams…

Perhaps Ranma was just as scared as Kasumi, only he doesn’t show it by crying, but rather with that cold sullenness he’s had since I woke up. He hasn’t even said a word about my stupid attempt at confessing, when I desperately kissed him before confronting Shampoo.

What am I going to do now? In this state, I can’t fight, and I can’t work either. I can’t earn money… I won’t be able to pay Kuno.

I open my eyes in the darkness, nerves and anxiety burning through me. I swallow hard as I stand up and rummage through the closet until I find the few clothes Kasumi left me. I slip into a pair of jeans I used to wear as a teenager and a baggy sweatshirt, though it’s quite difficult to get the sleeve over the cast. Then I curse when I can’t find anything resembling shoes, so I have no choice but to wear the clinic sandals.

I know it’s wrong, and I shouldn’t do it. I know everyone will be angry with me if they find out what I’m about to do.

I hide the old nightgown among the sheets and figure that if I hurry I can be back before breakfast is served.

.

..

…

The Kuno mansion is silent, like any respectable house at four in the morning.

I don’t want to cause a scene, nor do I intend to sneak in like some common thief, so I ring the doorbell and wait for a perplexed housekeeper to come looking for me.

I only need to give my name for her to escort me inside. I walk down the wide hallways, and this time she leads me to the door of the master suite on the second floor. She hurries away as soon as the doors swing wide open and Kuno emerges behind them, in a silk dressing gown, pure satisfaction plastered on his face.

“Akane Tendô, what a pleasure it is to have you seeking my company—” He stops mid-sentence when he sees my pitiful state. His eyes widen at the sight of my bandages and wounds.

“Give me my dojo, Kuno,” I say as firmly as I can manage, “you don’t need it for anything, and I can pay you an advance today. Keeping up with this game is of no benefit to either one of us.”

“Do not tell me this was about money,” he says, waving his finger at me incredulously.

I raise my chin and stare at him, wide-eyed. He leans closer and strokes my cheek, the disgusting creature inhaling my scent as he leans over me.

“Akane, I do not like seeing you hurt yourself. You know perfectly well you don’t need to go this far, so why do you keep refusing? I would treat you so well.”

In the end, it all comes down to this. I always thought that if it came down to this, I would be able to accept this bargain. To trade my body and soul for my dream. I foolishly thought I could fight instead, that my strength would be enough, and that I could have it all without sacrificing myself.

But I was wrong. Ranma knew it, my sister knew it, everyone knew it except me. I hoped he might be reasonable, that perhaps he would take pity on me, even if it was as an act of charity. But it won’t be like that. He won’t let go of the hook he has me trapped on, and I won’t stop writhing in his fishing line.

“And what happens if I refuse?” I ask without moving, my gaze fixed on the far side of the room, on that immense, disheveled bed. Kuno leans even closer to me, and I feel his hands caressing my neck, his breath against the skin of my jaw with an uncontrollable desire.

“I will destroy it,” he exhales, closing his eyes, lost in thought. “I will destroy everything”

I suppose it’s an ultimatum. I’m on the edge of the precipice, teetering, one step away from falling. There’s no alternative. I have no more cards to play. The game is over. I look at him and take a step back, and he understands. I know he does when he presses his lips together in a livid line of rage.

“You are going to regret this,” he says, extending a hand toward me, so tempting, so chilling. “Don’t be stupid.”

I shake my head, and his eyes darken with frustration and anger.

“So you wake me up for this?! You come here to tease me and then leave?”

“I didn’t come here to…!”

“Do not lie! You always lie! You have been lying to me for years, saying that you can pay me, that you just need more time, that you don’t desire me!”

Suddenly, I’m desperate, remembering the maze-like route through corridors that led me to this place. I can’t handle Kuno, not in this condition. I can barely stand; if I run, it will be the end of me. No one will believe me when I say I came into this place of my own free will; it will be my word against his. A rich, handsome, influential man…and a poor bastard who shows up in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

I back away and start walking as fast as my legs will carry me, hoping he won’t follow me, that he won’t be an asshole, that despite everything, he won’t want to finish me off. I’m nothing more than an insect to be crushed under his expensive shoes, nothing and no one worth coveting.

I mutter, sweating from the effort, and when I reach the stairs leading to the exit, he intercepts me. He grabs my broken arm, and I let out a sharp scream as he corners me against the railing.

