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16

The Weight of Regret

TATSUYA

T he morning after felt like a waking nightmare. I hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes, her face was there—her eyes full of fire, her mouth on mine, her body pressed against me in a way I hadn’t known I wanted. The kiss burned into my skin, a mark I couldn’t wipe away, no matter how hard I tried.

And the guilt? The guilt was suffocating.

I had promised myself I would never fall into this kind of mess. I had trained myself to keep my distance from the world, from temptation. I had vowed to be different from my father, from the demons that had haunted me for so long. I was supposed to be a monk, a man of discipline, of peace.

But the moment her lips touched mine, all of that—everything I had worked for—came crashing down.

I stood at the edge of the small temple garden, watching the early morning sun filter through the trees, its light too harsh, too clear. It made me feel exposed, raw, as if I was standing under the weight of all the choices I’d ever made.

I’d given in. I’d let her kiss me. And now, I couldn’t get her out of my head.

My hands shook as I clenched them into fists, my knuckles white with the pressure. I couldn’t stop the thoughts, the images, the sensation of her lips, of her presence, flooding my mind.

She had been drunk, out of control. She hadn’t meant it. She couldn’t have.

But I had kissed her back.

I had wanted it. And that was something I couldn’t ignore.

Though most of my life had been devoted to this righteous path, life had forced upon me lessons no young man should ever learn. Some of my mother’s so-called friends had preyed on my innocence, drawing me into a world that would have sold me without hesitation the moment I became expendable.

The rustling of footsteps behind me broke my thoughts, and I turned to find her there—standing in the doorway of the temple, her eyes sharp as ever, unaffected.

“You look like shit,” she said, her voice laced with that same sarcastic bite I’d come to expect from her.

I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? She hadn’t even seemed to care the night before. And where was her rage now? Why was she here? For vengeance against my actions?

I opened my mouth, but no words came. I felt the weight of the guilt settle deeper, heavy in my chest. She had walked away from me that night after I pushed her to her limit.

Yet here she was now, acting as if nothing had happened.

“You don't look as if you care much about anything," I managed, my voice tight, though the words came out more bitter than I intended.

She shrugged, unconcerned. "Not much to care about," she said, pushing past me with a casual air. “I didn’t ask you to make it a big deal.”

I watched her move away, my insides twisting with frustration. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand the chaos she had thrown me into with that single moment. She didn’t understand the turmoil she had sparked in me, the fire running wild inside—something I couldn’t control.

I wanted to call out to her to demand an explanation. But I didn’t. I was too afraid of what that would lead to. Too afraid of how she might look at me if I told her how badly I was falling apart.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I wasn’t supposed to want her. I was supposed to be strong, to be above all of this.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you actually going to help me?” she called over her shoulder, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath. She made it seem so simple, so casual. As if everything about our interaction had been just another drink, just another meaningless moment.

I hated how much it hurt.

“I’m not your... what do you think I am?” My words felt weak as they slipped from my lips, filled with more frustration than I’d meant to show.

She turned, arching an eyebrow as she shot me a look. “I don’t know. What are you? A monk? A fixer? Make up your damn mind.”

I didn’t know what I was anymore. And that was the problem.

I wasn’t the man I wanted to be. I wasn’t the person I’d spent years shaping myself into.

And she... she didn’t care, not about any of it.

I clenched my jaw, turning away from her as I ran a hand over my shaved head, trying to regain some semblance of control. The guilt— that weight—pressed down on me, suffocating me more than anything else ever had.

She had kissed me.

But I had kissed her back.

My mind screamed at me, told me to pull away, to stay distant. To remember who I was, what I was supposed to be. But every time I tried to push her out of my head, the memory of her warmth, her defiance, her wildness crept in again.

And I couldn’t shake it.

She was already moving down the path, her silhouette fading into the distance as if the tension between us had never existed. She didn’t even look back, as though she had already forgotten the chaos we’d just unleashed. But as if sensing my eyes burning holes into the back of her head, she casually raised her hand, a silent command.

I froze, instinctively hesitant, like an animal sensing a trap. The warning bells in my head screamed for me to stay back, to remain hidden in the shadows where no one could see me falter. I could already hear the voices, the whispers of judgment from the monks if they caught me leaving the temple. But she called again, louder this time, and I knew I couldn’t pretend I didn’t hear it.

"Are you coming or what?" she called, not even glancing over her shoulder as she kept walking.

