My body was exhausted, but when I tried to nap in the taxi, I found that my eyes were wide awake. My mind was awash with memories of Ushio and Kizaki—their faces, their voices. But I would have to go back out for another field report at noon. I was told something about a Supreme Court ruling regarding the Chiba serial killer, and…something else. Crime and politics and law stuff all blurred together in my head, and as you might expect, I couldn’t fully iron it out.
My head hurt. I opened the door to my apartment, and when I saw Ushio’s sneakers on the floor, the pain inexplicably sharpened. Why? Didn’t I want to see him? For a while I stood there, dumbfounded, staring through the frosted glass, until eventually I saw a fuzzy shadow approaching from the living room. He must have lost his patience.
“Welcome home.”
“…What do you want?”
Even I could tell I was screwing up right out of the gate. Screwing up was all I ever did these days. But now that Ushio was right in front of me, the urge to lash out welled up in the back of my throat like vomit. Why was I suddenly the station’s errand boy? Why did some other station start competing with us? And why did he pick tonight of all nights to ambush me at my house? I was angry, queasy, conflicted.
“Is that what you should be saying to me right now?” In spite of his scowl, his voice was still soft…for now, anyway. “Don’t ghost me like that, man… Though to be fair, I’ve been busy myself.”
“Then what does it matter?”
“Kei.” His voice tensed slightly. “C’mon, what’s got you so prickly these days?”
“It’s nothing… I’m just tired. I’m gonna take a shower and sleep.” So go home, I added silently. But when I tried to walk past him, he grabbed me by the arm. “What?”
“Why haven’t you been on The News lately?”
This was the absolute last thing I wanted to talk about right now. “I’m still doing news stuff,” I protested brusquely, a grimace on my face.
“Yeah, random little segments here and there. I’ve seen them. But I’m asking about The News, as in, the show you’re supposed to be on.”
“My boss told me I gotta do field reporting, and there’s only one of me, so I can’t be everywhere at once.”
Why was I seemingly incapable of having a normal conversation without being snotty? Surely there had to be a better way of asking for emotional support. Silently, I cursed myself. I knew I didn’t want him to walk out on me, yet I couldn’t stop pushing those buttons. Self-loathing bounced around inside my head like a pinball until it flew out into Ushio’s face.
“So you got reassigned? How come?”
“How should I know?”
“What are you talking about? Of course you should know!” he pressed. “If you didn’t request it yourself, then that means some higher-up made the call, right? Go ask them about it! You look exhausted, and not in a happy, fulfilled sort of way. If some part of it doesn’t sit right with you, then you’re allowed to demand an explanation!”
“It doesn’t matter what their explanation is. It’s my job, and I have to do it either way. Unlike you, I’m a full-time employee.”
“What, so newscasters are slaves now?”
“Go ahead and believe that if you want.”
“Knowing you, I’ll bet it’s killing you inside. Just open up a little and talk to Shitara-san! Trust me, he’ll understand.”
“Are you fucking stupid?!” I smacked his hand away. Did he seriously think that was helpful advice? “I can’t just ‘open up,’ dipshit! You should know better than anyone!”
“Look, calm down, all right? I’m not saying you should go to work in your ratty old tracksuit and cuss him out. Just be honest about what’s on your mind! Ask him questions! Shitara-san cares about his subordinates—I’m sure he’ll give you a serious answer. Besides, your show’s not gonna last unless you can communicate.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?!” I roared back. By this point, I no longer cared what time of night it was. “My show sucks because I’m an asshole who can’t communicate?! Is that why our ratings are crashing?! Is that why we’re losing to Kizaki fucking Ryou?!”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he replied, and I could feel his frustration.
See? I knew there was no point in talking to you about this.
“You’re the one who said I don’t have to change. You told me to stay exactly the way I am!”
“Well, that was—”
“Forget it!” I flung my briefcase at the floor and covered my ears with both hands. “I’m sick of people telling me do this, do that, then asking me to think for myself! I’m tired! I’m doing my fucking job, aren’t I?! Doing it better than anyone else! What more do you people want from me?!”
“Kei—”
“I can’t take this. My head’s gonna explode. I need to be alone… Please, give me space right now.”
With my hands over my ears, the whispered words reverberated in my skull. Ushio started to speak at first, then looked around at the walls and floor like he was searching for something. Eventually, he pursed his lips together, put his shoes back on, and walked out. Through the door, I heard him put his spare key in the lock and watched as it rotated right in front of me.
I left my briefcase on the floor where it lay and staggered into the living room, where I collapsed onto the sofa. My emotions had long since surpassed the breaking point, leaving me with only lethargy. I was aware that I had treated Ushio poorly, but it would take some time yet before it truly sank in.
I reached for the TV remote and hit the play button. Clearly I must have been some kind of hardcore masochist to want to watch Newsment after all that. But it didn’t matter whether I avoided it or sought it out—I felt miserable either way. Hard to say which was better on my psyche.
After the standard news came a pre-recorded segment about pet euthanization, and when the cameras cut back to the studio, Kizaki’s eyes were damp.
“I’m sorry—I have a little pupper at my parents’ house, so…”
“It hits different when you have a pet, doesn’t it?”
As a newscaster, he’d get a failing score. A professional would never cry on the air. But Kizaki wasn’t a newscaster, so he was allowed to get emotional, even if he was just acting. After all, there were tons of viewers who would relate to those tears. As long as his pretty face pulled in views, he’d get no complaints.
Not that I wanted to be in his shoes, but sometimes being typecast as an anchor made me feel like an unfeeling, script-reading robot, no different from Siri. If anything, I deserved to cry! Maybe then I’d actually feel better!
Alas, my eyeballs were painfully dry whether they were open or closed.