Mother Dearest

There's no doubt about it.

Miyuki Nana, now legally known as Fushiguro Ayame, turns around to face him, and every lingering doubt is crushed, just like his spirit.

Her current appearance is vastly different compared to the flashing images in Miyuki's horrid memories. Her long auburn hair is now magenta, styled in a bob cut. Its deep shade is contrasted with several streaks of gray, indicative of her age although she has to be no older than her late thirties.

She's had plastic surgery performed on her face, erasing every inch of resemblance to her son. It was an essential step in kickstarting her newfound life, unencumbered from parental burdens and a workaholic husband.

However, changing her name and physical features is akin to a mask, flimsy and removable. Miyuki can see the look in her eyes, a color that reflected his, the eyes that looked down at his younger self so bitterly and full of scorn. They remained the same after all these years, and he wishes he can gouge them out.

"This must be some sort of sick joke," he says brusquely, "How the hell are you my therapist?"

Ayame grabs a notepad and pen from her desk and walks over to the seating area. Two gray couches oppose each other, separated by a glass table. She sits down and crosses her legs covered by her long skirt.

"A strange occurrence of events, indeed," she says, "Why don't you have a seat so we can get this session started?"

Miyuki scoffs, "You're out of your mind if you think I'm staying here. I see nothing's changed."

He heads for the door and his mother's voice calls, "You signed the paper at the front desk, didn't you? It says you can't leave until the session is over. Otherwise, you'll be charged a fee."

The last part stops Miyuki in his tracks. He doesn't want to trouble his lovely Kasumi with an inconvenient expense. Sucking his teeth, he backtracks.

"Good," Ayame says, "Sit down."

"I'd rather stand."

"Please, Kazuya, don't make this difficult. I just want you to be as comfortable as possible."

"You no longer have the right to tell me what to do. If I want to stand, I'll stand. As far as being comfortable goes, my life has been nothing of the sort because of you."

Ayame sighs as she uncaps her pen and jots a few notes onto her pad, "That's why we're here, Kazuya. To start fresh and leave the past behind us. If it's okay with you, we can pretend to be strangers and start at first base."

"There's no need to pretend," Miyuki says, leaning against the wall, arms folded, "We are strangers. You changed your identity. If I was stupid, I would have never recognized you, but you can't change your voice or your eyes. Anyway, get on with it. There's an hour until you can cash out and I can get the hell out of here."

"What are your hobbies?"

Miyuki looks up at the ceiling, relaying the snarky answers from his head, "Mainly baseball, but, you know, I've picked up this thing called voyeurism. Have you heard of it? If not, then let me do the honors and enlighten you. It's when you're five years old and forced to watch your mom have sex with other men as if she's trying to teach you something.

"Sorry, got off track there. Where were we, hobbies? Yeah, sprinkle a little bit of daddy issues on there, too. I also rely on older women to treat me like a son and play the mother role because you couldn't do your freaking job!"

Ayame hangs her head, running her tongue along her teeth, "Kazuya, I need you to calm down."

"No."

Miyuki bursts into abrasive laughter as his trepidation from earlier converts into overflowing confidence and arrogance.

'Wait a minute,' he realizes, 'What am I doing? I don't have to take shit from her. I should show her the spawn of Satan she abandoned in her wake and shred her to pieces, just like she did to me. I can finally use this opportunity for some catharsis.'

He bounces off the wall and shuffles to the door. He habitually removed his shoes before entering, tradition instilled in him, but Ayame didn't deserve that level of respect anymore. He puts them on, tying the laces tightly.

"I like your shoes," Ayame compliments.

"Didn't ask," Miyuki retorts curtly.

He walks to the couch across from her and jumps onto it, bouncing a bit as he settles in. He props his feet up on the table, crossing his legs at the ankles.

"I'll get comfortable in my own way," he says, grinning, "Hurry up with the questions. I don't have all day."

Ayame ignores his behavior and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Okay. Are you currently in a relationship? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? Nana, are you dumb? I'm gay."

"Excuse me? Nana?"

"Unless you're deaf, that's exactly what I said. Calling you Mom would be a terrific insult to the competent mothers of the world, and I am not calling you by your new name. It doesn't sound as nice as you think. So, Nana, it is. Next question."

"This isn't going to work."

