Rhetorics

19. Face-to-face (Madara)

No way... There's just no way.

I was shaking. My hand grabbed the remote control so harshly, my knuckles whitened. I pressed my teeth down so they crackled. The TV displayed demonstrations, people who'd taken to the streets holding signs, signs of anger, signs of demanding, signs of begging, begging for justice.

And they were standing in front of the retirement home for asylum-seeking people where Miss Asghar lived.

"After a strong cause made by party member Hashirama Senju, a decision has been reached to close down half of the retirement homes for asylum-seeking elderlies across his home state. Senju himself, however, is determined to go beyond the state."

The camera flicked to him looking neat, face dead and expressionless to me.

"They cost more to run than a regular retirement home due to the residents' needs of extra medical attentions, them often being of poor health due to the lacking healthcare of their home countries."

"Where will they go now?" The interviewer asked. "They can't go to regular retirement homes as they haven't been granted asylum."

"As I mentioned before. They have a home country. It's not ours."

"Are you..." I threw the remote control on the floor. "FUCKING kidding me?!"

The camera flicked to Miss Asghar, which immediately caught my attention again.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. I have no blood family. If I am sent back, they'll kill me..."

That was it for me. Never had I seen Miss Asghar anything but cheerful. But now... Her eyes were watery, and she looked devastated, devastated and hurt and also scared. I had never been able to even imagine Miss Asghar scared. I stood up, went to my hanger in the hallway to put on my coat, drive to the home and pick up Miss Asghar to come live with me, and any other old person who I could fit as well. Miss Asghar could take my bed. Someone could take my couch. I had a mattress someone else could take. I would sleep on the Goddamn bathroom floor, if it meant-

Suddenly, my doorbell rang. I was to enraged to think twice about it, but went and opened.

And came face-to-face with Hashirama Senju.

"Madara..."

"What the fuck do you want?!" I screamed. I felt no warmth, no glimpse of my former feelings for him, only anger and hurt and deep, deep humiliation.

"Please, listen-"

"Why on Earth would I listen to you?! I knew you were up to something, but I believed that whatever this was..." I pointed to him, then to me. "Was a way for you to trick me out of politics. But this?! Forcing old people out of their homes?!" How low have you sunken?! You have any idea how many times Miss Asghar has asked about you since you met her? How worried she is about your safety? She worships you and there's nothing in the world she wouldn't do for you! Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"Madara, you have to listen to me."

"It better be fucking good."

"My party members asked me long ago to try to trick you out of politics. In the beginning, I did. Quite far on, even. But not anymore. I'm not trying to get you out of politics. However, they turned against me ever since the media coverage about the two of us. They threatened to harm you unless I came up with something radical to carry out. I don't care about my own safety. Your, however."

I stood in the doorway, still holding the door. I hadn't invited him to come in, instead blocking the doorway with my body.

"I don't want your protection", I said.

"No, but I want to give it to you."

"Why didn't you come talk to me first?!" I screamed. I had never screamed at anyone in my entire life, but now, I did. I was more angry than I'd ever been in any debate, in any confrontation, listening to any speech. "You just disappeared, and then this happens!"

"Because then you would've convinced me not to, and you would be in danger!" Hashirama was screaming, too.

"You think you're so fucking noble! I would rather die than have Miss Asghar, and all those other people in the homes get sent back, some of them to be executed! They're so many! I'm one person! The difference is that you get to put your dick in me!"

Hashirama was taken aback at this, and his eyes darkened. But it was not an angry darkness; it was the darkness of sadness.

"Is that really what you think?"

"Have you proven it to be anything different?" Hashirama just stared at me. "Please, leave", I said, hating how wobbly my voice was, neither of us being even a crumble of our politician selves.

I decided I was too angry to drive, so I walked to the retirement home, and it was as if I were blind. I didn't see anything around me, the last-minute Christmas shoppers becoming a blur, the beautiful lights of the city melting into one big ball of fire. I had a frightful headache. When I came to the home, it was dark, and most of the demonstrators had left. I saw one worker there whom I knew.

"Where are the residents?" I asked.

"In a four-star hotel. It has been paid for by an anonymous donor until we find a solution."

"Where?"

She gave me the address, and I looked it up on the map in my smartphone. After ten minutes, I reached the hotel and walked into the lobby. I asked in reception for a Miss Asghar. They phoned her to ask if she expected company. She must've told them yes, because they gave me her room number.

I walked up the stairs, too restless to stand in an elevator. In the fifth floor, I walked out. The carpet was heavily red and thick, the walls a soft gold, the doorframes of dark wood. It was all enormously luxurious. Thank God... Thank God for this.

I knocked on her room number, and after a while, she opened.

I think what well and truly got me, what made me trip overboard, was the fact that she was her usual, chirpy, teasing self.

"Madara-jan! Come in! But hurry! I've invited my girlfriend to come over and she will be here any minute!"

I stepped over the threshold, happy to see she not only had a room but a full-on suite. Miss Asghar sat down in her wheelchair. I went to her, fell down to my knees, put my arms in her lap, my face in my arms.

And I burst out sobbing.