Jon Athan - Am I Beautiful?

Guilt festered inside of him, rotting him from within. His head throbbed, overloaded by awful memories of infidelity and incivility. His own emotions, powerful and inescapable, sickened him. He was tired but he couldn’t sleep, depressed but he couldn’t cry, nauseous but he couldn’t vomit. He sat there and trembled, like a stray dog stuck in a storm.

He thought about calling Amber to confess, hoping it would clear his conscience, but he couldn’t do it. His survival instincts told him to survive . He felt bad for Miki, but they weren’t close friends. He couldn’t afford to ruin his life for someone he barely knew. There was too much at stake. He owned a house with Amber. They were trying to have a baby. He couldn’t give up a seven-year relationship for a one-night stand.

His tears plopping on the phone’s screen, he whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

He turned off his cell phone and put it in a drawer in the nightstand, hoping to stop himself from making any regretful calls. He was supposed to be attending business meetings with Dallas, but he was ineffective in his current condition. He started drinking from the minibar, chugging the small bottles of alcohol while lying in bed and watching Japanese variety shows on TV.

The sun fell beyond the horizon, painting the sky with broad strokes of violet, purple, and black. The stars weren’t visible from central Tokyo, even at the dead of night.

The landline phone rang.

Adam’s vision was blurred by the alcohol. He squinted at the phone as it rang again. He wasn’t expecting any calls to his room.

He picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”

He heard a distorted voice on the line—people speaking Japanese. Then there were five seconds of dead silence.

Adam stuttered, “Wha–What are you—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Miller. My name is Haruka Nishimura. I’m calling from the front desk. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“It’s fine. How may I help you?”

“Well, sir, you have a visitor in the lobby. And I’m sorry to inform you but meeting visitors in your room is against hotel policy. We can—”

“A visitor?” Adam repeated, raising his eyebrows quizzically. “Listen, I understand your policy, ma’am. I didn’t invite anyone to my room, so I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

He opened the nightstand drawer and turned on his cell phone. He wondered if he had missed any messages from Dallas.

Haruka said, “She says her name is Miki. I can’t allow her to visit your room, but I can give her a message for you if you’d like.”

Adam had stopped listening as soon as he heard Miki’s name. He went rigid, the landline phone sliding between his ear and his shoulder. The cell phone fell out of his hand and landed in the drawer with a loud thud . He looked back at the window behind him, then at the foyer of his room. His inner voice roared, a question echoing through his mind with frightening clarity.

‘ How the hell did she find me?! ’

Haruka said, “Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

“I didn’t invite anyone to my room,” Adam said. “I don’t know a ‘Miki,’ either, so I don’t have a message for her. Feel free to call the cops if she refuses to leave. Thank you.”

“Okay, sir, we will—”

Adam hung up the phone. He sat and stared at it, as if he were expecting it to ring again. Panelists on the variety show reacted to viral pet videos, laughter and gasps blaring from the television speakers.

After fifteen seconds, Adam yelled, “Fuck!”

He picked up the landline phone and started dialing ‘110’—the emergency number for the police in Japan. He stopped before he could press the ‘0’ key. He slammed the phone in the cradle and screamed. He reached into the drawer. The cell phone rolled into his hand. It took him a moment to unlock it because of his sweaty fingers.

He scrolled through his contact list. He thought about calling Dallas first. Adam had ruined some of their business meetings, but they were still close friends. Dallas’ advice wasn’t very effective, though. He went up and down his contact list repeatedly. He even thought about calling his recent business connections.

‘ Hello, Hayato-san. No, this isn’t about the meeting… Sorry to bother you, but… What should I do if a Japanese woman is stalking me? ’ It was a bizarre and inappropriate conversation.

He stopped on Amber’s name. He read it over and over, whimpering while rocking back and forth. He was dying to hear her voice. He sought comfort, assistance, direction, and relief from his distress. He wanted someone to tell him what to do. Women know women best, he thought. Amber might be able to help me. Maybe if I just tell her that Dallas had an affair… Dallas is being stalked… Dallas needs your help.

“Fuck!” he repeated as he threw his cell phone at the headboard, cracking the screen and shaking the whole bed frame.

He knew Amber would have seen through his lies. She would have asked too many questions and Adam’s story would have crumbled. He was in a hopeless situation, cornered in his own hotel room. He staggered towards the minibar and drowned his sorrow in whiskey. Alcohol was the original pain reliever after all.

He drank until he could hear the alcohol sloshing in his stomach as he paced. He swayed with each step. Cold sweat stood out on his forehead and soaked his underwear. His skin reddened as a warmth spread through his body. He wasn’t inebriated yet—he hadn’t reached the point of no return—but he was undoubtedly drunk.

“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered. “No, no, I–I can’t do dis… this right now.”

He grabbed one of the complimentary water bottles from the entertainment center. He tossed his head back and chugged it, trying to fight the alcohol. He lost his balance and fell onto the bed. The ceiling looked like it was spinning, turning slowly like a clock’s gear. He felt like he was on a wave at sea, the mattress replaced by a waterbed.

“Why–Why want… Why won’t… she leaf… leave me alone?” he mumbled.

Then he dozed off.

Adam’s eyes flickered open. He saw triple, then double. He sat up at the foot of the bed. The exaggerated gasps from the Japanese panelists—‘ Eeeeeeh? ’—drilled into his ears. He crawled across the bed, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television. The clock on his cell phone read: 10:22 PM . It had been a little over two hours since his mental breakdown.

“God, I could have killed myself,” he murmured.

He hobbled over to the entertainment center and grabbed another bottle of water, then he went over to the window. He saw thousands of bright lights—from cars, streetlamps, signs, offices.

Tokyo never slept.

He guzzled down the rest of the water, but he was still dehydrated. Fortunately, there were thousands of convenience stores across Tokyo—7-Elevens, Family Marts, Lawsons—and most of them were open 24/7. He dressed himself in casual jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black hoodie before heading down to the lobby.

He hadn’t forgotten about Miki’s visit to his hotel, but he was positive the staff had scared her away. They had a very strict no-visitor policy. Many Japanese hotels charged per person, not by room. He could have asked the staff for extra water, but he felt like an asshole after hanging up the phone on Haruka. He was tired of taking his problems out on everyone else.

He headed over to the closest 7-Eleven, which was right next door. He was welcomed by a young Japanese man behind the counter. The scent of fried chicken, sausage, and seasoned potatoes and hash browns at the counter made his nostrils flare and taste buds tingle. He went to the refrigerators at the back of the store.