Complex

Author's Note: I've had this story on my mind for a while now, so I'm excited to finally be writing it. Just as a quick note, there is a small—very small—religious reference in the very first scene of this chapter, but this is not going to be a religious story. Other than that, I have nothing to add. Please enjoy this chapter.



She's always laughing. She's always drinking. But now her body is limp on the bed and her eyes are smudged with eyeliner. She's vulnerable now, just like the rest of us.

I watch my mother with cold eyes from the balcony. The curtains sway with seeming dread, a premonition of my thoughts. I turn my eyes to the city, to the glowing moon and coal-black sky, to the foaming sea; and then to the silver railing, where my hand sits trembling. The metal is like ice and the night is cold—but something tells me to stay at that spot, to stare at the hard blacktop three stories down. It can all be over in a flash. In mere seconds.

The movie channel plays in the background, a world of its own, not swayed by our circumstances. I close my eyes. Something in me has shattered. It's been ten years, after all. Ten years of sleepless nights. Without thinking, I lean over the railing and push myself up over the edge. I can already feel the wind in my clothes, the rush of adrenaline as my body falls weightlessly. I can already see the other side, the complete darkness, the blackout of my bad experiences and thoughts—the nothingness. It's only when I feel myself starting to let go of the railing that my grandparent's religion hits me like a hard rush of wind.

Fire. Brimstone. Eternity.

What if...?

I remain frozen there for a while, the idea making me tremble. But the intrusive thought manages to work. Death has suddenly lost its luster. The cold metal in my grip is now like a snake trying to eat me alive. I hesitate, and then finally let go of it—but only to place my feet back on solid ground.

Life, you've won. Again.

Frustrated, I fight back the tears. My lips tremble from both fear and cold. I stay there a moment longer before the thought hits me; I don't have to think twice about it. I head inside, throw on clothes, grab my mother's car keys and purse, and make a dash for the hallway. As I shut the door, my stomach is sour. I don't know how far I'll get, but anything is better than this dump.



The street lights make the parking lot look a shady orange-black. I wonder how many crimes have taken place in the darkness, or in the gloomy light. I hesitate to leave the hotel for this reason, but start again when I realize I don't have anywhere else to go.

I rush to my mother's car, keeping my eyes on the ground. My footsteps cut through the distant sound of waves. When I find the car among the cluster of vehicles, I get inside, lock the door, and just sit still in the silence. For a while, it works, and I almost feel better. But soon, the stillness of the car betrays me. My negative thoughts begin to race, the deafening silence amplifying them significantly.

I turn the key to start the car. It doesn't work. I try again. It stutters but refuses to start. I turn it a third time. No matter how many times I try, it's the same thing. Of course, of all nights.

I hit the steering wheel in frustration, once, twice. I try to start the car again. It stutters. I let out a frustrated cry and try for the last time. To no avail. Faltering between sadness and irritation, I reach for my cell phone. It's not in my pockets or in my mother's purse. I run my fingers through my bangs in frustration.

Unwanted thoughts rush to my head as if a dam has been opened. My mother is a drunk, my father is a cheat, my friends have deserted me, and now I'm stuck at a dump of a hotel with no way to get the stupid car running. I don't care how idiotic the last thought is. I begin to cry. I cry like a pathetic little girl without restraint, letting everything out that I couldn't cry about before.

For several minutes, I don't do anything else. Each time I try to stop, another unwanted thought hits me, and I start to cry again. I'm sure if anyone is nearby outside, they think something is seriously wrong with me, or that I just want attention.

I wipe my eyes after a while, looking up, seeing the dismal light from the street through the windshield. It suddenly comes to me that everything is the same; my mother is still a drunk, my father is still a cheat, and my life, like an imploding black hole, has collapsed back on itself. Crying won't change anything.

The thought leaves me in a hopeless daze. I wipe the last of my tears and turn the key in the ignition. The car stutters.

Defeated, I get out of the car. Going back to the room isn't an option, but neither is sitting in a parking lot in the dark. I turn and head back to the hotel, not sure where to go or what to do next. I see a man dressed in dark pants at the entrance now, leaning against the outer wall. As I get nearer, I notice that he looks like he's in his early thirties, and...Japanese? Or Chinese? He has dark hair and short, shaggy bangs. He reaches into his pocket—and for a moment I wonder if he's going to pull out a gun—takes out a pack of cigarettes, lights one, but hesitates to put it to his mouth. As I approach, he snubs it out against the urn and sighs.

"Hey, how are you doing," he says, sounding more like a gesture of courtesy rather than genuine interest.

I stop. His English is better than I'd expected. I start to answer "Fine," to be courteous, but it's like everything that I'd been upset about before comes rushing back. I bite my lip, holding back tears.

