Page 9

Visha

I awaken in an unfamiliar bed, with unfamiliar sheets and a pleasing new scent. It smells divine, like a mixture of citrus and jasmine.

I blink away the sleep and look around the room, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I’m in Aoi’s bedroom, in his bed. I get up abruptly and scan the space next to me, checking if he slept with me but the sheets on the other side show no hint of having been used. Kicking off the covers, I get out of the queen-sized bed.

The apartment is quiet, hinting that I’m alone and Aoi left.

Where did he go? Did he abandon me too? It’s his apartment, so he has to come back eventually, right? If he wanted to abandon me, he wouldn’t have dumped me in his bed and fed me a warm meal. He wouldn’t have given me fresh clean clothes and allowed me to take a warm shower.

Aoi’s kind. I’ve only known him for a day, but he’s kind, and I’m sure of that.

No, actually I’m not sure of anything, but I want to believe that the only one having offered me kindness could be real. I refuse to think that even he could be despicable.

My stomach grumbles but I can’t just rummage through Aoi’s cabinets. That’d be impolite and at least I still have manners. I’ll just wait for him to get back and then I’ll wait for him to feed me. I doubt I’d dare to ask him for food. I know it’s stupid, but I just don’t want him to think that I’m demanding things from him.

I push the bedroom door open and step into the hallway leading to the living room. As expected, no one’s there. I amble towards the round oak dining table and notice a sticky note.

No one has ever made sure to keep me aware of anything, but Aoi has. He kept me informed, probably not wanting me to be alarmed when I wake up. So, compassionate adults do exist? Yeah, right that’s unlikely.

Aoi has to be a different breed of human being or maybe he’s an alien. He might even be an unknown holy creature but a regular adult that genuinely gives a damn about me?

Impossible.

I pick up the sticky note and shove it in my pocket. The apartment is so serene, which is such an unusual sight for me. My foster home is always noisy and hectic with Dean and Robert running around and shouting like possessed demons, Sharon arguing over the phone with whomever is on the other end and of course fucking Brad Keyton.

He’s the worst of them. He adores breaking me down from the inside out. He loves shouting at me and whenever he manages to get a hold of me, he beats me up until I lose consciousness. If it’s not a hobby, then it sure as hell is a talent.

If I’m fortunate, of course, all he’ll do is physically assault me. Most of the time, I’m not. I hate thinking about it and remembering the disease crawling through me. It doesn’t matter which mood he’s in because the moment he catches sight of me, it all goes tumbling down. I end up a bloody mess and agonizing pain tears me up inside.

After the third time, I stopped fighting his poisonous claws. Not because I was fine with his hands on my body but because I realized no one was going to save me. I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off, believe me, I tried. I begged my foster mother for help, but she blames me for her husband’s deeds.

I sit down on the couch and try to wave away these sinister thoughts. Since Aoi lives on the eleventh floor, he has a magnificent view of the city buried under a pile of snow. I bring my knees to my chest and look out the window, waiting for him to finally get back.

When did he write that note? How much time has passed since? How long until he finally breaks this suffocating silence with his laughter? Is this called missing someone? It can’t be.

Suddenly, the door springs open, and a rustle of plastic bags and keys breaks me out of my thoughts. He walks into the living room, holding grocery bags in each hand.

“Oh, you’re awake? Did you see the note?” he asks, beaming as he strides towards the kitchen.

How is he always in such a good mood? “You have a comfortable bed.”

He comes right out a minute later and takes off his coat and shoes, putting them away in the closet. “Right? Man, I love that bed. The day I buy a new mattress I’m definitely going to get the exact same one.”

I get up from the couch. “Are they expensive?”

He’s wearing a black turtleneck and blue wide jeans. His light brown hair is messy from the wind which gives him a carefree look. He laughs at my answer and motions me over to him with a hand wave.

“I have no idea. To be honest, I wasn’t the one who paid for it. My…uhm uncle did. He has good taste I guess.”

I follow him to the kitchen and watch him from the door as he pulls out different foods such as a variety of pasta bags, vegetables, fruit, milk and even a massive bag of potatoes.

“Want to help me put everything away?” he asks casually while holding a box of cereal. “That way, you’ll know where everything is stored if you get hungry.”

I part my lips to speak, but my grumbling stomach interrupts me. The room dips into silence, and I flush. Aoi bends over and bursts out laughing, wiping away a tear at the corner of his eye before finding a bowl and pouring cereal and milk inside.

“I didn’t realize you were that hungry.” He hands me the bowl and a spoon, still wheezing. “Here, eat. I’ll clean up by myself.”

I frown but accept the bowl. “Don’t mock me. You’re the one that left me alone.”

