it’s flat. Dori —what is he doing?” Ichi cocked his head, studying the flickering screen. “How the hell can that one make a battery out of salt water and coconuts, but they can’t fix the fricking boat? Explain that to me.”
“It’s a TV show. You telling me they don’t have fictional shows in Japan?” He kept his voice light, but it was difficult, especially with Ichiro’s long, warm body snuggled up against his.
“There are! They’re just not like… this. This is… I’m pretty sure the one with the batteries is gay. He doesn’t even look at the women.” A bit of tequila sloshed out of Ichi’s glass as he waved it around, making his point to a fairly empty room. “I didn’t watch a lot of television in Japan. There was never any time. No time for anything.”
“Isn’t that what kids are supposed to do when they come home from school? Grab something to eat that’s bad for them and watch stupid television. Those fake monster shows came from over there. Someone had to be watching them.” Bobby took the glass from Ichiro before he could spill any more alcohol on the couch. Not that his couch was pristine by any means, but Bobby was pretty certain it was about three drops of alcohol away from being incendiary if someone had so much as a brilliant idea near it. “Color-coordinated suits, bendy ninja moves—”
“Nope, not for the heir to the Tokugawa family. I went from school to more school. Then I woke up for more school. Like my father before me and his father before him,” Ichiro mumbled. He touched his lips, skimming them with his fingertips. “I’m numb. I mean, I was numb before, but this… wow. I can’t feel my lips.”
“Too much tequila. How about some coffee, and then you tell me why you went to school twenty-four seven?” Bobby was about to get up off the couch when Ichiro put a hand out across his chest, stopping him from moving.
“No, no coffee. Not yet. Numb is good.” Ichi’s eyes lost focus and grew wet. “Fucker. God, I hate him. Spent all my fucking life trying to be good enough for him, you know? And all he did was push-push-push. He would say to me all the time, ‘Be your own man, heppiri .’ Total lie. He didn’t want that.”
“What does that mean? Heppiri ?”
“His nickname for me. It means useless person. Said calling me that would make me rise to challenge him. He lives to fight—to dominate. It is his… I think he masturbates to that emotion. Causing others pain for no reason other than his own pleasure.”
Bobby frowned, not liking the picture Ichiro was painting. “What about your mom? Did she say anything to him?”
“Ah, Bobby, my mother—she was a piece of rice soaked too long in hot water. People tell you she’s nourishing, but there is no taste, nothing to fortify you. I hear Cole’s pain in his voice when he talks about missing her in his life, and I want to tell him, she was not strong.” Shifting on the couch, he gave Bobby a mournful look. “He would have spent his entire life trying to get her attention, but she was—she would look past you, even if you were her son. She was a ghost the moment she was born. And I loved her, but… she was not someone to reach for. Your hands would go right through her.”
“Well, the one he got in return wasn’t a picnic. I think he’d rather have had your mom—and you—instead of Barbara. That is one cold bitch. She and Cole’s dad take asshole to a new level.” Bobby rubbed at Ichiro’s arm. “Your dad doesn’t sound any better.”
“You know he used to blame my mother because I’m stupid—well, I sucked at some parts of school, but stupid?” Ichi snorted. “He used to blame my mother. Said she was a bad influence.”
“Was she?” Bobby traced the vibrant inked lines on Ichiro’s bared forearm. “You had to have gotten this kick from someone.”
“Hah. She was like plaster on the wall in my life. A firm substance of my house but added nothing to function. I don’t
“It’s a TV show. You telling me they don’t have fictional shows in Japan?” He kept his voice light, but it was difficult, especially with Ichiro’s long, warm body snuggled up against his.
“There are! They’re just not like… this. This is… I’m pretty sure the one with the batteries is gay. He doesn’t even look at the women.” A bit of tequila sloshed out of Ichi’s glass as he waved it around, making his point to a fairly empty room. “I didn’t watch a lot of television in Japan. There was never any time. No time for anything.”
“Isn’t that what kids are supposed to do when they come home from school? Grab something to eat that’s bad for them and watch stupid television. Those fake monster shows came from over there. Someone had to be watching them.” Bobby took the glass from Ichiro before he could spill any more alcohol on the couch. Not that his couch was pristine by any means, but Bobby was pretty certain it was about three drops of alcohol away from being incendiary if someone had so much as a brilliant idea near it. “Color-coordinated suits, bendy ninja moves—”
“Nope, not for the heir to the Tokugawa family. I went from school to more school. Then I woke up for more school. Like my father before me and his father before him,” Ichiro mumbled. He touched his lips, skimming them with his fingertips. “I’m numb. I mean, I was numb before, but this… wow. I can’t feel my lips.”
“Too much tequila. How about some coffee, and then you tell me why you went to school twenty-four seven?” Bobby was about to get up off the couch when Ichiro put a hand out across his chest, stopping him from moving.
“No, no coffee. Not yet. Numb is good.” Ichi’s eyes lost focus and grew wet. “Fucker. God, I hate him. Spent all my fucking life trying to be good enough for him, you know? And all he did was push-push-push. He would say to me all the time, ‘Be your own man, heppiri .’ Total lie. He didn’t want that.”
“What does that mean? Heppiri ?”
“His nickname for me. It means useless person. Said calling me that would make me rise to challenge him. He lives to fight—to dominate. It is his… I think he masturbates to that emotion. Causing others pain for no reason other than his own pleasure.”
Bobby frowned, not liking the picture Ichiro was painting. “What about your mom? Did she say anything to him?”
“Ah, Bobby, my mother—she was a piece of rice soaked too long in hot water. People tell you she’s nourishing, but there is no taste, nothing to fortify you. I hear Cole’s pain in his voice when he talks about missing her in his life, and I want to tell him, she was not strong.” Shifting on the couch, he gave Bobby a mournful look. “He would have spent his entire life trying to get her attention, but she was—she would look past you, even if you were her son. She was a ghost the moment she was born. And I loved her, but… she was not someone to reach for. Your hands would go right through her.”
“Well, the one he got in return wasn’t a picnic. I think he’d rather have had your mom—and you—instead of Barbara. That is one cold bitch. She and Cole’s dad take asshole to a new level.” Bobby rubbed at Ichiro’s arm. “Your dad doesn’t sound any better.”
“You know he used to blame my mother because I’m stupid—well, I sucked at some parts of school, but stupid?” Ichi snorted. “He used to blame my mother. Said she was a bad influence.”
“Was she?” Bobby traced the vibrant inked lines on Ichiro’s bared forearm. “You had to have gotten this kick from someone.”
“Hah. She was like plaster on the wall in my life. A firm substance of my house but added nothing to function. I don’t
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