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, Sharonarguing 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. Ibeggedmy 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?”
