Saying Goodbye, Part Two (Passports and Promises Book 1) (6 page)

Kylie interrupted my self-evaluation, holding up the empty sake
bottle and giving it a wiggle. “Sam, could you get Fujiki-
sama
some more of his favorite drink? He’s very, very thirsty. Kenzo, the bartender, will know what he likes.”

Mr. Fujiki laughed, his hand between Kylie’s knees. “Yes. Very, very thirsty. And hungry, too,” he said, nibbling on her neck.

She nodded her head toward the bar, and mouthed the word
go,
giving me a momentary reprieve. More customers streamed into the bar. It wouldn’t be long before someone tried to touch me again.

“
Irasshai,”
said Kenzo when I approached the bar, the less formal form of
welcome.

“Onegai shitai koto ga arimasu no de, Fukijisan no tame ni.”
I have a favor to ask, for Mr. Fujiki.

I handed him the empty bottle. He took it with a smile.

“Nihongo ga jouzu, desu ne.”
Your Japanese is good.

I shook my head. “
Tandemo arimasen.”
Heavens no
.

The acceptable response to any sort of compliment in Japanese was to deny it. Vehemently.

Kenzo laughed, but the smile froze on his face when he looked at Kylie. Mr. Fujiki was getting extremely handsy. She dealt with it well, but it took a lot of maneuvering.

One very drunk bald guy decided to approach me. His head barely came up to my chest, and he kept trying to grab my butt. I gave Kylie Mr. Fujiki’s sake and decided it was time to go.

“I’d better take off, Kylie. Talk to you soon.”

She waved, pouring Mr. Fujiki some sake to keep his hands busy. “Let’s meet for a coffee tomorrow.”

Mrs. Miyata bowed to me on my way out. “Come back. Maybe I will pay you. Mr. Mori likes you a lot.”

Mr. Mori, the bald butt grabber, grinned at me from across the room. I had to hold back a shudder of revulsion. “
Arigato gozaimasu, Miyata-san.”

CHAPTER SIX

T
homas waited for me outside. He’d abandoned his post at the coffee shop and stood in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the door of the club and causing all pedestrians to have to veer around him on the sidewalk. His face had turned bright red, and he positively pulsated with fury.

“Where have you been?”

I pointed behind me, confused. “Uh, in the club. As you know.”

He grabbed my hand and started pulling me down the street. I nearly had to jog to keep up with him, quite the feat in the shoes I currently wore.

“You were in there a very long time.”

I checked my phone for the time. “Forty-five minutes. Not that long. I didn’t want to be rude.”

He pulled me over to a shop, my back to the window, and glared down at me. “Did you
enjoy
it, Sam? Did you like having those men touch you? Shall I do the same?”

He caressed the line of my jaw, sending shivers up my spine and making my knees turn weak. I blinked in surprise.

“It wasn’t like that…”

When Mr. Fujiki touched me, I’d felt repulsed. Invaded. When Thomas touched me, I wanted to rip the clothes off his perfect body and have my way with him.

He moved closer, his eyes on my face. “What did they make you feel? What do
I
make you feel?” he asked, his voice husky and his Scottish accent now so pronounced I almost had to translate what he said in my head before I could understand his words.

“Different. Not the same. Not even close.”

He slipped both of his hands inside my coat, sliding them against the curve of my hip. My hands automatically went to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt. I sighed, leaning against him, certain he would kiss me.

A van drove past behind us, with loud music playing and someone shouting political slogans from the roof using a megaphone. I backed away from Thomas like I’d been burnt, the spell broken.

“Aye,” he said, his eyes cold. “Jump away. Like always.”

I wrapped my coat closer around my body and marched away from Thomas as fast as I could. I wanted to get back to my dorm, take off this sexy train wreck of a dress, and curl up on my futon.

I was practically jogging, but didn’t make it far. He reached me in two long strides, putting a gentle hand on my arm and making me stop.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, you did.”

He thought about it a second, tilting his head from right to left as he considered the validity of my claim. “Yes, I did, but I have my reasons.”

“And what are those?”

He ducked his head, putting his face close to mine. “Did you ever consider what it was like for me outside that club, knowing what might be happening inside? Knowing other men touched you when I cannot?”

His blue eyes bored into me, so honest and sincere, refusing to let me back away. Making me face the truth.

“This is why we can’t date. I’ve hurt you already. I hurt everyone I get involved with. I mess people up.”

He snorted. “I highly doubt that is an accurate statement.”

Tears filled my eyes. “I like you, Thomas. I’m so afraid.”

Terrified would have been a better word for it. Suddenly, my throat started closing up. I clutched Thomas’ shirt, trying to find a way to force oxygen into my lungs. This time the anxiety attack had come out of nowhere. Usually, I had a few minutes warning, a chance to pull myself together. This had hit me like a speeding train.

Thomas cupped my face in his hands, his eyes worried. “Sam. You’re going to be okay. Look at me. Breathe with me.”

I stared at his face, watching him breathe in and out. I focused on him, trying to control the fear and the feeling I might die. Right here. On the streets of Kyoto. Miles away from my parents. I pushed everything out of my head except for Thomas’ eyes and the slow, steady sound of his breathing. Finally, with a shudder and a gasp, I could breathe again.

I put my head on his chest and sobbed. He held me, murmuring soft words against my hair and stroking my back. When I finally stopped crying, I realized his nice white shirt now had streaks of black and red all over it from my mascara and my lipstick.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, hiccupping as I tried to talk.

“No need to apologize, Sam. I’m just glad you were able to get it under control.”