Ayame sets down her notepad and leans forward, intertwining her fingers. A somber expression graces her face, "Kazuya, being hostile beats the purpose of you being here. I became a therapist because I wanted to help people overcome their traumatic experiences and lead better lives. It all starts with maintaining your composure and embracing the open environment I've created. The lighting and plants aren't for keeping up appearances; they're to help you relax."

Miyuki raises a brow, snickering, "Are you…lecturing me? Cut the crap, Nana. I only knew you for six years, but I remember how you tell lies. You lied so chronically back then that it's so obvious. If you truly wanted to help me, you would've denied the request for my appointment.

"Hell, you wouldn't have even accepted me as a patient. Isn't this called a conflict of interest? Did you really think it's morally just to heal a broken child that you created? Broken parents can't heal broken children. You were the glue that was meant to hold me together, but you let me shatter into little pieces."

"I've admitted my wrongdoings, Kazuya," Ayame says, twiddling with the bracelets on her wrist, "I did unspeakable things to you, but I can't turn back time. The least I can do is use the great knowledge and humbling I've obtained to help you—"

"That's not your job anymore! Don't you get it? Why are you lying to my face like I'm an idiot? If you're expecting me to start crying, getting on my knees, and begging for you to be my mother again, you're mistaken. I'm still little Kazuya in your head, aren't I?

"Screaming, chasing after you into the cold street in November, wanting you to love me. That was your last image of me and it just replays endlessly because the story never continued from there. You have yourself to blame."

"I'm not asking for forgiveness."

"Good. You shouldn't bother."

They stare at each other, the discharge from the automatic air freshener disrupting the silence. Miyuki refuses to concede, having the upper hand for the first time in his life. Being collected and cooperative would equate to submitting to Ayame's will, who somehow wormed her way back into existence through this sham of a career, and he would rather die than do that.

He breaks the silence with a loud yawn, spreading his arms along the back of the couch, "Time is ticking," he taunts, "Next question. Pretend to be a professional and do your job."

"I see you are exhibiting quite childlike behavior," Ayame analyzes, writing down several notes in her pad, "You definitely have some repressed feelings of anger towards me. Why don't you release them?"

Miyuki squints incredulously. Repressed anger? No shit, Sherlock. A fifth-grader could arrive at the same conclusion. It wouldn't take a degree and expensive flowers to understand the sheer amount of vitriol he harbored towards his mother. It was visceral and it plagued him every living moment. Awake or asleep, it was a stain he couldn't wash off no matter how vigorously he scrubbed, his palms bleeding raw.

He's had enough.

The tides will shift in his favor, and the first wave crashes to shore as he leans over the table and snatches Ayame's notepad and pen.

Ayame flinches, furrowing her brow, "What are you doing?" she asks.

Miyuki reads the notes she's written and tears the sheet of paper. He crumples it up and flippantly tosses it over his shoulder.

"Your questions are boring," he says, "Let's make this interesting and switch roles. Since we're technically strangers, I should become acquainted with this new persona you've fabricated. From now on, I'll do the asking and you'll do the answering. Understood?"

"…"

"Wasn't looking for an answer, anyway. What are your hobbies?"

Ayame swallows and all she can do is comply to avoid any further conflict, "I enjoy gardening," she responds, gesturing to the room, "golf, chess, and making origami figures."

Miyuki gasps as he abruptly stops writing, "Aw, man! What have I done? I accidentally tuned you out and wrote 'serial cheating' and 'child abuse' instead. Give me a second."

He scratches out his notes and scribbles the bullshit basic responses Ayame has given him. He apologizes profusely, void of any morsel of sincerity, and continues with his impromptu survey.

"I wouldn't put it past you because you're—in the most disrespectful way possible—cruel as shit, but did you perhaps start another family? Get remarried with the guy you left Dad and me for?"

Ayame makes a so-so motion with her hand, "Kind of. He divorced me last year."

"Damn."

"And my youngest child passed away from pneumonia soon after."

Miyuki snorts, covering his mouth with his hand, "Damn. Double homicide."

Ayame inhales sharply, "Miyuki Kazuya!" she shouts, "That is nothing to laugh about! How could you?"

Miyuki shrugs, "Don't like it when you're on the chopping block, huh? Did you genuinely expect me to feel sorry for you or something? I couldn't care less about your love life. Your husband knew what he was doing when he left you. So did your child."

