Tea Tastes Better When It's Sweet

When I first heard that you had killed yourself, my first and truest reaction was to laugh. I could feel the familiar tickle in my throat, the cozy and comfortable air churning in the pit of my stomach. I swore I could feel it on the verge of bursting free, of making a musically inclined sound; and yet I hadn't after all. I suppose I thought it a generous hoax, orchestrated by the biggest attention whore in all of Japan; and it wouldn't be far from the truth either. Because you were attention starved and had tried unsuccessfully to end it all on several occasions, to no avail.

And I guess I was more keen to believe that you had somehow convinced the world that you had done it. I assumed that you were pulling the wool over everyone's eyes, but I could always see through you. You were translucent, apparent to me in so many ways that it was despicable. I knew you better than I knew myself, and that wasn't a complete lie by any stretch.

Eight years didn't seem to change much, really. I thought whatever I knew would have been annihilated in that time, that I wouldn't be so damned aware of your motives before even you were. In fact, I wished for nothing less than to be impartial to you and your stupid whims. I swore, I would be able to stop caring of what you were up to, especially with all your suicide attempts. And even then, I knew you were trying, hoping that I would actually stop ignoring you. That maybe, just maybe that I would give you the time of day that you sorely wanted.

With all things considering, you were not exactly a fulfilled human being. You hadn't been for all those years in between, and I suppose I could sense it on you like everyone else. The sullen hollows of your cheeks, the dark circles under your eyes, reminded me nothing less of death. Though those were only the physical deformities of your useless existence; they hadn't a truth that spoke louder, than the actions that you had taken, and the desperation that seeped from your mere presence.

I suppose anyone in your position of life, would be nothing less than depressed. You hadn't garnished any respect from the people who knew you, and your life was on the fast track to nowhere. You weren't a productive member of society, who had succeeded in any way. You had a way of ruining everything that you touched and always failed in each one of your endeavors. It was a miracle that you even graduated from college and managed to find a job at the most prestigious primary school in all of Japan.

I do not know how you pulled that off, but I could hardly believe it was admirable in any way. And it wasn't as if you would be remembered by any of your students once they hit puberty. Kindergarteners are temperamental creatures, who had attention spans as impressive as your own. So there was no wonder that you related to them so well, and why no respectable human being could be around you for an allotted amount of time. It was insufferable to know that you were educating, even in the ways of finger painting, to the youth of the upcoming generation. Whoever thought it was justifiable to hire you should have been beheaded.

Maybe I hated you all along; I'm starting to realize the fragments of disdain I always held for you, and more so once I knew who you were teaching. It was beyond me that you were actually teaching Sho and that he adored you like no other. In his complete naivety, he had exclaimed of how he would like to marry you once he came of age; and I suppose I shouldn't have been as angry as I was. And I suppose it was not the proper etiquette to call for your resignation weeks before your death.

But it was bad enough worrying about Sho, no less Rumi who was two years younger than her brother. How should have I progressed knowing that you were teaching my children? I couldn't allow that with what you were, of who you had been, and each inane detail in between. And maybe that was the last straw, to know that Sho was my first born, my only son, and he was the reason I hated you further. Who would have known I'd act so irrationally after so long, and you were the further cause of it?

I certainly had thought I had wiped my hands clean of you, beyond what I heard through the grapevine. It was pathetic really, knowing you bore no children of your own and still lived with your parents. I suppose that is natural for any commoner, but there was no excusing how much you lacked ambition. Maybe it was for the better then, that you are dead and soon the worms will be eating you. You weren't much of a human to begin with; you had perished long ago in spirit, and I suppose you were unrecognizable at some point.

Of course I surged your hopes, didn't I? I hadn't intended on it, but the circumstances were strange and surreal. I was not thinking straight, you were never thinking logically in any sense of the word either. And I suppose a funeral parlor only made one nostalgic of the times that had gone by. Unfortunately for me, you were a main character in my past; you were a passageway from the times of wreck loss freedom, and hedonism to its extreme.

You had been someone at some point; it might have not been as large a role as you would have preferred. However, you were still part of the time that had gone by, and I sought some sort of solace in your appearance. I remember each detail as if it were yesterday, as if I needed to remember on the day of your demise, more so than ever.

You were wickedly skeletal, alluring in a black dress that was worn out of mutual respect for the dead and the living alike. You would have been gorgeous if I hadn't been a married man with a pregnant wife at my side. And yet that did not hinder me in the slightest; I couldn't cry, I couldn't show any emotion whatsoever 'til I was in a side room alone in the shadows. I had stared, tried to rationalize all I knew of life and death; and I found out that I had ran short of any explanation.

