It's the old stories that get you...

“I’m leaving!” A somewhat violent, somewhat completely invigorated young voice yells down the empty office.
“Mia! It’s about time!” This time an older voice, somewhat world weary, leans in.
“Boss, you know—“
“I know you have to eat, my little one!” The first voice laughed, as the lights in the streets winked out, and a car honked as it passed the headquarters.
“Little one.” She laughed, a short, sad sound. “You sound like my mother.” The woman picked up her purse, and old, ragged black thing with beads on the straps, and sighed. “I’m going home. G’night, Boss.”
“’Night, Mia. Good luck tomorrow. Make me proud.” Her boss laughed and the lights on the street twinkled back on as the elevator sprang open and the young woman disappeared into its mirrored depths.
She sighed after the door closed, leaning self-consciously against the back mirror wall. Who knew she would be here of all places working her small life into nothingness. Before she knew it, her laugh came back, and the memories, the nostalgia.
“You have a sad laugh.” He looked at her with such tender eyes. She knew they were fake. Glazed with tenderness so she would accept him, believe him. His hand touched her cheek, which was flushed with drink. “Why?”
“Sadness,” she hiccupped, her hand over his, her eyes downcast. She didn’t want to look into the fake eyes. “Sadness follows me.” She couldn’t - wouldn’t- fight life anymore.
She gave in.
Her laugh didn’t bubble up again. Her eyes didn’t meet any strangers on the subway. No fake smile grasped her lips. She couldn’t fight it anymore. She couldn’t win.
The city, the cursed place, flashed around her. She was drunk with light, with neon and steel. Her heart pulsed with the rhythmic bass of the clubs, her breath steamed below her. She had to get out of here. She had to escape. New York City could not drown her. It fought her, paralyzed and drugged her, but she would never give in. She didn’t realize she had run from the subway station. Her breath appeared in gasps before her, steamy. Her jacket hung limp around her arms, her hair had fallen out of its precise bun. Hesitantly, she turned the key to her condo.
Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe she wouldn’t have to say goodbye. It’s not that she didn’t want to part, and saying goodbye would just be easier on her strained emotions and fragile heart. Please.
“There you are.” Too late. She closed the door, a new foal rounded into a corner, and the smell of cooking drifted over her. “You’re home late.” She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to look at him.
She tried to stop him, but how could she? He thought he knew her, could use her. That’s the girl she wanted him to know. She was tired of that girl.
“Get in bed. You leave tomorrow and I want a proper goodbye.” She knew it would be rude to refuse. Her arms locked to her sides, her legs robotic, she walked to the bedroom. He didn’t even notice the limpness of her walk, the sadness on her face.

She escaped before he awoke. A year of practice could easily let her slip out of bed without disturbing him. She never said goodbye. Well, not the proper, the civil, the loving way. His way of goodbye made her sick.
The airport wasn’t too crowded, but the noise drowned out her sorrows. She didn’t have to think beyond what gate she had to get to.
“Now boarding flight 1014 for Tokyo, Japan. Please have your ticket and ID out.”
The drone of voices stemmed her thoughts. Nothing else. Nothing. She had felt like this for years. Years. Ten, in fact. She had let her life drift to places she didn’t want; she had let the city, the pressure, blind and deafen her. Did she have a right?
“All first class passengers may now board.” First class. Japan. Her boss really wanted her to do well. Of course, the merger could bring about fantastic change. And it was all up to her.
“Sucker.” She whispered and handed over her ticket.

“Welcome to Tokyo, Japan.” The voice over the airport intercom charmed.
“I’m here.” She had wanted to come to this place since she was a little girl. At first, when her boss told her about the opportunity, she had blanched. Japan. No, not Japan. Why not Turkey? Siberia? Norway? But this was Japan! Her mind fought itself.
“One day,” a sound, happy, like nothing could get him down, began. “We’ll go to Japan. You and me! Together!” And her picked her up and spun her, his eyes bright with promise.
“You promise?” Her voice sounded young as joyfully as the boy’s that swung her; trusting though she asked the question. A giggle of naïveté and happiness issued from the couple.
“I promise.”
Enough time had been spent over that memory. She didn’t want to spend more time worrying over that. She was in Japan, about to do something that could boost her career, about to go through an entirely new experience.
“I bet he never even came to Japan…” And with that sick remark, she stepped out of the airport and embraced the new culture.

