Page 31

Aoi

I walk on my tip toes in hopes of not waking Visha, who should already be asleep.

At times, he’ll wait for me to come back, so we can go to bed together and other times he’s already soundly asleep when I come home.

He acts like such a grown-up that sometimes I forget he’s only fifteen. He reminds me of myself when I was younger, yet at the same time, we’re so different. I’m grateful he’s more carefree and outgoing than I ever was.

Once a year, we visit the Keytons when an agent of social services comes to their house to check on Visha. In the last three years, we made three visits, and each was absolute hell for me, as much as for Visha but certainly worse for him.

I wanted to punch the arrogant smiles off their lips. He held my hand so hard the blood stopped circulating and he wouldn’t let go until the last minute when he had to enter that house and see those monsters again. I couldn’t be there with him. It would’ve made things more suspicious if each year the agent saw Visha cling to me, a stranger to the Keytons.

It broke me to see him run out of that house and into my arms every time. Now the 364 other days are paradise on Earth. We have joyful breakfasts, silly banter every day and Visha does his absolute best to organize movie nights with me every Saturday night.

I’ve never seen a teenager so hung up on hanging out with their parent and I love every second of it. Each smile I get from him is a gift I’m eternally grateful for. As long as he’s happy that’s all that matters.

Entering the bedroom door as quietly as I can muster, I get undressed. I jump at the muffled sound of sheets rummaging behind me. Visha sits up in the bed staring at me through tired and puffy eyes.

“Why are you only back now?” he mutters his tone sharper than I expected.

“Yeah, my bad I didn’t see the time fly by.”

Visha huffs like a pouty kid and I can’t hold back from laughing.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset because I’m home late.” I chortle, resting both hands on my hips.

He stares daggers at me and suddenly pulls me into bed with him. His gaze drifts over my features before he speaks up again, his tone softer, “You know I don’t like to sleep without you.”

I smile and ruffle his dark hair then get up to finish getting ready for bed. I still have to shower and put on my pajamas but I’m not tired in the least and genuinely feel like getting back to writing for a few hours.

“I’m here now so go back to sleep. I’ll be in my office.”

Visha grimaces and gets off the bed to follow me out of the room. I don’t ask what he’s doing because I already know. He sometimes hangs out with me until he grows tired and eventually drifts to sleep. I’ll never understand why he does that though.

I smile giddily and sneak into the shower with Visha right on my heels. At least his nonsense never changes.

“Can I at least shower in private?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Sure, but don’t stay in there for an hour. I wanna talk to you before bed.”

I roll my eyes at the absurdity and take my time shampooing myself. Less than five minutes later the door bursts open. “I told you not to take that long!”

I poke my head out of the shower curtain and scowl at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve been here for barely five minutes. Be patient, Jesus Christ.”

I wait to hear the door shut behind him but that clacking sound never comes. Turning off the running water, I reach out behind the curtain. “Hand me a towel please.”

He instantly hands me the purple towel and waits near the door frame as I wrap the fabric around my waist. I wait for him to give me some privacy but of course that’s too much to ask.

“At least turn around, you brat.” I bite back the desire to flip him off.

Visha smiles and turns around as I dry myself and slip into a pair of light blue pajama pants. The pants hang low on my hips, revealing a burn scar from a cooking accident.

“You can look now. Though I’ll never get why you have to wait for me at the door,” I say, patting his soft hair.

He follows after me as I stride into the office and sit down at my desk. “I waited hours for you to come back so we could talk but you were out having fun with that demon.”

I roll my eyes and open my computer. “Jason’s not a demon.”

“Yeah, right and I’m Madonna,” he retorts, jumping on the velvet white couch. “Besides, he’s rude and hates me.”

I peek over the screen. “He doesn’t hate you he’s just a complicated man. He doesn’t like many things or people. That doesn’t make him a demon.”

Visha lifts himself and comes up to me, staring down at me with burning resolve. “It does when he makes you sad!”

“It’s not that simple.”

He’s such a sweet kid but that’s the issue here. Visha is a kid; he can’t understand my situation as he’s never been in my shoes. He speaks of what he doesn’t know. He thinks he’s almighty and the voice of reason. Every teenager has developed a mini God complex at least once in their life, which convinces them they know it all and can’t do anything wrong.