“Akane Tendô, if you go through that door, there is no going back, do you understand? You will lose everything. All your years of misery and effort will have been for nothing. Are you willing to throw it all away for something so small? I am only asking for one night, what is left of this night…”

His hands on me make me nauseous.

I can’t give myself to this man, I can’t prostitute myself thinking that I want this more than anything else, that there’s no other solution, no way out. That after I do this, I’ll be happy.

Have I always been this blind, always been this pathetically stupid?

I’m a failure, now and forever. I’ve never been anything else, nor have I deserved more. Tears stream down my cheeks, I can even feel them soaking the bandage over my bruised eye.

“I hope you break your neck, Kuno. I hope you die falling down a flight of stairs, or in a car accident. I hope you drown, I hope you kill yourself. I hope you don’t do this to anyone else, you sick fucking bastard,” I spat breathlessly, and he finally lets go of me, straightening his robe and wiping the hand that touched me on his chest, as if it suddenly disgusted him.

“Goodbye, Akane Tendô,” he says, turning around in the dark, towards his room.

I gasp for air, but it feels scratchy and insufficient. I swallow my screams and walk out, limping and defeated, but knowing I won’t be ashamed of myself tomorrow. 

The clinic isn’t far but still, the walk back feels endless. When I reach the entrance, the sun is barely rising over the horizon, and I sneak in through one of the side entrances. I walk up to my room through the back stairs, even though the stitches in my leg prick like stings, digging into my flesh again and again. 

I sigh when I reach the door and slip inside, closing it behind me and releasing the breath I’d been holding, safe at last. 

“Where the hell were you?!”

I blink in the dim light only to find myself face to face with the last person I wanted to catch me. Ranma is clearly furious and stares at me as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

My lips tremble as I try to come up with a believable excuse.

“I wanted to get some air.”

“Bullshit!”

“Keep your voice down,” I plead, fearing the commotion will alert a nurse and I’ll be caught in my street clothes, after leaving despite all their stern warnings.

“Where on earth did you go? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

An unusual and terrible shame washes over me again, the taste of the lowest kind of betrayal. How could I have even considered Kuno’s offer? I don’t want to keep lying, I don’t want to hide from him anymore. I don’t want us to stay angry, but… but…

How do I explain this to him without him hating me? That despite everything, I’ve put myself in danger again? That I’m a mess, that I have nothing to offer?

“Oh, is this what we are doing now? I talk and you stay quiet?” he asks indignantly, and I understand that, whether he likes it or not, we’re having another fight.

“I had some business to take care of.”

“What ‘business’ has to be taken care of in the middle of the night?! What ‘business’ can be so important that it couldn’t possibly wait until you’re discharged from the damn hospital?” he points out, rightly so. 

I feel the bandage on my head, tight and wet. I struggle to remove it and let it fall to the floor in front of me, blinking with my swollen eye, trying to focus.

“I’ve lost everything,” I finally admit, with no strength and nowhere to run, letting the tears flow freely. “It’s over.”

“Where did you go?” he repeats the question, which feels sharp and cutting, like a sword.

“I went to see Kuno,” I whisper, raising my gaze to him. His imposing height is silhouetted against the door, a deadly shadow filled with a horror so clamorous it frightens even the darkness itself.

“Kuno? You went into the house of the one guy I warned you about, the one who only wanted one thing from you?!”

His disbelief is so unbearable it paralyzes me. I barely manage to swallow as I look away and try to make him understand my reasons.

“I thought that if I asked him again, if he saw I was willing to gather the money, maybe I could get a little more time, but he…”

“He asked you to sleep with him,” he guesses, his tone dropping an octave, restrained, dangerous.

The shock of his statement makes me jump. But he doesn’t even move; he’s so still he doesn’t seem to be breathing.

I bite my lower lip; I can’t look him in the face. Ranma huffs and puffs and starts pacing the room, his steps small and erratic, his hands covering his face.

“I told you so, and you knew he’d do it, and you still went! You never listen. I don’t even know why I bother talking to you anymore! You’re constantly putting yourself at risk and never stop for a second to think about the consequences. You could have died in the pit, that crazy bitch from China could have easily left you paralyzed, and you still fought her, even though I begged you not to. And that rich pig… Do you really not know what his kind does to women like you?! You can’t possibly be that naive! You can’t keep putting everything before your own safety, before yourself!”