"I can't…." It's a small squeak, just barely audible.

"What's that?"

I shake my head. There's no way I'm about to belt out my problems to a complete stranger, especially with my mind making all sorts of frightening assumptions. But the tears come anyways, against my will. I wipe my face quickly, not wanting to appear vulnerable.

He starts to come forward, then stops. "Hey. What's wrong?"

I shake my head again. I feel like an idiot. But what else can I do? I can't go back to the room; I won't go back to the room. But if I stay outside, this guy or someone else may be a criminal and do something to me.

"I'm just…lost," I say, not really thinking first before saying it. "Just…really lost."

"Lost in what way? Can you find your way around here?" He seems genuinely concerned now.

"I don't know," I mutter, feeling stupid.

"Do you have a phone? I can lend you mine if you need it."

"No thanks..." I sigh. "To be honest, I don't even know what I need."

The last part comes out sulkier than I intend. He looks at me with a curious expression, but after a while he seems to understand. Somehow. His concern changes to a smile, and he nods, looking away.

"Yeah. I know that feeling."

Now it's my turn to look at him curiously. My eyes trace his face, and I suddenly realize he's handsome for a guy his age. But I ignore the thought. Now's not the time to be thinking about stupid things. I focus my attention through the glass sliding doors of the hotel, to the lobby. It's probably the only other place I can go. Although, the idea of using the guy's phone to call a taxi might not be such a bad idea either. The hotel lobby surely has a phone behind the counter as well, but I'm not really comfortable with stalling their customer phone line for such a trite thing, especially when I have to call "Information" first for the taxi number. As I remain at that spot to ponder my options, I realize I probably look like a lost puppy. The man laughs and confirms my thought.

"You really do look lost," he says.

I nod, but can't force myself to laugh. "Yeah."

He hesitates, then pulls out another cigarette. This time he lights it, takes a long puff, and blows it out slowly. A look of relief crosses his face. I ease out of the way to avoid the fumes.

"Are you sure you don't need to use my phone?"

"I'm sure." I pause. It had left my mouth without thinking. Using his cell couldn't possibly be as big an inconvenience as using the hotel phone, though. "...Well, actually..."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver flip phone that reminds me of the year 2000. I take it from him with a quiet "Thank you." As I start to dial 411, I notice my fingers are trembling. Is it really that cold out, or am I just that nervous to be actually doing this? Where will I go anyways? I pause, my fingers hovering just above the keys. The man watches me with an interested gaze as he takes another puff.

"Calling a family member?" he asks after blowing out smoke.

My fingers refuse to move on the dial pad. "A taxi."

"Ah. Where are you headed?"

I would ignore the man's second question if he hadn't been kind enough to give me his cell phone to use. He's a stranger, so the idea of giving him my future whereabouts is somewhat unsettling. Then again, even I don't know where I'm headed. I quickly think of a lie.

"Erm, to a friend's house."

"Ah."

He continues to smoke. His interest seems to have faded for now.

Come to think of it, a friend's house probably wouldn't be so bad. Then again, who can I possibly call? I don't have any friends anymore. Should I call my grandmother then? But though she's closer than our house, she still lives miles away and probably doesn't have the energy to drive a long distance so late at night. My head begins to spin with all the options—too many options. Another hotel then? ...Though it's silly, it's probably my best bet. I'd settle with just buying another room at the current one, but the hotel staff would probably suspect something if they caught me using the same credit card my mother used earlier.

Another hotel it is, then. I dial 411 and motion to the man with my hand that I'm heading inside, for privacy's sake. He nods and watches me as I step through the first set of double doors. I stay in the small entrance area in front of the second set of doors to keep him from thinking I'll disappear with his phone. As I talk with the operator, I notice the man is still watching me through the glass. Though, not directly. He's sideways, and his eyes seem to flash over to meet me every now and then. I'd be cautious too about handing my phone over to a stranger at night.

I speak with the operator about the nearest Third Tree hotel and a taxi company I'm familiar with in these parts. I write down the information—thank goodness for mom's ridiculous assortment of pens and receipts in her purse—dial the taxi company, book my ride, and flip the phone closed with an exhausted sigh.

I exit the double doors and hand the phone back to the man with another quiet "Thank you." He smiles.

"Don't worry about it."

It's quiet for a while. The man finishes his cigarette and tosses it into the trash. He stretches with his hands behind his head, giving a tired groan before turning to look at me.

"So how long do you think it will be?"

"...Huh?" I ask somewhat dumbly.

"Before the taxi gets here."

"Oh. I dunno." I start to wonder if the man is only trying to make conversation in his boredom. "Maybe...fifteen minutes?" It's a pitiful-sounding guess.