"Kazuya!"

"Oh. Too far? That's weird because you didn't grant me any mercy when you fucked me over. Why should I?"

Miyuki's features light up as his attention is drawn to a tin can on the glass table. He reaches for it and reads the label.

"Almonds? Perfect, I'm starving."

He chucks a healthy amount into his mouth and chews obnoxiously.

"I'm allergic to nuts, you know."

Concern briefly flashes in Ayame's eyes, and Miyuki laughs, slapping his knee.

"Haha! You actually got scared there! See, if you really knew me, you would've known that was a lie. I would never endanger myself like that. I will say, though, these almonds are shit. I don't feel like swallowing them."

He swipes Ayame's glass of water and pours it in his mouth. He swishes around, trying to collect the mashed-up pieces of nuts, and spits the contents back in the glass, saliva dribbling from his lips. He places the glass back in front of her.

"That's better," he says after wiping his mouth on a throw pillow, "Were you planning on drinking that? Guess you can't now. How unfortunate. Anyway, let's change the topic back to me. You said I have some repressed anger that needs sorting out? Sure, why not tackle that issue? First off, I hate you, Nana."

Ayame stares at her defiled glass of water. She nods, the rest of her body paralyzed.

"You don't deserve anything you've worked for," Miyuki continues, lowering his tone. His arrogance fades as he pictures Ayame as the Nana he knows from the past, the scarring memories reliving before his very eyes, "This office, your career, your life, you don't deserve a single sliver of it.

"You left your son to suffer after abusing him, and you think you have the right to help other people? Do they know about the real Miyuki Nana and the atrocities you've committed? Do they think you're some angel who cares about them and treats them with compassion? You've fooled them, Nana. You're a liar, through and through."

Miyuki stands up and walks behind the couch, "I have issues because of you," he says, biting his lip, "I can't sleep because of you. I have insomnia, damn it. I have to drown myself in pills just to close my eyes!"

He swings his arm and he sends a potted plant crashing to the wooden floor, dirt and pieces of clay scattering about.

"Dad blames me for you leaving and doesn't give a shit about me!"

He swings again and another plant crashes, and he does this to every plant in his path as he exposes his bleeding heart for Ayame to see.

"Whenever I meet an older woman and they're nice to me, I get nervous, nervous that they'll abandon me like you did. When they don't, I cling onto them like a freaking leech. I yearn for them to tell me I'm doing a good job and that they're proud of me. I envision them as a mother figure and just wonder why, why, they couldn't be my mother instead!"

SMASH!

"Natsuki-sensei from elementary school, Rei-chan, Kasumi-san! They've all cared for me more than you ever have!"

SMASH!

"I encountered this lost kid at an aquarium and when I saw him reunite with his mother, for a split second, even though he did absolutely nothing to me, I hated him. I wanted to switch places with him and feel what it was like having a mother be scared to death about losing their child!"

SMASH!

"I never wanted to be like you. After you discarded me, I swore that I would never hurt the people I love and cherish. But, guess what? I have your rotten blood flowing through my veins, so of course, I fucked up. I cheated on my boyfriend and for days, I anguished about how I was just like you. I felt as if I were the scum of the earth and didn't deserve to live. All I wanted to do was love him, but I screwed up such a simple thing and repeated history! Fuck!"

SMASH!

Miyuki screams as he picks up a potted plant and launches it at the wall, and Ayame gasps.

"Kazuya! You've caused enough damage!" she pleads, "Just stop. Please stop! Come sit so we can talk this through—"

"No!" Miyuki yells, clenching his fists, "You do not get to tell me what to do. If that wasn't the case, you would've slapped me or called security by now, but you haven't. Why? Because everything I'm doing is rightfully deserved! This office is nothing but a shitty facade for the treacherous human being you are and you know it!

"You only brought me here so you could see me in this state, vulnerable and broken. You're staring at me with those empty, patronizing eyes again! I don't get it. Does it amuse you? Excite you? Did you become a therapist so you could plan this very moment? Was this supposed to be you taking responsibility? You need a therapist!"

Miyuki walks to the door and turns around to face Ayame, his eyes watering.

"You lied again, you know. I did read the paper I signed and it said you can leave when less than ten minutes remain in the session. You could have told the truth, but since lying is second nature to you, you didn't. I honestly hate you, Nana. From the bottom of my battered soul, I loathe you.