I want to speak, I want an excuse to escape my lips, but I find that all I can do is tremble with shame, terribly self-conscious. Tears well up in my eyes as he continues, his eyes wild, shooting me incredulous and pained glances.

“Can’t you tell that you’re seriously hurt? That ANYTHING could have happened to you?! There’s more to life than that damn house! There are people in your life who care about you! If you won’t do it for yourself, at least think about that for fuck’s sake! You know what Akane? This, this is exhausting.”

It’s true, it is. It’s absolutely exhausting, this painful love.

I see him gasping as he waits for an answer I can’t give him, I see him broken, shattered. I see him lost, and yet I want him to leave me alone, wallowing in my misery. I deserve to be forgotten, and he deserves to be rid of a woman as utterly troublesome as me. Who would have thought? The street fighter has turned out to be far more reliable than the hardworking girl.

I can’t think of a better gift than breaking his heart.

“Nobody asked you to worry, I didn’t ask you to worry!” I retort, my heart racing and the air catching in my lungs. My harsh words clash with my clumsy tears. “If you’re just going to be like this, then leave,” I plead, fighting back my tears.

A few seconds later, he moves, slowly but surely. I hear the door close, and this time I’m certain it’s for good. He won’t come back for me, he won’t look for me.

He’s done with me.

.

..

…

Dr. Tofu discharged me two days later. He confessed that he brought me to the clinic himself, that Ranma put me in the back of his car, and they sped down the highway, way over the speed limit. It was him from the start, the doctor from the pit.

It’s pretty ironic. If I had gone to see him, he would have immediately put an end to any attempt I made to fight. He would have only had to tell my sister, and she would have talked me out of it.

My brother-in-law has been there for years, in that dark and twisted world, making dirty money that has allowed him to open several clinics in record time. I don’t think he’s sorry, though I’d say he’s somewhat ashamed. My sister doesn’t know anything, and although he didn’t keep my secret from my sister, he has asked me to keep his.

He says that someone has to take care of all those poor kids, and that he’s saved Ranma and Ryu’s lives several times. I have no doubt that’s how it was, and even if it’s just out of gratitude, I’ll keep quiet. I don’t want to create any problems in their marriage. If Kasumi wants to find out where her husband gets his extra income, I’m sure she’ll find a way.

I can open my eye now, although it’s an ugly purple, so the first thing I do when I leave the clinic is buy some sunglasses at a combini. Also a couple of onigiri and several chocolate bars.

You know what, I have over twenty million yen and a broken heart; I can afford to spend three thousand yen. During my stay, I kept getting messages from Akari. I think I owe her a visit, to explain myself. She’s probably scared to death after going with me to the pit. I shouldn’t have taken her there, but Ranma wasn’t there, and I really thought he wasn’t going to show up. I desperately needed to be able to hold someone’s hands. Now I can see that it was incredibly selfish of me.

I head towards the restaurant, my arm in a sling, snacking on my chocolate bars. I find it both comforting and decadent.

I enter the restaurant before opening time. Both Akari and Mrs. O. come to greet me and bombard me with questions.

They seem concerned about my injuries, but I downplay them. It’s true that if I don’t move my hand, it barely hurts. With the painkillers Tofu prescribed, I’ll be able to manage for the remaining weeks until the cast comes off.

“Of course you’re not working today,” Mrs. O. says, crossing her arms, horrified. I haven’t taken my glasses off, but even so, I suppose my swollen face is hard to hide.

“I can take care of the register or take orders,” I reply. Akari also shakes her head emphatically.

“You need to rest and think things over,” suggests Mrs. O., and thank goodness I have my sunglasses on because I just rolled my eyes. Why does everyone keep saying that to me?

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Akari asks quietly, and that seems to be the signal for the boss to head back to the kitchen. I clear my throat, feeling awkward.

I spare her the lecture about him not being my boyfriend; we’ve been through that before, and I can’t convince her otherwise.

“We’re done.”

“What?” she asks, confused.

“We’re done,” I repeat, trying to keep my composure intact.

“Why?” she asks, horrified.

“Because it’s for the best.”

“Best for whom?”

“Best for him.”

