No Ordinary Love (30 page)

“What did you tell me about the tower lights last time, when we were on the phone?” I asked.

“When lovers see the lights shut off together, they have good fortune.”

“So we're lovers?” I didn't risk a glance his way.

“We're even more.”

His phone buzzed.

“You have a text message.” I extended my hand his way to give him the phone. “One of your female animals. Is it a goat or something? I don't know the names in Japanese.”

“I'm in contact with no other females besides my cousins. Check my phone and tell me what the text says.” He finished his beer.

“It's from someone named Nobu,” I read. “He says that's it's done.”

“Okay.”

“What does that mean?” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “What's done?”

“The southern tip is gone.”

“That's where we went last night?”

“Yes.”

The air thickened with things that could not be said. Why he'd listened to me and crushed an area of his own district, I still couldn't comprehend. Hadn't others came his way and tried to get him to do the right thing? I couldn't have been the first stubborn loudmouth to yell out my opinion on his life.

Why did he do that? Does my opinion really matter that much? Well, dumb ass. It must! He leveled a whole block.

Kenji pierced me with his gaze. There was a quiet seriousness to his eyes, maybe even some pain lingering within his pupils. “Just give me a chance, Tora.”

I opened my mouth to speak, gave up, and drank the rest of my beer in the darkness of his balcony.

Chapter 32

NYOMI

Days passed, and each day I began to fall for him more and more.

An awkward dance of push and pull occurred in my heart. Some moments I reminded myself that this was not a real situation—me writing books as he worked on haikus. All of this had to end in two weeks. Other times, I imagined us together forever.

The more hours that flew by with me at his side, the less I yearned to leave.

I let myself go as the days continued, giving myself a chance to learn about him and then in the last moments, fright would come, and I would rush away, distancing myself from him, unsure if he was the right person to open up my heart.

This is only going to be two weeks. Don't forget.

Kenji no longer left my side. During the day, we raced around the city like two giggling kids. We took a break from the red-light districts and he proclaimed to show me
his Tokyo.
He dragged me to art museums and tourist spots, beautiful parks and mega tennis centers on the roofs of towering buildings.

“You're falling for me and Tokyo,” he proclaimed one day in the back of his limo as I laughed so much at one of his freestyles that tears fell from my eyes. “I can see your claws backing away.”

“Maybe I'm falling for Tokyo but … ”

“Aww, but not the Dragon. Not yet?”

“Not yet.”

Smirking, he consumed me right there in the limo, lifting up my skirt, tearing away my panties, and pounding into me hard.

“What's my name?” he growled.

“Dragon,” I moaned.

“And who are you to me?”

“Tora.”

“Yes, you are,” he groaned.

Days later, we sampled the most delicious items from street food vendors. I fell in love with these things call
Takoyaki—
crispy balls of pancake batter and octopus served on a canoe-shaped plate, decorated with Japanese mayo and sauce. Kenji had a blast dragging me around to the different parts of Tokyo where he knew the best vendors remained. In the evenings after these long walks, we gorged on simmering skewers of grilled fish and chicken, coated in some of the most savory sauces.

Each day, we walked, ate, shopped, and laughed. At night, we fucked so hard that my strands that I straightened in the mornings would all frizz up to wild curls. The whole time he kept his clothes on like some wicked pastor afraid to dishonor God.

“I don't want you to see my tattoos yet,” he said when I tried to wrestle his shirt away.

“That's stupid.”

“Maybe.”

“I want to see them.”

“Not until you've accepted me fully.”

“I have.”

“No, you haven't. Stay with me.”

“I can't.”

He bit his lip and closed his eyes. “You can.”

That night he left me to my writing and maintained distance as if he was considering another method to keep me.

The next week continued with Kenji staying by my side and exploring Tokyo. It was like we'd both forgotten the red-light districts. Instead, we raced around the city like tourists.