My body tensed, every muscle screaming for me to run in the opposite direction, to retreat to the safety of the temple walls. I closed my eyes, a sharp breath escaping my lips as I tried to calm the storm inside me. The fury, the desire—familiar and unwelcome—threatened to overtake me. I had sworn to control this, never to let myself fall into the kind of hunger I felt now.

But I wanted her. And that truth gnawed at me, relentless, twisting my insides in ways I couldn’t fight.

I knew this was wrong. I knew it could destroy everything I had worked for. Yet, my feet moved before my mind could catch up, the distance between us closing with every step, even as a part of me screamed to stay away.

But it was too late. She had already lured me out, and I was helpless to resist.

The further we walked, the heavier the weight of my decision pressed against me. Every step was walking toward my own damnation. I could practically hear the monks’ voices in my head, condemning me, judging me for stepping outside of the path I had sworn to follow. I wasn’t just leaving the temple; I was leaving everything behind, a vow I could never take back.

What would I say to them if I was caught? How would I explain this to the others? I was just helping a woman fix something, I imagined myself saying, but it would be a lie. I wasn’t helping. I was following. My mind raced with the questions I’d be asked, the way they’d look at me with disgust. I wasn’t just betraying my vows; I was betraying everything I’d been trained to stand for.

Momoi, blissfully unaware—or maybe uncaring—of my inner turmoil, walked ahead with that same casual arrogance, her figure swaying as she led me through the streets. It was as if she knew exactly what she was doing to me, toying with me, pulling me deeper into whatever game she had in mind.

We reached an apartment, a nondescript building nestled between others in a quiet part of the city. She glanced back at me, her smirk twisting the pit of my stomach. I hated that smirk. It was a silent acknowledgment of my weakness. You’re here because you want to be, her expression seemed to say. And maybe, just maybe, that was true.

I shouldn’t be here.

This is a trap.

Why was she doing this to me?

I stepped inside reluctantly, the familiar scent of incense and old wood greeting me. But there was nothing comforting about it. The moment I crossed the threshold, I knew I had crossed into forbidden territory, a place where I no longer had control. I could already feel the pull of temptation thickening in the air around us, and I couldn’t tell if I was already lost or if I was still fighting.

As I stood there, my hand hovering at my side, trying to find some semblance of composure, Momoi turned toward me with that grin still on her lips.

“I need you to help me with something,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “Something broke inside. You’re the only person I know who might be able to fix it. Well, you’re the only person I know.”

I blinked, not understanding at first.

“Fix… what?” My voice came out sharper than I meant, a mix of confusion and frustration.

She didn’t answer right away, instead, she let the silence stretch between us, her eyes watching me carefully. She knew how this would affect me. Knew I’d hesitate. Knew the struggle I was waging in my own mind. She enjoyed it. And that made me furious with myself for letting her have this power over me.

“The lock on my door,” she said casually, as though it was a simple, mundane request. "It broke this morning, and I’ve tried everything. You’re the only person I can trust to actually fix it, and I really don’t want to call someone else. Monks are sworn to do good, aren’t they?"

I could hear it—the manipulation. It was in her words, in the way she made the task sound so trivial, as if it was a necessity,as if I was the only person capable of doing it. She knew damn well what it would cost me to refuse.

And yet, as much as I wanted to lash out, to call out her lies, I found myself nodding, my mouth working before my brain could catch up.

“Fine,” I muttered through clenched teeth, my voice laced with bitterness. “I’ll help you.”

I took a deep breath, reminding myself of the Buddha’s words: “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” It was a warning, one I ignored as I stepped deeper into the chaos she had invited.

I hated her for pushing me this far, for making me question my vows, my sense of duty. I hated that I was willing to help, that I was letting her drag me deeper into this mess, despite every ounce of my being screaming for me to walk away.

But I couldn’t. Because if I refused her now, I’d be admitting that I was weak. I’d be giving up the last bit of control I had. And, despite the anger that raged inside me, I couldn’t allow that.

It would be wrong to leave her hanging, I told myself. But I knew it wasn’t about right or wrong anymore. It was about something darker—something I couldn’t fully grasp.

Momoi raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. She probably did.

"You’re a good man, Tatsuya," she said softly, the words carrying more weight than I could ever admit to her. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t do what you really want to do.”

I didn’t answer her. Instead, I moved to the door, already regretting this decision, already loathing myself for stepping into her game. But I was in it now. And there was no turning back.