Day 09 - Now we must walk together, but I will keep my mouth shut

Having a sugar-powered Japanese fangirl
handcuff herself to me
was the closest I ever came to stardom.
She potholed through the crowds' legs
prematurely - my fame already failing,
a momentary sputter of spark -
but then, what else can you expect
from a kid who sickles your wrist,
whooping, at your first meeting,
then makes the Victory sign.

I was too soft to summon the cops.
Or the bouncers.
I made excuses for her.
"She's my friend's sister."
One heavy yuk-yukked, saluted me,
as if to say, "Yeah, 'sister', fuckin'
right-on man fuckin' yeah you save me
some o' that shit."

I told her to face away when I showered,
but she was impossible. Shampoo
stinging my eye, I had to listen to,
"Oh my God, I've seen you naked now,
does this mean that we're destined to be together?"
She did not have the mouseclaw lines on her face
like they do in Love Hina.
But she had gone red.
So had I.

She insisted on doing all the cooking.
I like cooking.
I had to wash up.
I also had to stop drinking sake, because
if I offered her any, she would say,
"What? Are you trying to get me drunk?
So you can have your way with me?"
Not offering her any made me feel
uncomfortable.

I slept even less than usual
because, in spite of my efforts
to jury-rig a second bed, she was still
overcome
with mixed feelings of lust, guilt, fear,
anticipation,
self-consciousness,
wounded pride,
because she was sleeping near to me.

I suggested she remove the handcuffs.
She suggested we go to the park.