Oh, I didn’t mean to say it like that. He stops laughing and simply smiles guiltily. Ugh, I need to wash my mouth with soap, seriously.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and I hate myself for it.

Then he quietly goes back to tidying the kitchen and organizing the groceries.

I ruined everything. I was starting to get comfortable with him, so I blabbered out whatever came to my mind. God, I’m so stupid. He must be mad at me for being an ungrateful brat. He’ll probably tell me to pack my things and dump me in an orphanage or who knows where else.

“Why are you still standing there? Do you need something?” he asks, liquid concern coating his voice as he lowers himself to my height and plants his palm on my forehead. “You’re a bit warm. Do you feel sick?”

Ah . I can’t believe I thought he’d just dump me somewhere when he looks at me with the concern of a mother towards her baby. He has no intention of abandoning me for something as petty as a dumb comment, why did I even think that?

I shake my head frantically, but his concerned expression doesn’t shift, therefore before he picks me up, he reaches out and awaits my consent. When I nod, he brings me over to one of the grey chairs in the dining room. I’m still holding my bowl of cereal and my spoon as if it’s a life jacket while he sits me down and crouches down at my feet.

“Listen, Visha. If there’s anything you need or want to say you should always tell me. I won’t get mad, and I won’t judge or ridicule you for having needs. Okay?”

He carefully pushes away a strand of hair from my face and smiles warmly. I nod, “Okay.”

He gets up and strides back to the kitchen to finish up what he started. In the meantime, he tells me all about the way some woman kept arguing with the cashier at the store. Apparently, she wanted to buy four onions, but the package contained three and she couldn’t accept it and simply buy it.

People sure are weird.

He then proceeds to tell me that the snow is a true pain in the ass whenever he needs to drive and that despite liking winter, he can’t wait for spring to bloom.

At first, I thought he was more of a reserved person and that he likes being alone and quiet, but he’s rather talkative. He’s been rambling about his morning without end, and I can only sit at the table and listen to him as I shove a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. I like hearing him talk because he seems to enjoy having someone who listens.

After finishing packing out the groceries, he walks up to me and sits down on the opposite end of the table. Smiling, he intertwines his fingers on the wooden surface.

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me everything but you’re going to have to tell me more about your situation so I can help you,” he explains tenderly and tilts his head to the side, nudging me to speak.

I nod and rest my spoon in the now empty bowl. I have no idea where to start. There’s a lot to uncover honestly, and I’m not comfortable telling him everything. I mean, he’s still a stranger, but he welcomed me in without hesitation.

I suck in a sharp breath and droop down on my hands resting in my lap.

“I might have lied to you,” I start, breathing hard.

I part my lips to continue but the lump in my throat won’t allow me. I force myself to inhale another sharp breath and spit the words out.

“Uhm, so I live in a foster home since my parents died in a car crash when I was nine.” I swallow, blinking at him then looking away. “After their death, I- I was sent to foster homes until last year when I ended up with the Keytons.”

Aoi’s expression darkens for a second though his eyes soften as he attentively listens to my story. “I see.”

“But it’s true that I don’t have anywhere to go! My foster family…well they…they aren’t as good as I wish they were. They…I’m sorry it’s hard to say.”

I feel my heart clench in my ribcage, and my insides constrict like an empty can of soda. I don’t want to remember what they did to me. I don’t want to think about it and even less speak about it.

Aoi reaches over the table and grabs my hands. An ocean floods me, his gaze pulls me in and shouts something, but I can’t grasp what. I look up at him, eyes burning with unshed tears, unable to stop chewing the inside of my cheek to keep myself from breaking.

The stinging sensation behind my eyes is too familiar to ignore. Tears will flow and I don’t want to cry in front of him. I hate being pitied.

“It’s okay. Visha, it’s okay,” he soothes.

Suddenly it’s as though the dam refraining my emotions from spilling cracks. What’s okay? I don’t understand but I believe him. Somehow no matter what he says, I believe him. I want to.

So, I let the dam break, and my tears spill out of me like a tidal wave, crashing down the stone into millions of debris. He caresses the back of my hand with his thumb, soothing me.

No one has ever comforted me like that. But this man in front of me holds my hands and at the same time years’ worth of sorrow.

He stands up and in two strides he appears in front of me. He gets on his knees and without hesitation surrounds me with his arms, tightly holding me in an embrace. Instead of comforting me, it makes me sob louder.

The pain, the loneliness, the fear of being alone in the world, surrounded by devils disguised as people. I let it all out, let myself feel it all, instead of burying it inside.

He strokes my head gently as I wail on his shoulder, repeating time and time again that it’s okay, and I take in his words. I gobble them up and bury them deep in my heart because now I sense that it will in fact be okay.

He makes it bearable.

I’ve known him for a day and yet he’s given me more than anyone else in twelve years.