Ryne Moore: Yandere as a philosophy of Love Chapter 26 - 24: Brown Shoes I

"It’s not just to celebrate my birthday," she walked a couple of steps ahead. "It’s because I’m getting married, Ryne."

I froze, looking at her face with a smile so forced it hurt. "H-how long have you been engaged?"

She smiled, closing her eyes.

Chapter 24: Brown Shoes I.

"Since forever, I suppose," she shrugged, turning to look at an ice cream stand. "My parents ntioned it since I was twelve. It’s just official now."

"And you’re okay with that?"

"Of course," she said, picking up a blouse without looking at it. "It’s a fair deal. He pays for my lifestyle, I give him loyalty and submission. Simple."

"Mayo..."

"Look at that store — the clothes look beautiful," she interrupted, walking ahead. "Co on, Ryne, with a skirt that long you’re never going to get with Nolan."

"Mayo, wait!" I called, following her. "Listen to — what’s happening to you isn’t right."

"Yes, sure, I know. Look at this gorgeous shirt." She held it up in front of my face. "Too formal, right? You look like a secretary — not a courtroom one, more like a millionaire CEO’s office."

"Mayo, I’m being serious."

"And I’m talking about fashion, which is more important." She returned the shirt. "When was the last ti you wore lingerie? My guess: never."

"Don’t change the subject."

"I’m not changing it — I’m expanding it." She picked up another piece, a skirt this ti. "The subject is you and your inability to get laid. You’ve spent fifteen minutes worrying about and haven’t even looked at yourself in a mirror."

"Because I didn’t co to the mall to look at myself in a mirror."

"Well you should," she pushed gently toward one. "Look. That skirt of yours goes all the way to the knee. What are you, the Virgin Mary?"

"Mayo."

"It’s a joke, little fox — moving on." She took my hand. "Do you rember the masseuse I told you about? He must be open by now. What if we go for a little treat?"

"Enough, Mayo!" I interrupted, looking at her restless eyes. I let out a slow breath. "How old is he?" I asked, in one last attempt.

"The masseuse? He’s our age, so his techniques are new and very good."

"I an your fiancé."

"Of course, of course. Old enough to die for a good ti," she laughed, nudging . "Co on, Ryne — since when does that matter?" She pulled again, but I resisted her weaker grip. "Co on, Ryne — I don’t want to think about those things. Let’s go decompress — it’ll help you later."

"Just tell — does he have a na?"

"What a stupid question. Everyone has a na."

"And what’s his?"

"It’s... Es-pa-bu-su. Yes, that. Espabusu." I looked at her, watching the drops of sweat forming from her forehead to her temples. "Fine, I lied — I don’t know. Happy now?"

I didn’t respond right away.

I looked at her. The drops on her forehead, her eyes looking everywhere except at mine, that smile that was now just muscle and habit with nothing behind it.

"Mayo," I said, quietly.

"No," she interrupted, raising a hand. "Don’t say anything in that voice — because if you make feel sorry for myself I’ll start crying in the middle of the mall and that’ll ruin my mascara."

"I’m not making you feel sorry for yourself."

"Then don’t say anything." She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, recovering so of her posture. "Just co shopping with and that’s it. I don’t want to think about anything else for the rest of the day."

"Alright," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you," she said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.

And she kept walking.

"I still rember the day I t you," Mayo called, less than a minute after the thank you. "That day in the park — you were feeding ducks with a piece of bread. Do you rember?" She laughed. "Back then you were a colder, more distracted girl — how to put it — less you."

"And why did you think of that?"

"Because the day I saw you, I saw myself in your eyes." She laughed again. "That day had been the worst of my life. I’d been fired from my ninth job, my boyfriend had broken up with , and the worst part was that the masseuse was busy with soone else."

"And why are you telling that?"

"That day in the park I reflected on life. On my decisions and the ti I had left." She looked at her phone. "I had bought plane tickets for a two-year trip — I was planning to travel and experience everything I could without limit, before taking my own life."

"Mayo?"