“I wasn’t apologizing for that. I’m sorry about your shirt. It’s a mess.”

He looked down and chuckled. “That it is. Nothing a good toss into the wash won’t fix.”

I had my doubts about the lipstick. It might not wash out as easily as Thomas thought. “I bet I look a mess, too.”

He studied my face very seriously. “Actually, you look a lot better than my shirt.”

He took my hand, lacing my fingers with his, and we headed back to campus, walking more slowly this time.

“You knew what to do,” I said.

He nodded. “My youngest brother used to get them. It began when my father got sick. How long have you been having them?”

“Since Dylan. Since I found him…” I took a long shaky breath. “The scariest part is not knowing when it might happen again.”

“That’s understandable.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m getting a bit tired of this little dance we’ve been doing. Can we make a deal? If I stop making you uncomfortable, will you stop pushing me away?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I let go of his hand and slid my arm around his waist as we walked, getting closer to the warmth of his big body. He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.

“Well. That’s a fine start.”

When I got home, I Skyped with my friends Bethany and Gabriela. We tried to connect at least once a week, planning it out so we wouldn’t miss each other. I told them about the hostess bar, and they laughed about Mr. Fujiki.

“It was kind of funny, I guess, but on the way home Thomas got mad at me and I had an anxiety attack. It came out of nowhere.”

“Are you okay?” asked Bethany.

I nodded. “It freaked me out, but I’m fine now.”

“Why did he get mad at you?” asked Gabriela.

I’d told them all about Thomas. Bethany begged me to find out if he went commando under his kilt. I had yet to see him in a kilt, but I’d kind of wondered the same thing myself.

“Because I went to the hostess bar. When I had the attack, though, he was a total rock star. He helped me breathe through it and get it under control. I couldn’t believe it actually worked. I guess the visit to the hostess bar scared me more than I realized.”

“That
was
kind of a dumb move, Sam. Why did you do it?” Bethany, in “mom” mode, looked at me with concern. I usually didn’t engage in risky behaviors, but suddenly I wondered how far I might actually go.

“I was curious, mostly about how a person could do a job like that every single day and not end up…damaged.”

“People will do a lot of things for money,” said Gabriela. “But money can’t solve everything.” She took a deep breath. “Speaking of which, we have some news for you. About Zach. He’s in jail.”

She mentioned it so calmly, which amazed me. Zach had raped her, brutally, only a few months ago, but she didn’t allow it to defeat her. She didn’t allow it to define her, either.

I was not that strong. I could barely even say his name. Just hearing it, knowing what he’d done to her, felt like a sickening stab to my chest.

“What happened?”

“Over Christmas break, he got caught with a fourteen-year-old girl. He’ll be in jail for quite a while,” said Bethany. “At least until the trial. And I’m sure he’s going to do some serious time for what he’s done. Nearly twenty girls have filed charges against him at this point. A few others are still considering it. He’s a serial rapist. Things do not look good for Zach McGaffrey.” She and Gabriela did a little fist bump.

“He should have been in jail a long time ago. If he had, he never would have hurt you, Gabriela, or that girl, or anyone else,” I said.

“The girls he attacked at school were all at the Sig house, drinking, when the assaults occurred. Every single one of us blamed ourselves. We felt responsible.”

“But you weren’t. It had nothing to do with what you did or didn’t do. Even if you drank, it doesn’t mean you should be held accountable for his actions.”

“Kind of like you and Dylan, right?” Bethany asked.

I stared at her pretty face, stumped. “Well, that’s a little different.”

“In what way?” asked Gabriela. “None of it was your fault. Guilt and blame are tough things to let go of. Trust me. I know. I kept going over everything in my head, seeing so many things I did wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have flirted with Zach. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to that party. But he was the one who put that pill in my drink. He’s the one who raped me. Even if you’d never dated Dylan at all, the result would have been the same. It might even have been worse. He could have died alone in that apartment if you hadn’t found him.”

I stared at her, flummoxed. “When did you get so smart?”

She grinned. “I’ve always been smart. I just never realized it. Now tell us more about Thomas. Is he going to be Mistake Number Five? That’s the big one. The most important number. The grand finale, right?”

“Thomas isn’t a number, he’s…”

“Different?” asked Gabriela.

Suddenly, my whole numbering system seemed very juvenile. Infantile, really. Bethany must have read something about my thoughts on my face.

“I think our little Sam is growing up.”

“Spoken from someone much older and wiser than I am,” I said with a smile. Bethany’s birthday was only a few months before mine, but she held it over me.

“Much,” she agreed.

Gabriela gave me a shy little smile. “I have something to tell you. I kind of have a boyfriend.”

“Who?”

“His name is Noah. He’s a pre-med student. We’ve been dating for almost a month now.”

I couldn’t believe it. “And you waited until
now
to tell me?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It’s my first time dating someone since…”

Since Zach.

Gabriela’s life would forever be divided into before and after. As I hung up the phone, I wondered if I’d be the same. Before Dylan and after.

I still called my mom every day, waiting and hoping for good news. It never came. I’d spent months suffocating under the weight of my own guilt. Maybe Gabriela was right. Maybe I needed to look at it from a different angle.

No matter what I did, no matter how poorly I behaved, I hadn’t tried to hurt Dylan. He’d hurt himself. Because of his illness. By not taking his medicine. By drinking and smoking pot. I hadn’t forced him to do any of that, and he’d started when things were still good between us.

For the first time, I began to see a light at the end of the tunnel. For the first time, I thought I might be ready to take my first step and finally move on.