Kurokawa's Journal

Entry Six : Therapy

i really didn't think that going to therapy would then lead to an assassination attempt against my life, but, it happened.

and my goodness, almost getting assassinated was pretty scary.

it was after my sister had died. 

and it was rey hendrix's fault. the guy from last entry. who appeared on the train tracks and claimed to be her best friend. the guy i hate with every bone in my body. the guy i dare i say, hate more than the blue eye'd man. the guy that should be dead, the guy that i want to die.

i should have expected it though. i was entirely alone. everyone knew me as that now-deceased prodigy's sister. i wasn't kurokawa, i was just sumiye's sibling. i was frail. i was skinny i was short. i was stumbling. i was falling, i was struggling to the people around me. empathy. empathy soaked the faces of those around me. sympathy notes slipped under my door constantly. invitations to therapy sessions from the town's therapists slipped under my door. people would enter my shop looking for me and i'd just hide because i didn't wanna talk about it. who would?

why did they all assume that i wanted to talk about my sister just because they did?

they were wrong about a lot of things though. i wasn't just  sumiye's sibling. i was skinny and short, but i was not frail. i wasn't stumbling, i wasn't falling, i was crying. i was feeling emotions like any other grieving person was. i just didn't know how to handle it.  i didn't need sympathy or empathy from those around me. i needed guidance, and the only person that could give that to me would be sumiye.

most people would pass by my base, an abandoned thrift store, and just leave their notes on my counter, or try to search for me then leave shortly after, but rey hendrix wasn't gonna give up that easily.

i was writing one night, as i always did. i didn't feel like going to the train tracks that night. i was writing in the back room, and i heard the bells to my shop door clang against each other softly. it wasn't really a metal shop bell like it used to be. i wanted to keep the bells, but knew i couldn't keep them metal, so i added material to muffle the sound it made when rung. it was still loud enough for me to hear, probably due to the pure silence within the shop. i could quite literally hear my own breathing.

i stopped pressing my pencil against the paper, and began to listen.

the door was shut behind the figure, and i listened to the footsteps.

they were footsteps with that certain amount of pressure i was sure i had heard step into my shop before. that's the kind of thing i remember, the sound of footsteps. it's much easier to me than remembering faces, or voices. people's footsteps can surprisingly be quite different. fast footsteps can show urgency, or fear on occasions. firm, properly paced footsteps can display confidence. weak, unpaced footsteps can display weakness and uncertainty.

this man was wearing dress shoes, and he was walking at a pace with a hint of urgency, but not an overwhelming amount. the urgency seemed to more be like he wanted to catch me before i hid. he knew if he showed up, i would hide. there was pressure in his steps as well, confidence was something he had. i let out a sigh, knowing that there was no way in hell i'd be able to avoid this one. i set my notebook beside me and stared at the doorway as the footsteps grew louder, and a figure emerged in the doorway.