Tokyo Nights

He saw her last night, the American woman who had fascinated him since the moment he first caught sight of her. She was a teacher, tall and slender, forever smiling. Her hair was loose, chocolate waves falling over her shoulders. Her dress was sleeveless, worn for summer days when the sun preened before the world. He had seen her twice before that night; his son attended the school she taught at, but never had he the opportunity to gaze upon her as he was granted then.

She lied to him when they first met, two weeks before.

Smiling softly, coyly, she told him she was not from America, but from England. She spoke, however, with an American accent, her Japanese harsh and slightly awkward and her tongue stumbled when she tried to remember her hometown. She had not been in Japan for long and he laughed upon noting it. She was all alone here. The one she loved had chosen to stay behind, to leave her, to let to go. A pitiless fool. She was an angel, perfect beauty and she had been released so easily. Did he not know she was delicate? That so fragile a being must be kept in a cage to prevent the harm and hurts of this world from tainting her?

He sighed, smiling craftily and shook his head, careful to never let her slip from sight.

Her name was Susan. Susan Alice Améthiene. A name both simple and elegant, just like her. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, tightening his fists as he continued to study her, the paper cup in his hand crumpling slightly.

She stood with a glass in one hand, talking earnestly to her closest friend in Japan; another young woman who also taught English to Japanese students, a Wakamiya. American as well. He did not know her first name. It was hardly important to him.

Susan did not look over at him, did not even appear to notice him. She continued to laugh and wave her free hand around animatedly as she gossiped, looking very cheerful. His lips twisted slightly, sneering, his black eyes narrowed at the Wakamiya girl beside her. She was too thin, her laugh was too loud. Her eyes were too far apart. Her nose was too small, too turned up. Her lips spilled not the gentle words of a woman, but the harsh language of a man. Her hair had been cut too short on the left side. Her pants were wrinkled slightly and were too large for her diminutive frame. His eyes snapped back to Susan, who smiled at something Wakamiya said and rolled her eyes, patting her friend on the shoulder. He glared at her; she was such a creature of exquisiteness and she stood wasting her time with the monster next to her. How could she be so contented? How could she not know she was so much better? He could show her. He could tell her everything she could have, everything she should have.

He would open her eyes, her sparkling, almond shaped eyes. Oh, how they would widen with shock! She would cry out, curse herself for not knowing. She would beg him to take her away from this, to make her his, to never return to this simplicity. It was all beneath her; she would know it then and she would thank him profusely. And he would take her, of course he would, because she was his, over and over, forever and ever, and nothing else mattered, nothing could touch them, she was perfection, she was heaven, she was light, she was his and no one else’s, over and over, forever and ever, until they fell to darkness.