She had been in Tokyo for two weeks now. It had not been how she wanted to spend her time in Japan. And so, she decided to go to Kyoto. A quick vacation. The merger wasn’t going as planned; the language barrier was, of course, not an issue, but there was another business, one that had taken up her time, her offer, and taken the Japanese corporation by surprise and pushed her to the sideline.
A trip to Kyoto would help. The bullet train fascinated her every time (even though this was only the second) she rode it. She had told the company in mind that there was another company, whose name she would not say (and who, in fact, did not really exist) that wished to speak about merging. Her cleverness made her smile. Oh, she was wicked! She would have never done that with—no. That was a long time ago. People change. She changed. Her cloak of cleverness vanished, and she felt exposed.
It wasn’t long until Kyoto, and so, to wipe her mind clean, to no longer feel or think, she watched the countryside speed on beside her.
She couldn’t stop from thinking. 
“Let’s run away.” He was completely serious. His eyes didn’t flash, didn’t sparkle. His voice didn’t float on the wind, didn’t encircle and enliven her. It fell within her and vibrated her soul. He was the only person who could shake her to her very core.
“We’ll travel the world.”
“But—love, we have no money.” He hushed her with a kiss. Something she could still feel outside the memory. He suffocated her, breathed life into her; chilled and heated her; comforted and enlivened her. He was the ultimate paradox. Before she opened her eyes, he encircled her and whispered.
“It doesn’t matter…we have each other.”
How could she still think of him like that? How?!
Kyoto blurred to a stop in front of her and it took her a moment to regain her composure before she left.

That night, she received a call.
“Mia, you left without another goodbye. What’s with that?”
She didn’t want to answer him.
“I woke up late.” She never before lied as much as she did these days. “I forgot.” He was stupid. He believed her.
“Pick me up at the Tokyo Airport in three days.” He wanted to surprise her, and he did. She hung up the phone. Lost the connection, she would tell him. She didn’t want him here.
Could she run away? Not go?
No. She wasn’t like that.

Three –well, sort of- days of relaxation hadn’t helped her rather sour mood. But she went to the airport and waited. She leaned against a barrier, looking a foreigner but as comfortable as a native.
“Don’t you look menacing.” She saw him coming, and her body tensed. She didn’t want his mouth over hers. She didn’t want to feel him. She couldn’t stop it though.
“All in white, with those lovely golden locks and striking blue eyes…” He touched her hair, ran his hands through it. She wanted to take a bath.
She pulled away from him, her hand slipping from his. “Let’s go. I have work to do.”
“You better be back by eight. I want to take you out.” She had no choice. It was that or anger him. She hailed a taxi, a bright yellow thing, the touch of the West, and took him to her hotel.
His words struck her over and over. ‘Such striking blue eyes…’
“You’re so beautiful.” And she knew he meant it. She would never tell him that though.
“No, I’m not.” She kissed him before he could protest. “I don’t think I am.”
“Well, I do,” he pinned her to the grass they were picnicking on and smiled down at her gently. “You’re eyes.” He came closer and his eyes swam in her vision. She tried to look away but he wouldn’t let her. “Striking. Beautiful. Bright and dark and warm and cold all at the same time. A starburst.” He laughed, his hazel eyes warming her, his voice a carousel ride of promises and hope. “Like you.”
“Starburst.” She didn’t realize she had said the word out loud. Starburst. It was his word for her.
“Starburst? What do you mean by that?” His voice reprimanded her, though he looked out the taxi window, his cold eyes never looking away, never looking at her. “Oh, look at that!” Selfish bastard. He spoke about something outside his window, his eyes wide, his mouth open like a child’s who found a new toy. She didn’t hear him. She didn’t want to hear him, just like he didn’t want to see her.

