They found me wandering around a warehouse. I had been gone for a week,.
I had stabbed myself with a pen.
It was my secretary who noticed I was missing--not Kiyo-I mean, Takada, although at that time she may have been used to my periods of absence. When he called, he made it clear to the police that I was a rich lawyer. Of course, everyone knows that, unlike your common madman on the street with a bottle, rich lawyers don't turn into raving fanatics without medically-supported reasons. The officer who found me, too--I'd say he was a soft cop, but perhaps that's being too hard on the man who technically saved me from suicide. I probably could have hurt him--I wanted to hurt him--but he held me by the wrists and told me to breathe. I remember when the others came with the car, he told them to be careful: "He's somebody's little brother! He's somebody's son!" and that was when I started to scream, because this kind man was a liar and I knew that I belonged to no one.
They sent me to a private hospital in the countryside. I assume Takada paid. I only saw her once again, after that.
When the doctors interviewed me, I told him them didn't remember what had happened. They believed me. It was only a half-lie--that day is gone for me, but it's because I choose not to think of it. I have to hold myself together. I have to... protect Takada, my colleagues--the world, even--from what I know I can become. So I stick to the schedule, take things one day at a time, enjoy the small things. I am happy on days when I can run on the treadmill closest to the windows as soon as I enter the gym at 7:00 PM, or, barring that, if the person using it is finished at 7:07, 7:14, or, at the very latest, 7:21. I look forward to eleven o'clock and my seven hours of sleep, if only because I make sure I am exhausted enough to be asleep immediately as soon as I am in bed.
Still. I used to not need sleep. I used to see God.
If I could see myself now, I know the old me would call me wicked. At best, I'm a parasite who managed to use status and connections exploit a weakened system of justice, and continue my meaningless, if harmless, existence. Nothing I do is real anymore. But when I think back, to then... I knew God was real. I felt it. I was sure, so sure I was righteous.
So many little accidents...
Might I have been saved for a reason?