He nods. "Where I live, taxis usually take...ten...fifteen minutes." He pauses. "Though, traffic can push it up to an hour sometimes. It depends. But it's so late now, I don't think there'll be a problem like that."

I nod. "Yeah."

I turn to face the parking lot, standing not too far away from him but not too close either. He doesn't seem like the kind of person to kidnap someone, at least from what I've seen so far. He seems pretty kind. Kind enough to let a stranger use his phone at night. Even so, it's good to be safe. I glance up at him, turning my head slightly enough so that he won't notice. He really is attractive.

Hey, now... What's wrong with me? This guy is probably in his thirties. And he looks foreign.

Though the last part isn't actually a valid reason, I look away. I could probably just head into the hotel lobby now to wait. But the man doesn't seem bothered by my presence. Would it be rude to leave and sit in the lobby instead? I sigh inwardly at my social awkwardness and try to think of a way to politely continue the conversation.

"So, taxis take around the same amount of time where you live?" It's a stupid, obvious restatement of his previous comment, but I can't think of anything else.

"Yeah. I live about three hours away. In a city that pretty much loves taxis."

He turns away to look at the street. When he doesn't elaborate further, I decide it's none of my business.

After a moment, he turns back to me. "What's your name, by the way? I'm Daichi."

I glance up at him in surprise. "I'm Kaleen."

Though it's very brief, he seems to stiffen up at my name.

"Ah. Kaleen, then. It's nice to meet you."

He smiles and holds out a hand. As we shake, I notice that his hands are surprisingly cold, even colder than mine. His grip is firm but somewhat hesitant, and for the first time I notice sadness in his eyes. He seems like the kind of person to keep sad feelings pushed to the back of his mind; I don't know why, but it's the first thought that crosses my mind when our hands part.

"Nice to meet you too."

It's quiet now. We stand and face the parking lot while the wind picks up. Daichi puts his hands in his pockets and yawns, his short hair fluttering. I watch him sideways for a while, then quickly avert my eyes to the street for any signs of the cab. When I absentmindedly glance at the cigarette urn, it suddenly dawns on me.

"Erm, not to sound rude, but... Are you waiting for someone?" I manage to ask. He's been standing outside for a while, his cigarette is gone, and the conversation has for the most part disappeared. There must be some reason he's still waiting around in the cold.

"No. Not really. I'm just...hanging around here for a while."

"Oh. I...see."

"I like listening to the waves. Helps me to think."

"Oh. Ah."

"It's kind of hard to hear them right now though. This damn wind." He laughs.

I nod, and surprisingly, chuckle myself. "It's pretty cold."

He turns to me curiously. "Come to think of it, are you chilly? The hotel lobby is pretty warm."

"I'd rather...wait out here. I can see the street better here."

"Ah."

He turns away. I start to wonder what's on his mind. But after a while, he laughs, as if trying to get rid of the silence.

"If you don't mind me asking...are you a runaway or something?"

I look at him in surprise, but he's smiling. It suddenly occurs to me that I've been acting suspicious, probably more suspicious than I had mentally accused him of being. Daichi had seen me walk up from the parking lot, crying, and soon afterwards I had used his cell to call a taxi to supposedly go "to a friend's house." I hadn't told him my real reason for needing to make the call—that my mother is a drunken mess and I can't stand to be in the same room with her. I haven't even told him that I was originally staying at the hotel. I probably look like a loiterer.

"No. I'm staying here with my mom for vacation..." I pause. "Well, I was. I don't want to go back to the hotel room..."

His eyes widen. "Something happen?"

I start to open my mouth, but I hesitate. Suspiciousness aside, didn't I say I wasn't going to belt out my problems to a complete stranger? But a part of me feels embarrassed; there's no way I want him thinking I'm a runaway or loiterer.

"My mother... Erm... She..." I search for the words carefully. "She likes to drink, so... And it got a little out of hand, so I left." I purposefully keep out the part about me attempting to kill myself. The last thing I need is to be sent to a mental facility.

His eyes widen again. "Did she hurt you?"

I shake my head.

"...Does she hurt you?" He asks it slowly, as if afraid a wrong word might set me off.

I shake my head again. My mother may be a loud drunk, but she's definitely not a violent one.

"I see..."

He stares at the ground for a moment, as if thinking about something. Silence passes between us. I find myself glancing sideways to look at him again, but when he lifts his head, I quickly focus back on the street. I feel embarrassed with myself all of a sudden. Not only is this guy probably in his thirties, but he also doesn't seem to have any more than a friendly interest in me. I'm not the type of person to go chasing after guys though. Not only that, but I've never had a relationship in my life. I try to assure myself that there's nothing wrong with simply looking at him. It's not like anything would come out of my being attracted to him anyways.