"And then I saw you. A skinny girl feeding ducks with the sa suicidal look I had." She let out a laugh. "Watching a duck push you and steal your sweater was hilarious — seeing you half-naked in a public park yelling at a duck made my day."

"Are you seriously telling all that just to make fun of ?"

"No," she replied. "It’s to thank you. That day — like today — I thought about it. We’re the sa." She exhaled through her nose. "Except I wouldn’t wear underwear under my sweater."

"Mayo!"

"What? It’s true, girl." She smiled. "Why do you think I ca back to Vancouver? For the scenery — no." She extended her hand; I took it. "It was to see if my equal was still alive, like ." She smiled, though sothing in her eyes didn’t tell the whole truth. "I just didn’t expect you to be so happy."

Before she let respond, she pointed toward a store. "Look at that store — it’s new. Let’s not waste ti."

She pulled before I could say anything.

The store was small, with clothes hanging all the way to the ceiling and a saleswoman who greeted us with too much enthusiasm for the hour.

"Look at this," Mayo took a red dress from a rack without stopping. "Can you imagine it on you? Nolan would eat you alive."

"Mayo, what you just told —"

"Is history," she interrupted, returning it. "It already happened, I’m already here, it doesn’t matter anymore." She picked up another dress — this one blue. "And this one? I know you don’t have thighs, but white skin still goes down like vanilla ice cream."

"I don’t like dresses."

"All dresses, or this dress?"

"Dresses."

"That’s a trauma," she declared, hanging it back up. "You need therapy. And lingerie. Both, preferably."

I sighed, watching her new excitent. "I’m going to be nice to you," I told her, looking at the dresses. "I’ll let you dress however you want, just this once."

"Perfect." She kept walking. "Now then — lingerie or cosplay first?"

"Neither."

"Fine, the skirt I promised you first, then lingerie." She pulled . "Don’t argue — you’ve been with Nolan for two years and you’re still both completely gone over each other. That only happens when there’s great chemistry or when one of you is obsessed." She glanced at sideways. "I suspect it’s you."

"I’m not obsessed."

"Of course not," she said, in that tone of hers that said exactly the opposite. "You’re perfectly normal. Like all the girls who morize their boyfriend’s schedule."

"I don’t—"

"Don’t pretend you don’t," she interrupted, stopping in front of a rack of skirts. "I know you. What ti does Nolan finish his classes on Wednesdays?"

"At two fifty-eight," I replied, before I could stop myself.

Mayo looked at .

I looked at her.

"I’m not obsessed," I repeated.

"Of course not," she said, taking a blue skirt. "Try this on — I’ll go find more."

I watched her walk away with the excitent of a child with a new toy. When she disappeared, I put the clothes back. "I’ll tell her I didn’t like them." But as I set down the skirt’s belt, my eyes caught sothing that drew my attention.

In the shoe section — a pair of brown shoes exactly like mine. So clean and shiny they called to . I touched them — the leather was soft. But when I saw the price, my eyes dropped. "Five hundred dollars," I sighed, looking at the hundred I had in my pocket.

"There you are," she placed a hand on my shoulder. "You still have a lot of clothes to get." She pointed to a shopping cart full of clothes. "Mostly lingerie — so you try that on at ho and send photos."

"No," I cut in.

"You’re so boring," she sighed. "There are only two changes in that cart, so just try those on."

In the end I listened to her. Even though neither was to my taste, I promised I’d wear them at least once. So we went to the register.

"Don’t go red, Ryne," she gave a pat on the back. "Won always buy this kind of thing. Right, ma’am?"

"Of course," said the cashier. "It’s normal — it’s actually unusual when they don’t."

I sighed, covering my face with both hands. But from the corner of my eye I saw them. The shoes I had liked less than ten minutes ago.

"The shoes," I whispered.

"Lovely, aren’t they?" Mayo smiled at , but her eyes said sothing else. Was it mockery? "I saw them and liked them, so I bought them."

"But they’re not your size."

"Oh, really?" She laughed. "Doesn’t matter — they’re beautiful." She smiled, even wider. "The important thing is that nobody beats to them. Like before."