In the kitchen, they’re all talking. Their voices quiet and casual, but I don’t hear a thing because Red’s words play on repeat, looping over and over.
She’d never had a bath.
Not in five years.
Not once.
What else hasn’t she had? What other small, stupid things have we all taken for granted?
“My friend, has something—”
“We need a bigger bath. In every room.” I cut in way too loud. “You know what? Fuck it. Let’s build one of those... what did you call them—the big outdoor things—”
Julien is beside me, frowning. “An onsen?”
“That. We’re getting one.”
“You can’t justgetan onsen, Sai. You need a hot spring—”
“Listen to me,” I snap, flitting to Zeek and stepping in too close. For once, he looks worried. He should be. I’m shaking. “I’m so fucking close to losing my shit right now, and the onlyreason I haven’t is because she’s here, but that—” I jab a finger at the bathroom wall. “That’s her first time in a bath.”
Zeek drops his gaze.
“She hasn’t even had a bath.” Saying it aloud again? It hits harder, breaking everything open.
“How many other things—small, simple fucking things—hasn’t she had?” The question just hangs… like falling ash.
Kane’s dark stare flickers with grey, Julien goes still.
I’m so fucking angry, but I can’t direct it at anyone, can’t slap a name on the revenge list. That makes it even worse.
Now they’re all lost in thought, thinking about what she’s gone without, which is what really gets me, because it means I’m not overreacting.
“You’re right, Sai,” Zeek admits gently, but it hits deep. He never talks to me like this, not unless I’m really losing it, like when they locked me in the Pit to stop me going home… “But we’ll fix it.”
“How?” I snarl, bitterness spitting out.
Then I step back, because he doesn’t deserve it, it’s not his fault, it’s not mine. But that doesn’t fucking matter, because it still happened.
She went without.
For five years. Longer? Decades?
When she deserved better.
She deserves everything.
“Fuck.” My voice cracks, my chest cracks. Something in the room cracks. I pull away from them like I’ve been burned. “Shit. Sorry.”
I flit into the living room, press my palms to the cold glass window. A better man would flit to the Pit, take my rage out there, but I can’t bear the thought of leaving her. Of being alone.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I grit out to no one. I have to keep talking, keep spouting bullshit, because silence always makes it worse. Silence makes it real.
I fuckinghatesilence.
Quiet footsteps fill it. Julien’s. He could’ve flitted to my side, but he wanted me to hear him coming, like he’s approaching a wild fucking animal.
Which I guess I am—