"I don't need you. I won't ever need you. I have people who care for me, people to protect, and I need to focus on them. I'll take proper responsibility for the shit I've caused, unlike you, and strive to eradicate the qualities that make us so similar. Everything you've done and said…I refuse to let them torment me any longer."

He puts a hand on the knob and twists it.

"You wanted me to forgive you…but not once did you say you were sorry."

He opens the door and kicks a plant adjacent to it, shrugging as he leaves.

--

Out in the hallway, Furuya spots Miyuki slouched against the wall. He rushes over and crouches next to him.

"Miyuki-senpai!" he says worriedly, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

Miyuki looks up at him through blurred vision, holding his constricting throat. His mind is in a whirlwind and he feels as though the walls are closing in on him, looming and threatening. He swallows but there's no saliva and his body is convulsing uncontrollably.

"W-Water," he wheezes.

Furuya remembers seeing a vending machine on his way here. He tells Miyuki to stay put and finds it. He makes a quick detour to a bathroom for paper towels before heading back.

"Here," he says, unscrewing the water bottle and holding it to Miyuki's lips, "Drink. Slowly." 'Is…is this a panic attack? Should I call someone? And why does he have dirt on him?'

Miyuki extends a shaky hand and rubs Furuya's stomach. He's resolute on making this his new method of grounding himself, and after ten agonizingly slow minutes, he's somewhat regained his bearings.

Furuya sits down, legs stretched out, "Are you okay? I was going to ask if you wanted me to call for help."

"I'm glad you didn't," Miyuki says. He lays his head on Furuya's lap, using the paper towels to absorb the sweat on his neck, "I would've freaked out more."

"Oh."

"How did you know I was here?"

"You sent me your location."

"I did? I don't remember."

"Because you didn't. I followed you and waited outside."

Miyuki sighs, shaking his head, "Gaslighting me after a panic attack, that's exactly what I need."

"I wasn't being serious. I followed you because I care about you."

"You do? Wow. Wished my mom felt the same way."

Furuya opens his mouth, unsure if he should tread carefully or ask for clarification. Considering what he's just walked into, Miyuki's history with his mother must have been the source of his meltdown. It was thready territory, so he decides to forgo asking.

"I assume therapy didn't go too well?" he suggests instead.

Miyuki takes a swig of water before answering, "In a way. I tried, Furuya. I really did. I kinda lost my temper in there, unleashing everything I've repressed for a decade. I was finally lifting this enormous weight off my chest and it felt cathartic. But as soon as I left the room…I don't know. I collapsed and started crying like five-year-old me was crying again. It had me wondering…if I still feel like this...did I really even accomplish anything?"

Furuya holds Miyuki's hand in his, his grip firm yet comforting, "I don't think therapy is something you accomplish," he says, "You accomplish goals. Therapy isn't a goal; it's a journey you embark on to help accomplish your goals in the future. You need to break free of the painful memories and form new ones that will make younger you proud."

Miyuki lays there, submerged in thought about what Furuya has said. He was a prisoner of his past, mentally imprisoned as a child whose entire world had ceased orbiting on that disastrous day. For Furuya's sake, their child's sake, and ultimately his sake, he needed to press play and resume his life.

He nods, "Mmm. All this tear shed has made me hungry. I could use some food. How about you?"

"Sure," Furuya agrees, "It'll be my treat for once."

"Really? If having panic attacks in front of you means getting free food, I should do this more often! Haha!"

"Senpai...I can't stand you sometimes."

"I know, I know. Let's go."

Gently removing Miyuki's head from his lap, Furuya helps him up and they keep holding hands as they head downstairs to the exit.

"I know this seems cringe," Miyuki says, "but let's make a promise."

"If it's cringe, I'm not promising anything," Furuya remarks.

"Just hear me out. We're in this forever now, so…let's promise we won't leave each other."

Furuya stops walking and turns his head to look at him, "Sounds like marriage to me, and marriage equals commitment. Oh, how scary. You're scaring me."

Miyuki sweat-drops, "Furuya! You know that's not what I meant. Jeez, I can't stand this person you're becoming."

"I learned it from you, so don't be too surprised. I understand, though. Let's make that promise official."

"Great."

Smiling, they loop pinkies and tap their thumbs, sealing their place in each other's lives indefinitely.