Monopolized

Right now, today, as I reflect on what I once felt for Makoto, all I can visualize is coldness. A block of ice impossible to break. Powerless, that's how I feel.

We were never the most compatible couple; in fact, anyone would say we hated each other for being so different. False, it wasn't like that. All our fights, disputes, or quarrels were a display of our energy. We didn't hold back each other.

But apart... Makoto, his expressions, his tone of voice, everything, with others, was different from how he was with me. In my mind, the impossible desire to be monopolized radiated strongly with every passing minute, but he didn't feel the same way.

Maybe I was too obvious, and that's why he got tired quickly. Every time a new girl appeared, he put me in the middle. He confused me; he didn't want to monopolize me, but I was his priority.

I was his priority until she came.

But I see him now, not Makoto, him.

Amidst the depths of fear, he and his sound always stood out like a lullaby, making all that weight feel lighter, the weight that did monopolize me.

☻☻☻

Makoto, my first love, the same one who had rejected me two years ago and whom I had been trying to avoid, had just appeared, as if nothing had happened, calm, giving a little knock just when I was ready to go and rest in my room. Without music, without Miyazaki, without him, just me, irritated.

But no, the world was against me, and Makoto had to appear at the most opportune moment.

"Ayumi?" he asked, astonished.

His confused expression was not surprising; after all, I had changed quite a bit since my departure.

My makeup had become modest but complex; I no longer limited it to a single lipstick. My hair was much longer, reaching halfway down my back. I no longer wore disheveled, baggy, monochromatic clothes. The Ayumi in front of him was not the Ayumi he remembered. I was sure of that.

"Yes, it's me..." I mumbled.

He smiled and took a step forward with the intention of giving me a hug, but again, an uncomfortable grimace appeared on his face. It was as if a strong gust of wind, laden with memories, shook him and finally warned him that the person he was about to touch was the same annoying friend who had tried to confess with a song.

Stopping abruptly, he forced another smile this time. "I didn't know you were back, no one told me." He glanced at all my friends who were sitting at the bar behind me, pretending not to hear anything and avoiding eye contact.

"There was no need to tell you, after all, I've been here for almost a month, and..."

"A month?!" His astonished exclamation interrupted me. He cleared his throat. "I'm really sorry."

I remembered those words, they were the last words I heard him say. I tried to hold back, not show any emotion.

"For not coming to see you!" But he had already realized it. "It's not like... Never mind."

I heard someone click their tongue, and when I turned back to the bar, there he was, arms crossed with that stupid mocking expression. "There are other people here besides you two!"

I hated him, I hated Miyazaki so much. When he saw my upset, he stuck out his tongue, and at that moment, I hated him a little more.

☻☻☻

We all ended up sitting at the bar talking about my job at a prestigious magazine like Cinderella City, partly to boast a little, partly to inform Makoto. Of course, I made sure to hide the existence of my roommate. I knew Makoto; I knew he would never accept the idea of me living with someone like Miyazaki.

When I finished speaking, I could see a certain astonishment in Makoto's eyes. Yes, he was proud, I knew it. It was the same look he had when I passed an exam. But the worst part was not that, the worst part was knowing that making him proud of me made me happy. I hated it, I hated craving his approval.

"It's incredible, you've changed so much," he smiled and I blushed, nervous, shaking my head while taking a sip of my tea.

"If you say so," I heard Miyazaki mutter under his breath.

Makoto, confused, raised one of his eyebrows and pointed at him with his index finger. "Who is this, by the way?"

That's when we realized that after talking so much about me, no one had mentioned a word about Miyazaki. Worried glances were exchanged, and no one dared to bring up the topic until, after a long minute, Miyazaki decided to dive in. "I'm Ayumi's lover".

"What?!" Irritated, I shook my head. "No, no, he's Miyazaki Kazuhiro, the lead singer of Mystical Key!"

"What?" But Makoto was still puzzled.

"The new punk-rock group! You've heard them countless times at the bar!" Minato exclaimed, giving Makoto a gentle pat on the back. "Ayumi and him are going to be working on an interview for their magazine for a while."

"Oh, I see," but I knew he still had many questions swirling in his head. His tense eyebrows gave it away. He sighed, "I'm sorry for not remembering you, but I usually don't pay much attention to that dreadful mix of infernal sounds."

It was not a surprise. That was Makoto's usual way of describing punk rock. Normally, we would ignore it and change the topic of conversation, but this was not a normal occasion. Miyazaki was with us.

"It's an explosion of emotions," and Miyazaki wasn't going to stay silent.

"What?" Makoto asked.

When I saw their eyes lock, I could sense hostility. Sparks were flying from Makoto to Miyazaki and from Miyazaki to Makoto, as if they were about to tear each other apart at any moment.

"It all starts with water, water heating up, coming to a boil," holding a beer bottle in one of his hands, Miyazaki caressed the glass with his free hand. "And at some point, you'll know when, you'll let the reactant come into contact," he closed his hand into a fist and then opened it, simulating an explosion. "The reactant it mixes with, which comes into action with the water, is emotion, adrenaline, dopamine, everything that makes you feel alive thanks to a drum solo or a guitar riff."

"That sure is deep," Makoto said in a monotone tone. "But it still sounds terrible."

"Maybe it's because you only listen with your ears. You have to listen with your heart, your head, your body," Miyazaki paused and chuckled. "Don't you know how sex works?"

Makoto, bewildered, blinked several times, trying to process Miyazaki's words. His ears were turning red.

After a few seconds of silence, the sound of a door opening surprised us, and when we turned towards it, there they were. Mystical Key.

"Kazu, if you were going to hang out with Kougami, at least let us know!" Oosawa scolded him.

Three guys, panting, had just appeared.

Mystical Key consisted of four guys: Oosawa Kento, the tall, blond bassist; Murakami Kenichi, the slightly taller drummer with black hair and a characteristic goatee; Sakamoto Hideki, the rhythm guitarist, as tall as Oosawa with brown hair always tied in a bun; and the last one, Miyazaki, whom his bandmates were looking for.

I knew the guys because I had to interact with them when they came to our apartment looking for Miyazaki, but this was the first time I saw them outside.

"We've been calling you for two hours to find out where you were. Could you at least answer?" Sakamoto continued shouting.

"Finding you is very difficult; you leave no trace," Murakami laughed.

Miyazaki just kept drinking, completely ignoring their shouts as the rest of us observed the scene.

And so, the open mic night began.