She didn’t go back to work that day. He tried to keep her, to tangle her in sheets, but his pleasure, his perfect face made her sick. She didn’t want perfection. She wanted an escape; and right now, that wasn’t him. It would be later, when drink had her and soberness faded.
Tokyo held things that she had yet to see. It was a shame she looked so like a foreigner. She could never blend in with the Eastern, Asian culture. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin seemingly never touched but by snow, and a tall height restrained her. She walked around though, her blue eyes never looking anyone in the face. She didn’t want to see them.
A little shop barraged her sight. “Anime! Manga!” Blared out from a bright neon green sign; an obvious tourist trap. Her old fantasies caught up with her and she had to go in. Ah, the very fragrance filled her mind with the countless pages she had of these books. She never read them anymore, of course, but she never threw away a book. She picked one out at random. “Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicles” appeared in her hand. Of course. Her favorite love story. Sickened, she threw it back on the shelf, turned away and faced a gorgeous kimono.
She lay underneath the sun on his backyard porch. “What if I got married in a kimono?” Was she seriously thinking that? She knew he would laugh. Instead, he came and sat beside her, encircling her like he always did.
“You can get married in rags for all I care!” She turned and hurt covered her face, but something stopped her gaping mouth from uttering a word.
His smile rang out like his voice, “As long as you marry me.” And the world glistened.
Why did these memories barrage her? What were they about? She ran out of the store, to the chagrin of the owners and found the nearest clock. August 20th, 2015: 6:01 P.M. rolled across the neon screen. That’s why. That’s why.
August 20th.
That’s why.

“How’s the merger coming along?” Her boss sounded worried; she would be happy within a moment.
“They loved out ideas. They want to merge!” She tried to sound excited. Her boss yelled on the other line, and all she heard before she hung up was, “You’ll stay there and head our Tokyo headquarters!”
No. She didn’t want to stay here. She wanted out. She had no choice.

They celebrated that night. Or rather, she got as drunk as she could and he used her. It always went like that. She didn’t fight it. What was the point?