My friend crosses her arms. We’ve only known each other for two weeks. I’m not exactly comfortable while she airs my dirty laundry without mercy, exposing me as if she knows what I’m thinking.

“Impossible. That man loves you.”

Her words feel like a bullet to the chest. They burn as I take off my sunglasses, revealing my horrible bruises and trying to wipe away the telltale tears that betray the pain of thinking about Ranma.

“I’m not right for him.”

“Oh really…”she says, incredulous. I put my sunglasses back on. Now I just want to get out of here. «You’re not a coward, Akane. “Why are you running away?”

“I’m not.”

“He was a complete wreck in the pit. You didn’t see it, but I did. He doesn’t deserve to be pushed away just because you’re sad.”

I remain silent, trying to think. I feel like I’ve been running for too long, that in the whirlwind of chasing my goal, I’ve lost too much, perhaps even myself.

I have nothing to offer, I don’t know where to go from here. I’m completely lost, and I’ve pushed away the only person who offered me a hand, who tried to take care of me.

“It’s probably too late,” I say, biting my lip, uneasy. “He’s tired of my attitude. He won’t forgive me.”

“Have you even tried? Have you gone to talk to him?”

Akari leans across the table and looks at me, full of angry, commanding fury.

“Go right now, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“But…”

“Go!” she exclaims, slamming her fist on the table. “Go find him NOW!”

I stand up and feel the stitches pull at me, the blush deepening the swelling on my face, burning with shame and anguish. I’m not a coward, I’m not afraid of a challenge, I don’t run from a fight, so why can’t I face Ranma?

I leave the restaurant and walk like an automaton toward our training place, that place where we’ve spent hours getting to know each other, analyzing each other, glancing at each other in stolen moments, as subtle as they are intense.

I don’t know what I’m going to say to him, but I know he deserves much better than what I am now, this wreck filled with anger and resentment. He deserves someone who will take care of him, who won’t scare him, someone worthy of his trust.

I find the door open and step right in, stepping onto the tatami without a care for getting it dirty. I walk to the back of the room, undoing my sling and tossing my glasses to the floor, completely out of control.

And that enormous man stops his exercises and stares at me without really seeing me, panting, his shirt soaked with sweat.

“What do you want?” he asks in a dispassionate voice, avoiding my eyes, weary of me.

“I bought two chocolate bars, and I ate them,” I confess, my cheeks flushed, my feet rooted to the ground, my heart pounding in my chest, an absurd weight pressing down. I see him raise an eyebrow, confused. What I’m saying makes no sense to me either. “It’s the first time I’ve done that in years, and I can’t stop feeling guilty.”

His lips remain pressed together, as do his eyebrows. I take another step closer. I’ve never felt this kind of terror before a confrontation with an enemy, never experienced this visceral feeling of true, primal fear. Here, in front of him, I feel more than ever that I’m revealing my darkest, ugliest corners to the last person I want to know about them.

“I don’t know how to go on, I haven’t the faintest idea! I’ve spent so much time just surviving, thinking about my goal, that now I don’t even know how to live anymore. I don’t understand it. I don’t know what you could have seen in me that made you want to get close to this mess. I… I… I don’t even know how to let myself be cared for! I’m the worst. I just wanted to push you away so you wouldn’t see how low I’ve sunk, how pathetic I’ve become: I can’t fight, I can’t work. I have nothing left.”

Tears flow irritatingly. I angrily wipe them away with my left hand, while my right hand hangs heavily on my shoulder because of the cast. He doesn’t move, he just stares at me, holding his breath.

“You were right, you were right about everything! I couldn’t handle Shampoo, and Kuno never wanted my money. I’ve been such a fool for so long that I can’t help but feel ashamed of myself. I’ve made my sister suffer, and I’ve made you suffer. I don’t deserve you, and you don’t deserve to be treated the way I have treated you. I was cruel for no reason, all I can say is that I wanted to save you from this,” I say, pointing at myself, devastated, clutching my cast, hiding my face. “You deserve so much better, Ranma.”

And after my whole speech, I feel strangely empty, warmly at peace. He doesn’t move, but I wasn’t exactly seeking his forgiveness. I give him a sad smile as I search for my things on the floor. I shouldn’t have thrown them around in a fit of drama; it was pathetic.