Near Shinjuku station, Kenji took me to a place called Memory Lane where one could only walk on the road. This alleyway had a cramped and dingy feel to it. It seemed so far away from what I’d seen of Tokyo already.

“Why do they call this place Piss Alley?” I asked.

“Because drunk men used to urinate here after too many drinks.

“So they just whipped out their cocks and let it all out?” I sniffed the air, but only got a whiff of roasted meat off in the distance.

“Many years ago, when the area wasn’t as built up. There weren’t a lot of toilets, so people just relieved themselves wherever they could.” I squeezed his hand. “This was a big crime area. Sometimes I would come here to give messages to my uncles or pick up something from my father to give to my mother.”

“Did you ever piss here?”

He smirked. “Of course.”

“Caveman,” I muttered under my breath.

On Piss Alley, we ate in a cramped restaurant, our bodies smashed together as we sampled odd cuisine—frog sashimi, pig testicles, soft-shell turtle, and a still-beating frog’s heart that the chef had cut out of the little creature right in front of us.

“Did he have to kill it out here at our table?” I asked after barely being able to swallow the tiny piece of heart. Unusual foods weren’t my thing. A burger and fries always soothed my stomach. Anything more than that and I got a bit suspicious.

A wicked grin plastered on Kenji’s face. “They kill it in front of you to ensure freshness.”

“And what about the freshness of my vomit that is sure to come if he kills something else near my plate?”

Kenji laughed and brought that moment up the rest of the night as we sipped on snake liquor that he’d purchased from another restaurant near Piss Alley’s entrance. Snake liquor had been the weirdest thing I'd ever seen. It was a large bottle full of brown liquid and a snake corpse coiled in the center.

I'm absolutely not drinking that.

“What type of snake is that?” I focused so much on the bottle while we walked, that I bumped into a young girl who was talking to her friend. “Sorry.” I turned back to Kenji. “What sort of snake is that? Oh my God. It’s dead, right?”

“Of course. It’s a pit viper.”

“I hate snakes.” I tapped the bottle just to make sure he was right.

“This is
habushu
.” He moved the bottle to his other arm. “It’s not a drink for the weak at heart.”

“Rough stuff?”

“A buddy of mine used to say that it reminded him of Novocain. I have to agree. This stuff can numb your mouth after a few sips.”

“Yikes.” I scrunched my face up in horror.

“Yikes is right. It’s made in Okinawa, Japan. I’m not sure of the whole method. The alcohol is mixed with honey and herbs before the snake is submerged into the bottle.”

“Am I to assume the snake is already dead when it is inserted?” I asked.

“Ah.” He held one finger up. “Now this I know.”

“Of course you would. I’m sure putting a snake in a bottle is a specialty of yours.”

“Naughty Tora.” He changed his finger to the middle one and flipped me off. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

“And not in a good way.”

“We’ll see.”

“Go back to the snake, Lover Boy.”

“I only know of two ways. Some put the live snake into the bottle and let him drown in the liquor.”

“Jesus.”

“That’s life.”

“Not really. The snake didn’t ask to drown.”

“I thought you hated them.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. Continue.” I hooked my arm around his as the night wind ruffled my curls.

“Others freeze the snake, put him in the liquor, and then when he thaws—”

“Or she.”

“What?” Kenji asked.

“The snake could be a she.”

“Fine. When he or she wakes up—”

“It drowns in the liquor again. I don’t think it’s a good thing to be a pit viper in this part of the world.”

“No. Not when tigers and dragons roam about.”

That night we took shots of that devil’s water,
habushu.
My mouth transformed from normal to numb after the first one. After the second shot, I decided to dance on Kenji’s balcony. The third, we both thought it was a good idea to freestyle. By the fourth or fifth shots, we roared hip-hop lyrics out onto the Tokyo night air, until the tower turned its lights off and we kissed until we passed out right on the balcony floor.

How many more days do I have left? I'm
…
going to miss him.