Almost two months passed since that day, and to outsiders her life seemed perfect. She ran the headquarters in Japan, hosted huge international parties every weekend, and had a gorgeous live-in boyfriend. Yes, perfect. The red light of Tokyo tower glared down at her. It blinked on and off and every once in awhile she felt hypnotized by it.
“You ready?” His voice never flowered or soaked through, and part of her berated him for that. It was a cold voice. Harsh. And it shattered her each time he spoke. The red light blinked off as she turned.
“Do I look ready?” She didn’t try to mask her cynicism.
“You look menacing, as always.” Did he think that a compliment? She didn’t wait any longer. The party of the weekend awaited her downstairs.
She looked alright, she assumed. A red dress clung to her, with a flowing train down two inches so she seemed to glide rather than simply walk. A low, off-the-shoulder top hugged her shoulders. Pearls decorated her neck and ears. One ring glittered on her finger; a right handed simple silver band she never took off.
The usual faces glanced up at her. Five hours. Then some well deserved sleep. Maybe one champagne would do her good. Maybe it would blur all this mess.
“Oh, ma’am, I must say--” The words faded away. They were the same words she always heard. Nothing new. Nothing new. They were inferiors sucking up to their boss. Did anyone care about her here at all? She knew they didn’t. Then again, who was she to speak: she didn’t care about any of them either. They were hers and she used them as she pleased. No remorse tackled her mind, tickled her psyche or twisted her stomach. They were there so she didn’t have to think, to move. She had to breathe, inhale deeply and exhale softly, and they respected and treasured her. Maybe she never got enough love as a child?
“Yes, that’s nice. I really must see to everyone else. If you’ll excuse me?” Did she see some hurt on that face? That face who remained nameless. That face who meant nothing more to her than an ant. As though magicked into motion, she headed, not towards anyone, but towards the bar. She needed liquor. She needed a slight buzz.
“You always said you wanted to travel the world.”
Her hand stopped on the champagne glass neck she had been about to take from the counter, shaking. The waiter hired for the night stood stone-still before her. Her eyes faded in and out of color so rapidly he didn’t know what to say. Her face turned white, all the blood drained, an invisible vampire.
“You wanted to become an ambassador though, not vice-president to an American Corporation in Tokyo.” The voice stopped, as though debating whether to hurt, love, touch, or run. “Did you travel your world then?”
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. It couldn’t be. That voice echoed in her head. That rich, deep voice echoed in her head. It had never sounded so close, so like that before.
“I’m not an echo.”
Only one person could read her mind like that. He had died a long time ago. She didn’t turn around. She looked up at the waiter, ignoring the man behind her, and in a voice thick with loathing and sadness asked the date.
“The fourteenth of October, ma’am.” He fled before her cold, bright gaze killed him.
“Didn’t you know?” The voice behind her said. “Ironic…” Was he being serious? Sad? Happy? She didn’t know what to do, but whatever it would be, she knew she had to do it quickly.
Slowly, champagne glass shaking, she turned and faced him. “Please.” She whispered. “Be a ghost.” He didn’t hear her. She didn’t want to look up. She had to. No Yes. Inch by inch, floor to ceiling, she looked up.
He had grown. Filled in. Matured. But he hadn’t lost his joy. Why? She had lost hers! Why not him? He stood four inches taller than her now, four inches in a decade. He had thinned. Not too much, but just enough that his black tux fitted him nicely, showing off his broad shoulder and trim torso. He had cut his hair short. Unusual. She didn’t like it.
No, she loved it.
His eyes showed the smile that his lips could not. Rich, full lips that life had given him. A pale face, toned at the cheek and fragile at the eyes. Long lashes over honey mahogany eyes stained with drops of green.
She looked at a point behind him. She couldn’t get lost in his eyes. Not here. Not now. He’ll disappear soon enough. He always did.
“David.” People prided her on a commanding speech and tone, a commanding presence. This died on her lips. This name. This man. It was a foreign word. She had never called him that before.
“David?” He echoed, and his hand reached up to touch her cheek, her lips that called him a name he had never heard her say. He wanted to make her look him in the eye. She wouldn’t give in. This was one thing she would forget.
“Mia!” She jumped. That wasn’t his voice, his world, warm and inviting, sheltering and comforting despite her hatred. Where was she? Who called her like that? She looked around him, but she didn’t move. He wouldn’t move either. Their feet had locked them in place, facing each other and no one else. His eyes turned cold and she felt them covering his skin, prickling the flesh. She felt exposed suddenly.
“Oh! Frank!” She didn’t know that last time she had called Frank, that parasite that attached itself to her, that name.
Frank rushed her and smothered her lips. She didn’t want that. But like usual, she didn’t protest. What would he say? She wanted to see his reaction, and so she broke the kiss- if it could be called such.
“Mia, who are you talking to?” She didn’t like Frank being so forward. She knew inside Frank boiled with anger and possession. She had never liked that. But she answered him quickly anyway.
“This, Frank, is David. David, this is Frank, the New York Times reporter: Frank Bulchex.” She felt like she babbled over this Frank, this nothing. Her hand touched Frank’s chest as Frank’s arm clamped on her waist.
He looked down at her. Did he see Frank? How gorgeous he was? Did he see how happy she was?
Happy? No. Miserable.
“You two make a lovely couple.” He didn’t believe her for a moment and they both knew it. He said that out of etiquette, out of jealousy and anger. Frank didn’t notice; God had not blessed the man with intelligence, and so Frank continued to look around the room at all the pretty little people.
“A lovely couple…” She echoed, and finally connected with his eyes.
“Hey! Ashley!” Her best friend called to her. Her real name. Her real self. “How you’ve been? How’s Dave?” She didn’t answer, but blushed.
“Oh, if I ever had one thing come true,” her friend sighed, leaning casually against the lockers. “It would be to have a relationship like you have with Dave.” She smiled, her lips couldn’t hide it any longer.
Her breathe caught in her throat, tangled her dress and mind and hair and overwhelmed her. Wide with fear, she lowered her gaze from him. She couldn’t take it.
Ashley. Dave. Those were two names she hadn’t used in a decade. More. Who were those people? They were the people in his eyes. In the mahogany as it met blue.
“Always a starburst but not any longer.” He whispered to her and her alone before disappearing into the mass of people she didn’t care about.