“What did you mean that day?” he asks suddenly, still standing at the back of the room, not having made the slightest attempt to move an inch. “When you said you didn’t accept the fight just for the money, what did you mean?”

My throat hurts from swallowing tears, but I can’t hide what I feel for him. There’s no point in doing so anymore.

“I fought to prove I was worthy of you,” I reply, shrugging, with a muffled, distant laugh. Another stupid thing to say, right?

“Stupid,» he says, chewing each syllable. «How can you be so…?”

His fingers crumple into claws, then he clenches them into fists. I guess it’s hard to keep your composure after so many confessions.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I finish, retrieving my sling and glasses, which luckily are plastic, too cheap to break no matter how many knocks they take. I head for the exit, chin up, trying to muster some dignity, and he steps in front of me in less than half a second, his pupils fixed on my black eye, my only weakness.

“If you don’t know how to live, I can teach you,” he says, blocking my path. “If you don’t know which way to go, I can show you. If you think you aren’t worthwhile, you’re wrong.”

My jaw drops in sheer disbelief at his eager expression. I blushed furiously, and he did the same; his cheeks turned crimson, and then he cleared his throat, looking uneasy.

“Well?” he asked very quietly, and only then did I realize he’d been waiting for an answer.

“I would like that.”

And his eyes relax, his whole being seems to expel the air he’s been holding, his muscles going limp. Even the faintest of smiles reaches his lips, and I wonder how I’ve managed to survive without him these past few weeks. He’s like the air I breathe, he’s my drive and my strength, his is the only hand I want to hold.

I resist, like the wretched woman I am, the urge to curl up against him and beg him to hold me, to remind me what his hands felt like on my skin.

“Did the doctor let you go?” he asks with a hint of suspicion, and I wipe away my tears again and nod.

“Yes, although I have to go in for a check-up in a few days.”

“And when will he take the cast off?”

“Three weeks.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really. I’m taking painkillers this time, and they’re amazing.” I smile a little, feeling the tension slowly ease in the air.

“You’d better,” he snarls, taking a step closer and running the pad of his index finger over the swelling on my cheekbone. “I have some ointment that would do you good, and you should also put some ice on it.”

“I bought cold compresses on the way home.”

“If you go back to that place, I won’t be able to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” I frown, suppressing a sting of pain. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Now it’s his turn to frown.

“You can’t use your right arm, and you said you were going to obey me.”

“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort.”

“I spoke with your sister, and she agreed, so at this point, you only have two options.”

“Since when do you talk to my sister?!” I ask, alarmed. He raises a finger and puts it very close to my face, extremely serious.

“You either pack your things with my help, or I’ll pack them for you.”

“And where am I supposed to live?”

“At my place.”

I pause dramatically, trying not to burst into flames.

“What?!”

“You need to rest. You’re injured, and you can’t live on chocolate bars. I have a spare room; it’s the smallest, but it’ll fit a bed and a wardrobe.”

My jaw trembles as I try to form some coherent words, trying to come up with a good excuse to not accept taking refuge under his roof in a complete display of vulnerability. But he stands there, firm and resolute, as if challenging me to debate his irrefutable logic.

“And is Ryu okay with that?” I venture to ask, raising my gaze timidly.

“Of course,” he replies, so confident and resolute that it seems like a joke that he was angry with me just a moment ago.

I waver, indecisive, so tempted to accept his help, and yet so afraid of being a real burden.

“Just for a few days, until they take the cast off.”

“Until you can take care of yourself and find a better place than that halfway house full of drunks.”

His harsh words contrast with his low voice and deep tone, with that gentleness woven into his intentions.

I don’t know how to let myself be cared for, I have no idea how to do it, but he does know how to treat me. I can put my heart safely in his hands knowing he’ll keep it with infinite care.

“Do you mind if we go somewhere else first?”

.

..

…

Ranma took a shower after training, and his shampoo smells of mint and wood, something deeply enveloping and sexy. That’s why I’ve moved almost two meters away, and I’ve tried really hard to stop limping, even though the stitches in my leg are pulling like crazy.

We’re heading towards the halfway house, but just before we get there, I turn left and continue along that familiar path. I’m sure he’s already figured out where we’re going, but he’s discreet enough to follow me silently.