Maybe it was my misery, my dreary misunderstandings that led you to me without me realizing it. I remember you hadn't even noticed me as you slinked into the room, falling into a heap of long limbs and perfectly pale skin. And I do not know what prompted me to even approach you after so long; we hadn't exchanged a word at all, and I don't know why I found comfort in you then. I had fallen to my knees, curled around your legs, and buried my face into your lap.

I breathed in your scent, taking a shaky breath in, and finding familiarity in your very soul. I can recall with such vivid fancy, how you ran your fingers through my hair and bowed over me, as if to shield me from the rain of reality. For someone adherently weak as you always were; you had been the one to keep me together, to make sure I didn't fall apart.

You soothed me in a hushed whisper, that everything would be okay, even if it never would be. Because I could not forget that day of realization, that life was not all about money and the glories that came along with its benefits. If that were the case, Domyouji Tsukasa wouldn't have taken a pistol to his own head and blew his brains out.

Though that was a surprise, unlike your suicide. I suppose I was surprised that you hadn't killed yourself sooner; I was amazed that you managed to hold on for that many years, without realizing the futility of it all. But Tsukasa, no one had known things were that desperate then. Maybe if we had looked at the telltale signs, we would have been able to have prevented it; and I know all of us wanted nothing less than to change fate and its cruel sensibilities.

It made sense now; Tsukasa had divorced Tsukushi the year before, and even if there were no visible problems to be had. Tsukushi had been shocked by his divorce petition and it was only through his suicide note, that he explained that he had been planning to off himself for some time. Depression had been a hereditary thing in the Domyouji family, and no one had mentioned how several of Tsukasa's own family members had preceded his own actions.

I was shell shocked. I didn't know why I couldn't react to the news of his death, until I was in your embrace and wishing so hard that you were dead instead. I even mentioned it after I regained my composure and leveled you with a truthful glance. I would have thrown you under a bus myself, if it meant that Tsukasa would have revived; and I supposed that once you asked if I would miss you if you were dead, it was just to cement the truth of my feelings for you.

I wouldn't mourn, I refuse to do so. It would hardly do me any good to think of you kindly even for a moment's notice. Even once I was done moping over Tsukasa's untimely death, and took the innocence from your mouth like I had in the past. I knew I felt nothing for you, though it must have been surpassing insensitive, once I mentioned if you sucked off your college professor like you had done me.

That was a low blow, and I'm sure the memories of that year had rushed upon you like a typhoon. Everyone was aware of the fact, that you were having an affair with a married professor during your last year of college. And it was even grander news once it had hit the presses of every social circle. You had been dubbed a home wrecker ever since; you carried that burden with you until you had finally taken your last breath. But your choice of men had always been questionable, and the last eight years proved how idiotic you truly were in the romantic department.

I think it is safe to say, you were trying to forget. You had to cling onto a dying ray of light, and it took a coy look from your professor to fulfill that hole in you heart, even for a few months' time. I swore you were about to kill yourself in those dwindling hours of autumn, in the brisk October twilight. I could see your heart crumble, your future dispel into a lie; and I caused it all.

You wanted me to fight harder for us. I could see it on your features when I gave you the death blow; I was going to get married, I exclaimed it like I was reporting the weather forecast for the week. I told you in such a nonchalant way, I'm sure you were horrified. It wasn't as if we hadn't been dating for two years before then, that I told you I loved you; and I even had the gall to say I hoped that you would bore my children. I know I had said all those things to you, drove the point of my devotion into every fanciful part of your mind.

So it must have been surprising that I announced my engagement to my wife. It wasn't as if I hadn't just told you that morning that I loved you, that I couldn't wait to see you; and that I was counting down the hours 'til our next meeting. And yet, I had crumbled that piece of heaven in your life, with that simple utterance. I was getting married at the closing of that year, and I made sure to hammer in the fact, that I never wanted to see you again.

You meant little to nothing to me, and I had wasted too much time on you. I had been faithful to you for the first time in my life, and inevitably the last time too. I would have done anything to see you smile, even if it meant stringing up the stars in your likeness. I would have done anything to make you happy, and yet I was the one that took away that happiness. And I never gave it back; I refused to give it back to you, considering everything in my life.

But eights years had passed from then to now. Even if I had succumbed to some sort of weakness three years ago; I still never mentioned that I cared about you at all. Because I didn't, I still don't; you tried for my affection far too often. You begged for me to say all those years ago, that I would miss you if you were dead and gone. You wanted so much to believe that you had affected my life beyond a reasonable doubt, when all of it was a lie.

Our whole relationship was built on a falsehood. You were never going to be the one for me, and unfortunately for you I was the one built for you. I was the one that could give you glee and understanding, whilst you were not equipped to even lick the tip of my boot. You were never going to be able to take the place of the woman I had married; she was a sophisticated, gorgeous woman that made other women turn green with envy.

