A Dissection of the Heart

Slow Burn

“Hoka no darekaga watashi no rūru ni shitagau no ga muzukashī to omoimasu ka?” (Does anyone else find it difficult to follow my rules?) Rosalind asked no one in particular, menace dripping from her unnaturally cheery voice as she scanned her eyes over the party guests. “Bangō? Yoi. Pātī no nokori o o tanoshimi kudasai.” (No? Good. Enjoy the rest of the party.) She excused herself, making her way to the back door and slipped inside. She gently closed the door behind her and leaned her back against the cool wood, releasing a sigh. She focused on her breathing, willing herself to take deeper breaths as her heart raced with a shot of adrenaline. With one last slow exhale she gently pushed herself off the door and numbly trudged towards her room.

Outside, murmurs were exchanged about the golden haired spitfire who took down a trained yakuza member. “I think it’s best if everyone gets going,” Speciale said, motioning to the party of inebriated men. Jiro and Isao shared a tense look for a moment before Isao broke it off, smirking to Speciale. “Yeah sure,” he nodded before standing from the table and motioning for his men to follow to the cars. Jiro sat silently, watching Isao and his men like a hawk until they disappeared into the darkness surrounding the lit pagoda. When he heard the slamming of car doors and the sound of engines turning over, he flicked a hand in his second in command’s direction.

“Yoshi, ikou!” (Alright, let's go!) The man shouted to those who were left and began ushering the men out until it was only Jiro and Speciale illuminated under the twinkling awning. A tense silence surrounded them, making Speciale squirm under the weight of Jiro’s cold gaze. He cleared his throat, “I, uh, better go check on her or somethin’,” Speciale trailed off, hitching his thumb towards the silent house. Jiro nodded quietly and Speciale took it as an okay to leave. “I’ll just clean up a little out here then,” Jiro suddenly said matter-of-factly, as he began gathering plates and cups to dump into one of the several trash cans around the edge of the pagoda. Speciale froze a moment, dumbfounded at the thought of this rich, cruel, yakuza leader picking up trash at someone else’s house. He shook his head with a frown and went inside to find Rosalind.

“Yo, Andi!” He shouted, his call reverberated through the dead-still house. He walked down the hall, his ears straining to hear any evidence of life within the darkened walls. Hearing no sound coming from the direction of the kitchen, he decided to check her bedroom first. He pressed his ear to the door, knocking gently. “Andi?” He called quietly, closing his eyes to focus his energy into his sense of hearing. After what felt like an eternity he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the sound of feet padding softly across the room reached him through the door.

He smiled gently as the door opened slightly. Rosalind was there, still in her sundress though she had ditched the heels. “What do you want?” She asked harshly, the light behind her once bright eyes were now dim embers being smothered by the ice creeping through her veins. Speciale held up his hands as if to show he wasn’t a threat to her, as if she were some wild animal. “Nothing more than your pretty smile,” He cooed, shooting her a wink. Even as numb as she felt, she couldn’t help the weak chuckle that escaped her. “You’re such an i***t,” she sighed with a half-hearted smile. “Yeeeah,” He said, placing his hands in his pockets, “But I’m your idiot.” Speciale wagged his eyebrows at her, eliciting more weak giggles from her chest.

“You good?” He asked after a beat.

“I will be.” She answered back honestly.

“That’s good enough for me then, I’m going to go home,” He nodded, giving her a hug. “Oh yeah, Jiro’s cleaning up in the back.” He shot her a look of shock, mouth agape and all, “Think his highness will clean my place next?” He laughed, jumping back to dodge the smack on the arm she attempted to land. Laughing harder now, he ran for the front of the house, calling his goodbyes over his shoulder.

Rosalind hesitated at her door, listening as Speciale exited her house, the ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips. He had made her feel a little better but that hollow chill crept back into her bones all too soon, leaving her frowning to herself. She was too wrapped up in her own melancholy to even notice Jiro slipping in the back door with the alcohol and glasses she had abandoned outside. Numbly, she watched as he hesitantly navigated her halls, for the first time in a long time the ice king of the yakuza was unsure. She followed him at a distance as he tried a couple doors, getting a bit more frustrated with each turned knob when it was not the way to the kitchen.

“It’s down this hall to the right,” She said at last, breaking the silence that settled around her home. “Iesusama!” (Jesus woman!) Jiro gasped, fumbling with the glasses that threatened to fall to the floor from his scare. A bemused smirk tugged at Roz’s full lips, satisfied she could pull emotion from the outwardly stoic Jiro Watanabe. He gave her an irritated glare before his mask descended once more and he walked off down the hall with Roz trailing behind him. She kept his pace, never straying more than a few steps from his retreating back.

Jiro turned into the kitchen and deposited the empty glasses into the sink, deftly ignoring Roz’s gaze sweeping across his body as she leaned against the doorframe, a smirk slightly turning up her lips. “My, my, my,” she purred, “A man that helps around the house, truly a marvel.” She noted the slight tint of red on his cheeks at her comment. Apparently she hit a nerve for the big bad yakuza member. She gazed at him through half lids, the numbness slowly shifting from the alcohol inside her, making her thoughts a little hazier and her blood burn.

“You maybe drank too much, no?” Jiro replied coolly as he lined up the bottles on her counter, avoiding looking at her for too long. He knew he had to stay in control, humans were merely animals after all, and they often wanted what they could not have. If she wanted his attention, he was going to make her earn it. He waited a beat in the silence of the darkened house, hearing her inhale as she prickled at his comment.