It might seem silly, but I need to say goodbye. I want to go into my dojo one last time. The thought makes my eyes fill with tears; I’ve done nothing but cry these past few days.

My eyes are bloodshot and my cheeks are burning, but at least my glasses have managed to hide it a little. I reach the canal gate, panting from the effort, and Ranma catches up to me, looking worried.

“You should rest, you’re walking too much,” he says, trying to stop me, but I shake my head and try to give him a reassuring gesture.

“We’re almost there.”

“At least let me carry you.”

The offer seems tempting and impossible.

“It’s right there,” I point to the end of the street. “Just a little…”

And at that moment, the atrocious sound reaches us. Anxiety grips me. I start walking quickly, then running. I hear Ranma curse behind me as he takes off after me. By the time I reach the corner of my dojo, I no longer feel the pain in my leg, nor the burning in my lungs. My arm doesn’t feel heavy, nor does my face burn; all I feel is an overwhelming emptiness as I realize that Kuno was absolutely serious.

He has truly destroyed everything.

Three tall cranes work tirelessly at what used to be my house, cruelly anchored in my beautiful garden. The tall, stone wall is half-collapsed, and an excavator is tearing down the remains of the facade piece by piece.

I clench my teeth, but I feel strangely weak, so much so that my legs give way and I collapse to the ground, sitting sadly in the middle of the street, unable to tear my eyes away from the rubble, from the final nail in the coffin of all my dreams and aspirations.

I have no tears left; I’ve used them all, or so I thought. I can’t breathe; the air won’t get in, and I can’t look away as the workers diligently demolish what was once my home.

That proud, vengeful bastard wanted me to see it; he wanted me to sink to the bottom.

My head is spinning; I feel both bewildered and unmoored. This is a nightmare. If I close my eyes, I’ll wake up, and it will be another regular day. This can’t be real; this is not happening.

Large, warm hands lift me from the ground. They handle me as if I weigh nothing, as if I’d just fallen after running around the park, just like my mother used to do when I was a boundless little girl.

Ranma picks me up, slips one hand under my knees and places the other on my back, turns around, and doesn’t say a word as he carries me away.

I react by squirming, filled with an anxiety that gnaws at my very bones.

“Wait, wait a minute! It’s a mistake! It has to be a mistake!” I say, feeling those hot tears that seem to have carved permanent furrows into my skin.

But his stern profile leaves no room for doubt; he simply won’t hear me. He’s like a soldier on a mission, ready to fulfill his role no matter who it bothers.

He lifts me onto his shoulder, holding me with my good arm, and I look toward the end of the street, toward the cloud of dust raised by another blow of destruction.

A primal rage, an infinite sadness, floods me. I bite my lips until I taste my own blood on the roof of my mouth.

“It’s not fair,» I murmur between sobs. «It’s not fair.”

And I stay there, helpless, while I feel the foundations of my life shake and give out beneath my feet.

.

..

…

Ranma went out onto the main street and hailed a taxi. I was in no position to object or protest when he gave the address of the guesthouse and took me there.

He left me sitting in the hallway and took care of everything, absolutely everything.

It took him less than an hour to have my whole life stuffed into two bags. How pathetic. Now that he’s rummaged through my underwear drawers, I can’t even look him in the eye. If a little while ago I was pitiable, now I’m little more than an uncontrollable mass of sorrow, tears, and snot.

A group of hungover men see me off from the doorway and wish me luck. Ranma, who’s guiding me relentlessly, shoves me into another taxi without asking my opinion. It’s not like I have any strength left, anyway.

I felt like I’d hit rock bottom, but now I’m so underwater I might forget how to breathe at any moment. When we get to his apartment, it feels like a million years have passed and so much has happened. I haven’t eaten all day, and I don’t even know what time it is. I haven’t taken my painkillers either, and my arm aches like it’s being actively drilled.

“I hadn’t planned on you coming today. You can stay in my room; I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he says thoughtfully, leading me to his room, where he gathers some clothes from the floor and makes room for me on the nightstand. Then he places the bags against one of the walls and observes me as if he’s suddenly reconsidering all his life decisions, starting with the decision to bring a girl into his room.

“I’m tired,” I whisper, my voice strained.

“Then you should sleep,” he suggests.