She was a heiress from a wealthy and traditional family, and she was an ex-model atop of that. She, my wife of seven years, was much more than you'd ever be. She was the woman that gave me two children, children that hadn't any of your features or your likeness whatsoever. Even if I had felt marginally outraged at the characteristics that Sho received; I didn't let it show, that I somehow wished he had your eyes, that insufferable smile that had been my world.

I didn't look at my daughter Rumi, and think how much more beautiful she could have been if you were her mother. I never stayed up all night and wondered how I got myself into this situation, when I was perfectly content with you, and your foolish pauper life. I never once had to think of how much I yearned to touch you, kiss you, and exclaim that everything would be okay.

But what was true, like everything else that followed, was that I was angry to know you were seeing my son everyday. You knew he was mine, it was like the elephant in the room; how could you not know? His surname, his characteristics, his damned charm was enough to give him away. And if there was no doubt that he was my son, it was only enforced with the fact that he worshiped you. He was convinced, almost too much so, that you were the greatest woman on Earth; he fell in love with you as his teacher, as his role model, as his fucking everything.

My son, mine, had taken a shining to you like no other child in your class. You even had giggled it out to my wife, who had found it equally humorous. Everyone thought it was so adorable, that Sho was making up scenario after scenario of making you his bride. Yes, it was childish and stupid, and yes it burnt like an uncontrollable fire. Because there was something about you that bewitched me, him, without even trying. You had done the same to me and I loathed you.

I hate you, I hated you. If I could, I would have spat on your grave and kicked it for good measures. I would say good riddance that you're dead; it isn't as if I'm going to miss you anyway. That would be ludicrous of me and it wasn't as if you hadn't done enough damage to my family with your passing. It wasn't as if I was told while in the middle of Sho's sixth birthday extravaganza, while I was carrying Rumi around in my arms. It wasn't as if I almost dropped my daughter, after the shock slid away from me.

It's not like I actually ran through my house almost screaming at the top of my lungs; and it wasn't as if I scared anyone in a mile radius with how irrational I was acting. No, that would be senseless, unbelievable, and laughable; because I wouldn't react to your death like that. I wouldn't be running away from my happy and glowing family, enjoying the oncoming autumn, and decide that mourning you was more than appropriate. Because I wouldn't care, I wouldn't dare to; you meant nothing at all, nothing.

And it's not as if I could kindly ask you to wait before doing something so stupid. There was no possible way that I could have asked you to wait for fourteen damned years, 'til Rumi hit maturity and we could be together. Of course I wasn't already planning on making you mine again, once my children were old enough to know better. I didn't want them to hate you, to view you as the cunt that broke up their family. I didn't want them to despise you because of my decision; and I knew that they would. Children had that in themselves to be that haughty, that irrational; and father was never wrong.

Bitches who stole men from their wives, were the ones to be blamed. And I didn't want you be to be looked upon like that; I didn't want to abandon my children, can't you see? I didn't want them to know that I never gave a damned about their mother even for one iota of a minute. I didn't want them to know that I was madly and passionately in love with you, and wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms and crush the air from your lungs.

It was the reason I had called you less than a week ago, when you were still fully intact and alive. After causing such an uproar about you being Sho's teacher; I had managed to find your parents' number in the local directory and rang you up. But like any joke that fate had in store; you hadn't been there, and your mother had promised me that you would call me back. I left my number, my name, everything for you would call me, for I could hear your voice.

Maybe I had been aware of something, that I did not want to believe. Perhaps I had sensed the inevitable that was on the horizon, and that was what spurred me to call. I had already known what I was going to say, what I hoped to gain through our conversation. First and foremost, I was going to tell you how much I loved you, how I couldn't live without you. And I was going to beg you to wait for me, to give me some time to figure out what would be the appropriate action to take.

I might have made the decision sooner than Rumi's eighteenth birthday, to leave my wife; I might have done it at the end of the year, if you gave me a fucking chance. I might have been able to marry you by this time next year; but you never called me back, and I was beginning to suspect your mother didn't even give you my message. Hell, I'm sure she didn't; after all, I crushed her precious daughter's heart with the malice of any criminal.

I was the one that caused you to introvert into yourself, and I was the reason that you had fallen victim to your much older professor's needs. I did, after all, break up with you less than two months before then and I was married by then too. So any communication from me must have been forbidden, on the verge of being entirely taboo.

And it was because of that, that you were dead and I was alive. It was the goddamned reason that Sho was staring at me then, with the same watery eyes that mimicked my own. Did you even think, even for one moment that you would be causing more damage than good, once you checked into such a pricey hotel suite and flung yourself over the balcony's railing?

