That other person vanished. Someone was still grabbing my shirt, only it wasn't the same person.
"…People don't care how you feel. They may confide in you, or praise you, but deep down, they don't care how you feel. All they care about is that in that moment, they can praise you, no matter how you feel."
That humanity I felt behind that other person was replaced with his absurd existence.
"You can't matter to anyone because no one will ever know how you really feel. No one can understand you; they haven't lived your life, and that's why, even if they want to give importance to your feelings, they can't, because they can't understand what they want to give importance to."
…I don't need anyone to understand me.
"If you don't understand yourself or anyone else, how do you expect to live the life you want so much, fulfilling the expectations of others?"
It's the only thing I can do, if not-
"You're only going to explode when you least expect it if you keep living like this. It's not something you really want to do all the time, you don't want to live that way, but it's the only way you think you can live."
There are times when I am forced to do those things, but-
"You don't care about the rest either; you only care about how people see you. But what if you discarded that too?"
And if you let me talk and-
" Your opinion is more important than everyone else's."
…? That's a-
"Even if you call yourself an idiot, you always want to be right. You were dying to excuse yourself at the meeting, weren't you?"
I couldn't defend myself, but it wouldn't have mattered if I had, the conclusion would have been the same. This conclusion.
"You're guilty of selfishness. You always want to be right, even if it's just a little bit. 'I did it out of inertia; I didn't want to hit her at that moment.' No matter what you said, it all had the same response. 'You did it anyway.'"
"You always seek to free yourself from guilt, even if it's just a little bit."
He let go of me, and I leaned back against that invisible place. I didn't know what to say, but I tried anyway.
Even if I don't do anything, it's not like I don't accept what I've done wrong.
"If you can't accept all the blame, then you're not accepting any of it, because there's always a part of you that avoids it. Teachers say it in class: you're a certain age to have to worry about that stuff."
"So full of yourself that you can't even stand up."
Everything began to gain color again, little by little, but before he faded away, still unable to make out his face, he said one last thing.
"All this turns you into a bomb, Riku. A bomb that will eventually explode."
"Are you okay?" A man approached me as I leaned against the tree, seeing how stressed I was. He was wearing a suit and carrying a suitcase; he had probably just left work.
Thanks to his voice, I was able to lower my head from the clouds and raise my gaze. My left hand was resting on the tree, while, crouching down, with my right hand resting on my knee, I tried to calm myself.
To avoid attracting more attention, I stood up and stopped leaning against the tree. I tried to look at his face to speak, but as soon as I met his gaze, I backed away, focusing my eyes on his neck.
"Yes, I'm fine. I just felt a little dizzy," I responded quickly, trying to hide my agitated tone with a calmer, friendlier one.
What I said wasn't a lie. I was dizzy before, and I was still struggling to stand, even if only a little.
"Are you really okay? Do you want me to help you get to a bank?" The man insisted. I doubt he had any ulterior motives, but he was being too kind. Normally, no one would stop to exchange a word in a situation like this.
"No, really, there's no need for that. I've already gotten over it. Thanks so much for your concern, anyway."
Assuring him that I didn't need help, I approached the crosswalk, as the light turned green as I began to speak.
Before the man could say goodbye or continue to insist, I left him behind. He didn't follow me or say anything as I left; it would be even weirder if he did.
I was able to cross the road and walk a little without falling, so I could find a bench away from the street, right in front of a laundromat.
I raised my gaze considerably, enough to see over the heads of the people. Even looking so high, I couldn't see the sky, only a couple of tall buildings.
"Ahhh, what a mess." I whispered to myself as I brought my hands up to my face, rubbing my eyes. I let them slide a little, the tips of my fingers touching my cheeks, rubbing them together.
"And what a shame…" I shouldn't get so worked up over something silly, much less have to make a spectacle like that in front of a zebra crossing.
How many people had been staring at me? How long had I been there? I didn't want to know either answer.
"…"
I looked down, having cleared my mind a bit. I wasn't dizzy anymore, but I still wanted to sit there, even if only for a moment.
… A bomb.
That was the last thing he said to me before he came back.
I'm not dumb enough to understand what he's saying, but I'm not smart enough to understand why he's saying it either.
Explode. What happens when you can't hold on any longer, when you've never been able to, or ever wanted to, release a little of what's eating you up inside. Everything is released when you reach the limit.
I know what it means, but why does he say it?
I thought about my father. Him? Someone as responsible as him going through something like that? He must have some way to calm down, to let all that stress flow. At home, I've never heard him yell at anything or anyone. Maybe he did something on the street, or when we were asleep.
When are you supposed to realize you're about to explode? I always feel that way, and I always feel like I can handle more and more.
I never feel completely fed up; there's always a part of me that says I can keep going. But how long can I really keep going?
Maybe I dismiss some of those moments as normal.
When I was in class, wouldn't that be exactly what he's talking about? How does he expect the same thing to happen twice in such a short period of time? Does he think it's not enough to show off once?
I don't think I need to relax that much. I haven't wanted to think about it, much less pay attention to it, but deep down I knew it. I knew that, even though I was mentally stressed, my body was relaxed, as if a burden had been lifted.
And even if I think about it, what can I do? I should lock myself away, not talk to anyone, so I can never unload everything I feel on anyone. I sighed, disappointed.
"…And even if I did, I wouldn't be able to rest." I stood up from the bench, ready to move on.
What good would it do me to sit still, thinking about what to do, if I'm not going to do anything I think of anyway?