Seiji's tone was measured as he pressed Hideaki for answers. "How many did you kill, Hideaki?"
Hideaki's head jerked up from the couch, his face scrunched in confusion. "Huh?"
"I asked how many people you killed," Seiji repeated, voice steely. "For the blood you splashed all over the place."
Hideaki waved it off, trying to deflect. "Jeez, Seiji, let it go. It's your birthday - enjoy yourself."
"I already did. But now we need to talk about what happened." Seiji's voice was calm but his expression had sharpened. "I'm asking one last time - how many people died for this?"
Hideaki shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Seiji's eyes. "A few..."
"A few too many, Hideaki," Seiji snapped, frustration seeping into his tone.
Hideaki gulped, guilt beginning to take hold. "Tch!"
Seiji took a breath, steadying himself. "Do you even understand what you've done? You killed people... just for some gruesome party 'decorations.'"
Hideaki's voice cracked. "I... I just wanted to make you... happy..."
"That's not how it works, Hideaki. You don't make someone happy by taking lives," Seiji replied, his voice softening slightly but still firm. "There's a thing called fake blood, you know. Did it ever cross your mind to look it up instead of-"
Hideaki cut in, frustrated. "I did look it up! It was too complicated, so I took the easier route!"
Seiji's expression shifted to one of controlled exasperation, his voice dropping low. "And that's supposed to be an excuse? Just going with the simplest, most violent option? How does that make sense?"
Hideaki stammered, visibly rattled. "I... I don't know... It just-" He was unable to meet Seiji's gaze, feeling Seiji's disappointment bearing down on him.
Seiji shook his head. "This isn't something I can just overlook anymore. You're not listening, and my words alone aren't enough." He paused, letting the weight of his next statement settle. "I think you need professional help."
Hideaki's face twisted with sudden panic. "You're calling the police, aren't you?!"
Seiji sighed. "No, Hideaki, I'm not turning you in. But I'm serious about this - you need therapy. You need someone qualified to help you work through whatever it is that keeps you on this path."
"Therapy?" Hideaki's voice shot up, filled with frustration and agitation. "Are you serious? I don't need some psychologist picking apart my brain!"
"Think of it less like 'picking apart' and more like trying to understand yourself in a different way," Seiji insisted, his voice calm but unyielding.
"I told you this before! Tch! I've seen psychologists before, back when... I was in jail," Hideaki replied bitterly, looking away.
"And remind me, what did they do with you there?" Seiji pressed, studying him carefully.
"They just made me feel like even more of a freak," Hideaki muttered, bitterness coloring his words.
Seiji's expression softened. "Maybe it wasn't the right fit then, but now I suppouse you've changed... Even if you don't want to go, I'm signing you up. For both our sakes."
Hideaki's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger reigniting. "I don't need help! I'm fine!"
"No, Hideaki, you're not," Seiji's voice was firm. "Decorating with real blood? Going on rampages? That's not something a 'fine' person does."
"It was just part of the decorations, Seiji! Calm down."
"It's only 'decoration' to you, Hideaki. People were hurt - and you don't see the issue with that? Something in you is screwed up. You don't get to ignore this." His frustration reached a breaking point. "I've tried everything I can to help you, and none of it has been enough."
Hideaki's fist clenched, his gaze darkening. "I'm not going to therapy, Seiji."
Seiji took a step forward, his stance resolute. "You don't have a choice. I'm doing this because I care about you, but I won't stand by while you destroy yourself... or anyone else."
Hideaki scoffed bitterly. "I hate you for this," he spat. "You really think some therapy's going to change me?"
"I don't know," Seiji admitted, his voice cool, "but if there's even a chance, it's worth trying."
Silence filled the room, the tension thick between them.
At last, Hideaki relented, voice low and resentful. "Tch!.... F-fine... But don't expect me to cooperate."
"I figured," Seiji said, unruffled. "But you'll go either way."
Just then, a knock at the door broke the tension. "I'll get it," Seiji muttered, casting a last, unreadable look at Hideaki.
As he headed to the door, his mind swirled with thought.
'If he doesn't stop this, he's going to reach a point of no return. He may act careless, but... he's in pain. The whole blood 'spree,' the attacks - those are just signs of something he's never learned to control.'
A deliveryman handed over the groceries Seiji had ordered. Taking the bags into the kitchen, he started unpacking them, casting an occasional glance at Hideaki. Hideaki sat slumped on the couch, hugging a stuffed cat plushie, his demeanor tense and uncertain.
Seiji sighed, pulling a chocolate pudding from the bag and walking over. "Here," he said, handing him the dessert.
Hideaki took it reluctantly, not meeting his eyes.
A small smile tugged at Seiji's lips. "You'll be okay, Hideaki. You may not think so now, but... trust me. You will."
***
[ Next Week ]
During his break, Seiji braced himself, dialing the number for the mental health center with a calculated focus. He didn't exactly enjoy stepping into this unknown, but for Hideaki's sake, he would.
The call connected, and Seiji began in his usual calm but direct manner. "Hello. My name's Sekiguchi Seiji. I'm reaching out about a friend of mine who needs support."
"Of course, sir," came the warm, professional voice from the other end. "Could you tell me a little more about your friend's situation?"
Seiji took a moment. "He's dealing with some complex past traumas. It's impacting him in ways I can't seem to reach. He's... hesitant in seeking help himself, so I'm contacting you first."
The counselor's tone softened. "Thank you for looking out for him. We can definitely help arrange therapy sessions for your friend. Can I have his name and contact information?"
"I appreciate that," Seiji replied. "And, actually, uh, I'd prefer to keep his identity confidential for now, if that's okay. Is there a way we can proceed without disclosing that information?"
"Absolutely! We respect your friend's privacy. We can discuss general options for therapy and provide guidance on how to support your friend through this process. I'll also send information you can share with him when he's ready." The counselor reassured him.
Seiji exhaled, feeling some relief. "That's exactly what I was hoping for."
The person on the other end of the line smiled audibly. After exchanging further information, they concluded,
"Thank you for reaching out, sir. We'll do everything we can to support you and your friend."
After ending the call, Seiji's relief faded as he learned about the wait for Hideaki's first appointment - weeks, possibly months. Glancing through his contacts, he saw Hideaki's number with the photo he'd taken of him genuinely smiling. It was a reminder of the person he saw beneath the chaos.
He studied the photo, considering what he'd just set in motion. 'I've been working to pull him up this whole time, but I guess... maybe my approach wasn't enough. It feels like I'm passing the responsibility, but if this is what gets through to him, then it's what I need to do.'
With his break coming to an end, Seiji pocketed his phone and returned to work, his resolve set. This might be the push Hideaki needed to finally turn things around, even if it wasn't the solution he'd wanted.
YOU ARE READING
Everyday Life with a Murderer
ActionA adult Japanese man, Seiji Sekiguchi was devastated by his life. During one rainy evening, he went to the rooftop of a building to commit suicide. Unexpectedly, on his way he meets a man, who apparently wants to kill him. Prepared for certain death...