Title: From Across The Room Part 4: First Cut Of The Knife Rating: PG-13 Author: Alse E-mail: alsepang@hotmail.com Disclaimer: You know it. For Sake-chan, whom I hope is enjoying this story! *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* THE WEEK AFTER I remember that I saw them from across the room. I remember that he had not come in for the past three days. I remember the flash of joy I felt when he entered. I remember that I couldn't see him from where I was, because my head was down and I was busy serving a customer, but I remember I could feel him, feel his presence, recognise the familiar, quick step of that tall, dark figure-- all that I could do, without being told that he was there. I remember thinking that it was as if-- as if there was something that connected us so intimately that I could feel his very presence. I remember that I understood then what it meant to have my heart leap with sudden, unbridled joy; I remember the blood rushing to my cheeks, pounding in my ears, and the fact that my hands shook slightly. And I remember that as I glanced up at the clock, I smiled softly. He was always punctual. Exactly eleven forty-five. I remember that I let my gaze drift in his direction and time and space froze as my eyes widened almost wildly and my heart, en route to leaping with joy, stuck in my throat. He was not alone. I remember the lovely girl who had come in-- together-- with him, her bronze masses of hair curling freely over her shoulders, and her green eyes glancing coyly up at him from under long, dark lashes, one hand clasped tightly on his arm and I remember that he was smiling down at her. I remember feeling the blood drain from my face. I remember feeling something sharp catch and tear, painfully, in my chest and a fierce constriction in my throat. I remember that my heart stopped beating and that I had to fight for breath. I remember that in the very centre of my soul, something shattered over and over again, every smash and shard lodging itself in my flesh, every slicing motion drawing fresh blood. I remember that the world crashed around me. I remember that I couldn't see clearly and that everything seemed to swim before my eyes. I remember biting my lip until I could taste the bitter, salty tang of my own blood on my tongue. I remember that time stopped and I couldn't feel anything anymore. I remember that I stood there silently, unmoving, for a long, long time, until Andrew himself came to lead me away. * * * He's never alone now and gossip in the café is always centred around his "latest". I watch him almost every second I can snatch from my work, whenever he's not facing somewhere in my direction. I see him smile, and once or twice, I hear him laugh, a sound that's both warm and painful. Above all, I listen quietly to the sound of his deep, beautiful voice when he speaks-- I know I could pick it out amidst the hum and buzz of everyone else, no matter how much noise there is. I don't dare to serve his table, though, and I deliberately find something to occupy myself every time he strolls in with his date, whoever she may be. I can't face them-- not yet. I'm not strong enough to pretend, face-to-face, that it doesn't feel like something's slowly and painfully cutting through me whenever I see him with someone. All I want to do is to be allowed to catch a glimpse of him now and then, to know that he's there. I've tried not to let anyone know how I feel-- I don't want pity and I'd hate for anyone to know the truth, because he doesn't feel the same way. And-- I admit it, I'm too proud. If they can see how I feel, I fake a laugh and roll my eyes. My pain is my own, my tears are my own and the heartbreak belongs to my soul. Most of all, I've learnt to wear a mask, to drift from day to day, without noticing things, except-- except him. I go on taking down customers' orders and serving them, as if life has gone on and heartbreak has never happened. After all, the sun still shines, the customers still wait to be served and I still have to go back to college in September. September. So far away. (c) 2001 Copyright Alsepang original storyline Did you know? Unlike Germany, which has officially recognised its Nazi past, many Japanese historians and scholars still swear that the Nanjing Massacre did not happen, or that 'comfort women' never existed. Japan is a great country, with accomplishments untold, but there is no shame in admitting an ugly past because you can learn from it and ensure that such a thing never happens again. It does not mean that to admit an ugly past is to be ashamed of your country. Japan has much to be proud of.