The next day, we hit Ramen Street—a cluster of ramen shops on the basement floor of Tokyo Station. Those creamy noodles were the best thing for our horrific hangovers. We did more shopping in the afternoon. He bought me things, so many priceless items that I’d be forced to get another suitcase just to take them back to Brooklyn. Most of the time, I begged him not to spend any money on me. Each time, he ignored my wishes.

Our phones rang, and we ignored them. Neither of us explained why. For me, Zo and my mother called a lot. I had no logical explanations to give them for why I was now staying with Kenji and barely writing my book.

I realize this is crazy. I don't need those two to confirm it.

Kenji had his own problems. Someone called him all night and day, over and over. Each time he spotted their number, he flinched and was moody for an hour or so. Finally, I asked him who it was.

“My father.” He shut his phone off. “I've missed several meetings and he probably wants to know why I've destroyed twenty-five percent of our income.”

“He still has a lot of power with you?”

“Yes. Even though he's barely hanging on. He still holds the reins.”

“Maybe it's time to cut them off.”

He looked at me and held my gaze for a haunting minute. It freaked me out, and then suddenly, as if he'd never gone off in a daze, he whispered, “You're right.”

Okay. What does that mean? Shit. I have to watch what I say to him. Maybe “cut” was too strong of a word.

We'd entered a comfortable groove within his condo. He would cook breakfast. I’d clean up. We’d dress separately, which was odd. We still hadn’t made love without his clothes on. Sure, we kissed more than ever, and he touched me everywhere. There was no part of my flesh his lips and tongue didn’t know. So when the end of the second week arrived, I promised to stay one more week.

He’s still not ready to show me that full body tattoo.

During the last week's nights, I wrote until my fingers ran numb and my eyesight blurred. Seconds before my face would fall to the keyboard, Kenji would grab me, carry me into his huge bedroom, and lay me on his bed. He never slept there with me. He'd stopped lying by my side all of a sudden. I was so adamant about leaving. Maybe he was trying to safeguard himself. Those evenings, he crashed out on a small couch across from the bed, where he watched me second by second as my eyelids drooped and I mumbled tired gratitude.

Then one morning, I woke up and realized something.

The clock is ticking. Only three days left.

The last three days of my stay began my demise. I separated myself from him on those days, rushing out to the red-light district early in the morning before he woke up and jotting notes on last-minute details. I had to capture everything—the scent of the food being sold as I walked the street, the taste of the air, and the warmth of the business on the insides, the women's perfumes, and the buyers’ expensive colognes, the silks and luxury behind the rough-textured buildings that housed all pleasures.

But most of all, I needed to see if I could be free of Kenji.

What I discovered broke me. I didn't enjoy being away from him for those hours. Each minute, I reminisced on something he'd said or a moment when I let my guard down and let him taste me again.

He'd been doing that more, lowering himself to his knees and kissing me between my thighs at the most inopportune times.

We didn’t make love that last week, and there was no more mention of choking him or anything else.

What is he trying to accomplish by not fucking me?

So during the day I snuck away and traveled in this suffocating state of absence from him, worried that I would never get over my addiction to the Dragon.

And what did Kenji do?

He remained in his condo, waiting for my return, with his cell phone on silent and his haiku journal filling with more of his words on tigers and dragons.

Chapter 33

KENJI

Two more days. I don't think she's going to budge from her decision.

My phone rang. I shut it off.

I should’ve never turned the damn thing on.

I'd stopped counting how many times my father had called. My men came when Tora wasn't around. They begged me to go talk to him. I refused, and no one could say anything else.

I am the Dragon, after all. I don't need to listen to anyone, unless I want to.

My cousins came next and then my aunts. All of them begged me to see my father. They mentioned words like honor and legacy. I turned them all away. Where had honor been when I ordered men and women to die in these past years? What legacy was continued when I funded others to transport unlucky women into my country to fill my businesses?

“Father wants me to serve for him, but if I do, I'll do it my way.” I slammed the door shut on my uncles, the last of the bunch who tried, yet again, to change my mind.