“You’re too young to understand. Our relationship is difficult but it’s not entirely bad. He cares about me, and I care about him. That’s all that matters right now,” I explain as I start typing away at the keyboard.

“Love isn’t enough,” he counters. “Does he respect you? Does he treat you kindly? Does he support your dreams and decisions?”

I stare up at him and the way his golden eyes shine with emotion. “When did you become so wise?”

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well so am I.” I rise from the chair, starting to get annoyed at his petty attitude. “I don’t want to hear you badmouth him. I can accept that you both dislike each other but I don’t want to hear you criticize him.”

Visha raises his voice, “But he can talk shit about me?!”

“I didn’t say that! Of course he can’t! I love you Visha and no matter what happens I will always be on your side.”

The room goes quiet for a minute. He walks away, reaching the door handle yet lingers at the frame, then he slowly turns around in his black pajama pants and grey sweater. “Would you pick me over him?”

I gawk at him in outrage and confusion. Why the hell are we having this conversation? There’s no point in arguing over a man he barely knows.

“What kind of question is that?

“Answer me,” he demands, yet I can sense a certain fragility in his tone and stance. “Would you pick me over him if push comes to shove? You might love us both, but I know that love is conditional and that eventually you’ll have to make a choice.”

I frown. “Why would I ever have to choose?”

“Things happen and decisions must be made.”

“I don’t want to argue with you. Don’t make me choose between him and you.”

“Because you’ll choose him?” his voice breaks.

It’s not a question I can answer because I don’t trust myself enough to tell him I won’t. I know I’d never discard him but after all these years of struggling, I’m damn certain I can’t throw Jason out of my life. It’s really not as simple as he tries to make it look.

I spread my arms. “Come here.”

He hesitates but barely a second later he comes running into my arms and nuzzles into my shoulder.

I embrace him tightly and caress the top of his head, comforting him as he starts sobbing. “I’ll never throw you away. You’re my little dove and I love you more than anything.”

I kiss the top of his head. He tightens his grip around my waist, and I let him. He needs reassurance and I’m stupid and selfish for denying him that much. How could I ever let go of this precious angel?

“I love you too,” he mumbles still buried in my chest.

It’s when his breath tickles my skin that I remember I’m not wearing a shirt. I slowly push him away, detangling his arms from my waist. He frowns, his eyes red and puffy from shedding tears.

“I need to put on a shirt and you’re smearing your sticky snot all over my chest.”

Visha scowls pettily, snuggling closer to me once more and mutters under his breath, “I don’t mind. You smell good.”

“But I do.” I grab a tissue, so he can blow his nose. “Here.”

We head back to the bedroom where I slip into a simple white shirt while Visha doesn’t stop staring at me. I have a hard time figuring out what that boy thinks about on a daily basis. Sometimes he’s extremely expressive, yet other times he can be so secretive in the way his gaze follows my every movement like a cat.

“Feeling better now?”

“Why don’t you cuddle with me anymore?” he asks instead of answering my question and rubs his eyes as he battles fatigue.

And here I thought teenagers wanted to be independent.

“What do you mean? You literally refused to get your own bedroom and still sleep in my bed, isn’t that plenty?” I stare at him, baffled by his silly greed.

He crosses his arms over his chest, pouting like a kid. “You’d always cuddle with me before. Why not anymore?”

“What would you want me to do? Don’t tell me you want me to hug you while we sleep.”

His face lights up at the thought and he places both hands before him on the mattress. “I want exactly that!”

I can only sigh at the thought of having to cuddle this child because he’s throwing a tantrum.

“I guess I can’t refuse you such a simple demand. You never ask for anything anyway.” I give in and settle down on my side of the bed. I push the covers aside and lay down underneath while Visha sits on his knees and observes me from the opposite side.

As much as he can be an angel, he’s also a little gremlin, needy for affection. “Come here.”

I spread my arms, holding the blanket up for him to lay down underneath. He beams and doesn’t hesitate before sliding under the cover and into my arms. He rests his head on my chest and wraps his arm around my waist. It’s a bit weird but not unpleasant. It feels akin to sleeping with a puppy.

I bend my left arm to pet his head and lull him to sleep. Visha lets out a soft groan and buries his face into my chest.

“Comfortable?”

“Very.”

“Good, then sleep well.” I close my eyes and quickly drift to sleep. Today has been exhausting.