My dark gaze lingers on her window as if I can see through walls. I can see her lying in her bedroom like I’ve done so many times before when watching her.
The truth is simple, and a reality I can’t deny.
I can’t stay away from her. I’ve tried and failed and fought it hard. Yet I wind up in the same place each time.
Outside her bedroom window watching. Thinking about her.
Remembering what it was like when we were happy and our son was still alive.
Times that will never come back and can’t be undone. But my heart—however black and cold and shriveled it’s become—still seeks her out.
It still beats inside my chest as ifforher.
I pushed her away because she deserves better than a fucked up bastard like me. She deserves to be unburdened from a man who will only cause her pain and only ever bring harm to her doorstep.
No matter what, I will always be the killer I am. The gangster with a past that will haunt him forever.
If she stayed, she would wind up dead. Sooner or later, it would happen, and the mere thought of it is something I can’t fathom.
So if it comes down to it, it’s more important that she’s alive and breathing. She’s safe and far away from me. Even if it causes us both pain.
My Tokki-ya. My little rabbit.
Hours pass, and I remain where I am, lurking in the shadows outside her window. I stay so long eventually the glowing light from her window goes dark, Monroe none the wiser that I’ve been here all along.
It’s better this way.
19.Monroe
“I don’t knowwhat he just said, but the way he said it? I felt that in my spirit.”
I blink and look up from the towel I’m folding. Mom is standing by the couch, her attention glued to the TV, where I’ve turned on a concert of some K-pop boyband.
“The song’s called ‘Heart Eyes 4 U’,” I say slowly. “It’s gone number one in Korea and number five on the U.S. Billboard charts.”
“Well these boys certainly know how to move their hips,” she cackles.
“Mom, let’s keep it PG, okay?” I groan, shaking my head. A smile tugs at my lips as I finish folding the towel in my hand and move onto the next piece of laundry.
It’s Sunday, and we’re in the thick of chores around the apartment. Just another way we’ve tried to bring some semblance of normalcy back to our lives.
Mom’s willing to stay in South Korea as long as I need her, and honestly? I’m grateful she’s here doing what she can to keep me on track.
If not for her, I’d have a lot more days spent shut inside my bedroom, wasting away under the covers, barely even bothering to sip a drop of water.
Mom makes sure I at least attempt to function; she does her best to crack jokes and lighten the mood though I know she’s hurting too.
Losing a grandchild can’t possibly be easy. Neither is watching your only daughter go through what I have.
As I roll together some socks, I can feel her watching me again out of the corner of my eye. The little side glances and quick checks she does on me throughout the day. Her way of making sure I’m okay.
But also probably noticing how unlike myself I am right now.
Normally, a moment like this would have us laughing and dancing along to the K-pop music. Still, Mom doesn’t force me to pretend to be something I’m not right now.
She just provides the atmosphere in hopes it’ll boost my mood, and though it doesn’t work, I appreciate the effort.
It’s my own issue to deal with; my sense of loss that has muted me in every other facet of life.