Daichi seems to notice my nervous eye-fumbling. Or at least, I think. When I glance over at him again, I detect the smallest of smiles in the corner of his mouth. It fades quickly though, and I'm left hoping with my life that he hasn't seen after all.

"By the way..." He pauses. "So, you have friends who will listen to you talk about these matters, right? I know from my experience that—" He cuts himself off. "I mean, general experience, that it can be lonely if you don't have someone to listen. I mean, that's what I think at least."

I nod, not sure where he's heading with this. Though, he's correct.

"I don't really have many friends," I say. "Well, actually...any right now. They don't seem to like hearing about these types of..."

I trail off. My face pales as a realization hits me. Did I just blow my own lie about going to a friend's house? Though, it shouldn't matter, should it? Being a stranger, he should understand, right? Daichi stares at me while my mouth bobbles silently. I don't know why I feel as embarrassed as I do.

"I see," he says. If he realizes my lie, he's good at hiding it. "Well...do you want friends?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I could lend a listening ear sometime if you want." At my look of surprise, he laughs. "Don't worry. I'm not trying to hit on you or anything. I know it probably sounds strange coming from a thirty-three-year-old guy, but..."

Oh, so he's in his thirties after all. I was right. At this point, I don't know what to say. I don't even know who this guy is. For all I know, he could be a creep. Though part of me wants to accept his offer of friendship, I'm not sure if it would be the smart thing to do.

"I'm...erm..." I fumble with my words, not sure what to say.

"To be honest, you... I don't know why I'm thinking this, and please forgive me if this sounds strange, but..." He smiles to himself, stumbling over his words as if trying to prove his innocence. "It feels like I'm talking to my daughter or something... I guess you could say I'm the fatherly, protective type... You seem like you need someone to talk to. And it doesn't seem like you'd be willing to do that with your mother...if I'm reading you correctly."

"No. I'm not." For some reason, his words give me a small feeling of disappointment. "...Your daughter? Do you have one?"

He starts to say something, then seems to change his mind. For the first time, I notice that he looks uncomfortable. "No... Not at the moment."

"Not at the moment?" I press him for an answer. If I'm going to be his friend, I at least want some kind of explanation.

He hesitates, but at my serious expression he seems to give up all hope of running around the issue. "My daughter... Well...I had one, but... She passed away, unfortunately." He smiles at me. "You remind me of her."

I nod. "Oh."

I feel guilty for pressing him. Though, the disappointment is still there. I turn to look back at the street, thinking hard.

It couldn't hurt to be friends with the guy. At least now I know he's not a creep—if he's not lying, that is. Having someone to talk to that isn't a part of my deranged family would be a good change of pace. If he ends up being a creep after all, I can just block him and call the police. It's not like I'm going to his house or anything.

Though I'm still hesitant, in the end, we end up exchanging numbers.



From the point of us exchanging our phone numbers—Daichi wrote his on paper since I didn't have my cell phone—the conversation fizzles down. Then, it slowly builds again as small talk. We talk about the weather and things like our favorite restaurants and amusement parks. The topics aren't very interesting to me, but I don't mind since it gives me something to do while I wait for the cab. All throughout our talk, I wonder what he's thinking. Part of me wonders if the reason he gave me his phone number is because he, too, is bored and doesn't have friends. But when the conversation accidentally switches back to him and his daughter again, I notice the melancholy on his face and realize that he really was being truthful before. He quickly changes the subject before I can ask him about it again.

When the taxi finally does arrive, thirty minutes after calling it in, I'm so cold that I feel like my skin will fall off like ice. I hadn't realized just how cold I was when I was talking to him. Or maybe I had, but just didn't care. We say our goodbyes and I swing open the door to the back of the vehicle. I feel disappointed that I can't continue our conversation. He watches me with a look of concern as we wave to each other.

"Just out of curiosity, do you have cash?" he calls from the sidewalk.

I nod. "My mother has some cash in her purse—"

I feel like hitting myself. The words had left before I knew it. Thankfully, Daichi doesn't seem like the type of person to call the police on me. ...Right?

He laughs, and my concern fades. "Alright. Have a good night."

"You too."

I shut the door behind me, feeling stupid. I tell the driver where to go, and the cab slowly pulls away. As we leave, I watch Daichi's face through the window.

The cab pulls around the circle and heads out of the lot. But as we drive away, I notice through the rear window that Daichi is finally heading inside. As the warm air from the cab's heater melts away my chills, and as I remember bits and pieces of our conversation, a realization hits me.

"...Are you waiting for someone?"

"No. Not really. I'm just...hanging around here for a while. ...I like listening to the waves. Helps me to think."

I lean over the purse in my lap and close my eyes.

That liar. He really is...a really kind person.