I nod and stare at the bags, lost in thought, still unable to process that my entire life takes up so little space. If I had died in the pit, Kasumi would have had to move my things out of the halfway house. At least I have the consolation that it would have been done quickly.

“Thanks for taking care of everything.”

“You’ve had a really rough day.”

I give him the saddest of smiles. He makes room for me, I open the bags and find clothes, toiletries, hairbrushes, hair ties I no longer have any point in keeping, and some notebooks. There’s also my bank account book, with the astronomical sum of my useless savings, including the winnings from the fights at the pit.

If I can’t have the one thing I’ve ever wanted, I feel like that whole enormous amount means nothing. I rummage around until I find my old pajamas, but they seem too worn out, almost see-through from so many washes.

“Can I use one of your T-shirts?” I ask, peeking discreetly through the door. I hear a commotion in the kitchen before his voice echoes down the hall.

“Help yourself,” he says in a slightly brusque shout. I open his closet and choose a loose, comfortable black t-shirt from an old band, then take my painkillers and go to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

I find him preparing a couple of tubs of instant ramen, and the fact that he’s thinking of my needs makes me feel a little emotional again.

“Hey, don’t cry. I can eat both,” he says, trying to make me smile.

“I can’t use chopsticks, silly,” I remind him, and he rummages for a fork, which I clumsily and helplessly use to shove the noodles into my mouth.

“And you thought you could manage on your own like that?” he remarks, shaking his head, while I conclude that I’m not hungry anymore, even though I’ve barely touched my food. “Get into bed, I’ll bring you an ice-pack and some ointment for your bruises.”

I must not be pleasant company right now, more like the opposite of stimulating conversation. I sink into his soft, warm sheets, inhaling his intoxicating masculine scent on the pillow. My arm tingles, my face burns, breathing is painful, my leg pulls, and everything spins too fast.

I let out a deep sigh, almost a prayer, and at that moment he enters the room and sits beside me.

“You can be angry, and sad too,” he whispers as he slowly unscrews the lid of the jar of ointment, takes a small amount with his finger, and begins to gently apply it to my bruised eye, with infinite patience and tenderness. “Although… you don’t seem like yourself when you are so docile. I like you better when you fight back,” he adds with a small, humorous gesture that falls flat. Then he places a cold compress on that bruised side of my face and observes me silently in the comforting darkness of the room.

How could I have been so lucky? Finding him feels like a miracle, one I don’t feel worthy of. His blue eyes assess me shrewdly, and all I can do is wish he’ll never leave me, that he’ll comfort me with his arms and his warmth.

These past few days I’ve been losing and losing… But when he looks at me, I don’t feel like a failure. I feel like I’m worth something, that someone cares about me.

“Stay with me,” I beg in a choked voice, as his eyebrows rise and his mouth opens in astonishment. “Please,” I finish, fearing he’ll deny me what I need most: his presence to soothe my sorrow.

But I don’t have to ask twice because Ranma gets into bed lightning fast and doesn’t hesitate for a second to wrap his arms around me.

Getting comfortable with the cast is tricky, but I discover that if I rest my head on his chest (broad, enormous) I can leave my hand there, limp, and it barely hurts.

I sigh with absolute pleasure, with infinite rest, as he places one hand on my waist and the other along my back. His lips against my forehead whisper words that seem soft and calming. More tears escape, staining his shirt, but these aren’t tears of sadness or frustration.

In this place, in his arms, a wonderful peace washes over me.

.

.

.

ANNOUNCEMENT

Thank you so much to Shojo for supporting me in this chapter with the illustrations and helping me out of a tight spot.

Well, unfortunately, I’ve realized that it’s impossible for me to continue illustrating this project that I started and love so much. My job has taken up all my time, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep postponing the chapters until I’m free. So starting today, the chapters will no longer include illustrations. I will continue posting the FF here on this page (and also on Lum’s ff.net), and I’ll keep announcing new chapter uploads through my Instagram.

I do feel a bit sad that I wasn’t able to draw anything for this chapter before saying goodbye to the illustrations, but it is what it is, my job has to come first.

I’ve had a lot of fun working on this project. Thank you all so much for your kind comments. You can still find my random Rankane fanarts on my Instagram and Twitter, and I’m sure I’ll make some Akane and Ranma DLF fanart of random scenes, beyond the FF, someday when I have some free time :p

Isa.