No one was going to misunderstand the sentiment behind it. It wasn't as if you wore midnight black cocktail dresses everyday; it wasn't as if you were glamorized like an actress at her final stage performance. And from what I hear, from an informant or two, you had looked stunning despite plunging to your death from a ninth story floor. Somehow the ground had neglected to crush that hard head of yours, which was by the grace of God and Satan alike.

And you were selfish enough not to take into account pedestrians. How stupid are you really? Or should I said, how stupid were you? Because you are dead after all; it isn't some elaborate hoax for my attention. You had my full attention for these eight years, without even realizing it. You had me by the heart, regardless if my wife bore my children and had my name. She was just an ends to the means really; I needed heirs, she had the impeccable genes to give them to me.

But you were the one for me, even if I do hate you. I hate you more than anyone I had ever met, because you made me this weak. You had some unexplainable control over me that transcended the lines of sanity and common sense. I despised everything about you and that was lent to the fact, that I loved you so much that my heart screamed in pain, with the dawning understanding that you were gone.

You were gone, dead, ashes. I wouldn't ever see you again or touch you again, or hold you in my arms and tumble into the madness of how much I felt towards you. And now I have Sho, who loved you so shallowly and child-like, that he is still affected by your passing. He just doesn't understand it yet, and he might be able to forget it in six months or even less. Of course all the children in your class will have to be funneled into different classrooms, and receive Eitoku's excellent and extensive counseling sessions for the rest of the school year.

But they will eventually get over it. Sho has a short attention span anyway; I've witnessed how fast he had gotten over the death of his favorite koi fish. Even if he loved that stupid thing and fed it every day, he had forgotten about it in less than a week. So I'm sure he'll forget you and his love for you just as quickly. He's only six and you cannot ask for anymore of him.

I, on the other hand, am not so forgetful. It still pains me to think of Tsukasa and I cannot even stand Januarys anymore because of his death. And now it's Octobers that I cannot stand anymore; I cannot even look at my son without thinking that it was on his birthday that you took your own life. His birth date was your death date, and there's no possible way I could forget that.

After all, you were the love of my life; you were everything to me even if I was such a malicious bastard towards you. Perhaps it was all due to the fact, that I wanted nothing more than to forget everything about you, for I could be free of your suffocating presence. I didn't want to be a prisoner to you any longer, and I didn't want you to waste anymore time on me.

And yet you are gone. My beautiful, silly Ichigo-chan, that lit up my world and humbled me more than anyone could. You were my Ichigo for a reason; you loved strawberries in summer and it was my duty as your beloved to bring them back to you, each time I traveled. No one called you that, but me and I'm sure you wouldn't want it any other way.

But to the world, to Sho sitting at my flawless winged toed shoes, you were Matsuoka-sensei. You were Matsuoka Yuki or Yuki-chan, sometimes Yuki, and rarely Yuki-tan. To me, however, you would always be Ichigo-chan and I probably would remember you best for sitting on the edge of a park bench, under the smoldering heat; and eating strawberries one by one.

"Tou-san, I miss Matsuoka-sensei." I frowned, staring down at Sho and wishing more than anything else that I didn't feel the same.

"Strawberries are more expensive out of season." I sighed, closing my eyes and perhaps hoping that Sho would go away; he hates when I'm so damned philosophical.

He wouldn't be my son if he hadn't; I hated my father's bullshit and I'm sure he'll grow up to hate mine with an equally passionate rage. And he has been bestowing me with the same inquisitive expression since his birthday.

"Even if strawberries are expensive, why didn't you buy as many as you could before then?" My eyes snapped open and I openly gawked at him.

Sho suddenly stood, giving me a harsh expression, that I would have suspected would have been hatred if I didn't think my son was too young to hold grudges.

"Some strawberries aren't as tasteful as the rest..."

"Some strawberries are worth buying still! Matsuoka-sensei loved tea but stopped drinking it because it was out of season too!"

"Strawberries and tea never mixed well, and you know that. You wouldn't be my son if you didn't."

"Tea always tastes better when it's sweet!" As if to reinforce his point, Sho stomped his foot against the floorboards, before running out of the room.

If I hadn't taken his response into consideration, I might have yelled. I would wonder what the hell you were teaching him, because it was definitely not manners and he wasn't even supposed to be wearing shoes in the house. I was the only one who could, and who was he to scream and run away?

You were really a horrible teacher, weren't you? I'm sure you let those students of yours take advantage of your perfectly meek nature for their own gain. So it wouldn't be a surprise that you were the most popular teacher amongst the kindergartners.

But Sho had a point, in fact, he was an intuitive and precocious child, and knew far too much for my liking. He was an intellect at this age and I feared he could read me like a book already. Because he was right, even if I was a Nishikado, a tea enthusiast and expert, per say; I could not deny the claim that tea did taste better when it was sweet. And my sweetness was forever taken away.