A Hard Discussion
Nyomi
Kenji's hands stayed on my waist. The miniature Tokyo glowed beside us, the red cord from the performance still draped across some rooftops like rivers of silk blood.
He spoke, "First. . .you have to understand me."
I held his gaze.
"I never chose this life, Tora. It was handed to me after my mother and brother were killed. After my father was destroyed by grief. By rage. By revenge."
My chest ached. I'd known pieces of this story from headlines I'd researched late at night. But hearing it from his mouth. . .
"I was a football star." His lips curved, just barely. "I was known. I had my own path. My own future." The curve disappeared. "And then my father put me on the throne."
"Because he needed you?"
"Because he needed a puppet." His jaw tightened. "He was battered from the bomb attack and he knew his men would only take orders from a strong leader. I was younger. Healthy. The perfect figurehead."
His eyes darkened. "But I was only supposed to followhiscommands. Speakhiswords. Rule ashisshadow."
"What happened?"
"I refused to take the throne."
I tensed.
"We fought about it for weeks. But when I finally agreed to take the throne, I had one condition." Kenji leaned closer. "My brother Hiro would stand at my left. Reo at my right. His men could not surround me. Only mine could."
"And he agreed?"
"He had no choice. I told him I wouldn't do it otherwise. So, he accepted." Kenji sighed. "And from that moment, every day has been a war. Against our enemies. Against him. Against his way of ruling."
For the first time since we’d reunited, the dragon-shadow rose behind him.
I parted my lips.
It rose slowly.
Dark and wispy.
It didn't look mean or menacing like this morning. It actually appeared thoughtful as if the dragon-shadow wondered if I would really understand.
"I've done things, Tora. Things that devastated my soul. Things that made it hard to look in the mirror." Kenji paused.
I placed my hand on his lap.
“Sometimes I think my mother's ghost is with me. Watching. Sometimes. . .I think her ghost is disappointed." His eyes drifted while he spoke.
Down from my eyes to my throat.
To the marks he'd left along my neck and shoulder.
He stared at them for a beat too long. Like they grounded him. Like seeing his claim on my skin reminded him that whatever ghosts haunted him, I was real.
I was here.
I was his.
