I Don't Like You, Too

That's Asshole-san To You

          [I plan to post twice a week, likely on Mondays and Thursdays.]

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Do you like me?

It's a simple enough question. You'd think it would be simple enough to answer. But I've learned that it isn't. That question is difficult, intimidating even. Sometimes you don't know how you feel or you don't want your feelings known or maybe you're afraid of what strange detour the answer will send your life on.

Or maybe you know the answer will hurt.

That was never Sanemi's problem.

"I don't like you, asshole."

Not that I had asked him the question.

From the very beginning, Sanemi let me know how he felt about me. I believe the first words he ever said to me were "Move it, butt crack." Which was followed by a loud "Tch" as he elbowed me out of his way and into a bush. See, it seems he was angry because I existed.

Things didn't improve much after that first meeting. Sanemi only addressed me with epithets – jerk, doof, douchebag, dickwad – his favorite being 'asshole' because, I presume, it has a certain ring to it. On those rare occasions when we had to spar, he'd come at me like a rabid bear, slamming me until our wooden swords shattered (yeah, I see it). I'd become adept at predicting his mood by what he did when our paths crossed. If he punched me or knocked my feet out from under me, that meant he was feeling a tad grouchy. If he only sneered at me, he was feeling downright jolly. I didn't stick around to see what he would've done to me if he was in a truly foul mood, because I believed, perhaps naively, that my internal organs should remain internal.

This was the nature of our interactions. Sanemi would throw insults or punches (or both) at me, and I'd simply ignore them. I didn't fight back. I didn't demand respect. What was the point? If Sanemi didn't like me, he didn't like me. Pushing back would be like throwing a cup of water in the ocean; it would change nothing. And I had no interest in changing things anyway.

This was the story I told myself daily. I was pretty close to making it my truth, too.

So close...

Then one day, Himejima arranged for the pillars to provide hand-to-hand combat training to the other high-ranking slayers in the training hall at Oyakata-sama's estate. The training hall was a cavernous wooden structure lit by sunlight that spilled through several wide, high-set windows. The floor space provided more than ample room for the couple dozen slayers who had shown up to perform the drills Himejima had planned.

"Pair off, and then we'll demonstrate the techniques," Himejima instructed us. Everyone gravitated to a partner as if they had been pre-assigned. I floated toward a lonely corner of the hall and avoided making eye contact with anyone. I didn't feel a pressing need to partner up. In fact, I preferred not to. Interacting with people was often exhausting. I hated small talk. The other pillars would be much better at handling the demonstrations. I'd be much better at–

"Where do you think you're going, shithead?" Sanemi growled as he grabbed a handful of my haori. He dragged me to the center of the hall. Everyone else had retreated to the edges and formed a large ring around us. We were the center of attention, the current main attraction. Precisely what I was trying to avoid. Fun.

"Sanemi and Giyuu will demonstrate a few holds and counter holds." Before Himejima had finished his sentence, Sanemi had an arm around my neck and another trapping my arm. His body was pressed against every inch of mine.