I push the door open and the immediate rush of salty air fills my senses. It always amazes me how fresh the ocean smells at this altitude. I step into the hallway, eager to make my way to my room. Ayla's office was nice, but also quite draining. I need some serious shut-eye. I don't want to experience that pain again.
Walking down the corridor, the yacht gives an unexpected jolt. Before I can even regain my balance, I hear the alarmed shouts of the crew members, their voices filled with panic and curiosity. I immediately glance out of the nearby window and, to my utter disbelief, a massive sea monster is rising from the depths. Its scales glint in the moonlight, shimmering like a million tiny mirrors. Tentacles whip around, thick and menacing.
Well, this is the ocean, monsters like this are bound to appear.
I stifle a massive yawn, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand. Even though the sight is probably one of those rare moments that scholars would kill to observe, all I'm thinking is that there are numerous high-level professors aboard. Surely they can handle one sea monster. Besides, they love a bit of chaos; keeps them exercised.
"Let them deal with it," I think, shrugging. And without another thought, I continue my journey to my sanctuary.
Reaching my room, I hear the distant booming of magic clashes and the screams becoming fainter. I push open my door, and there she is – my beautiful, soft, and welcoming bed. Oh, how I've been wanting to try you.
I don't even bother changing my clothes or removing my shoes. With a leap of faith, I dive into my bed, relishing the embrace of the plush duvet and the silken sheets. My eyelids are heavy, and despite the commotion outside, sleep quickly claims me.
-
The familiar creak of metal swings. Rain gently pattered, casting a veil of gray over a park. A small girl, barely nine, with a mop of rain-soaked hair, was swinging high. She giggled, kicking her feet to and fro, trying to touch the sky.
"Kaeeel," she called out with a playful smirk, "why don't you swing next to me?"
From a bench not too far away sat a boy, around twelve, with a mop of unruly dark hair that mirrored the younger girl's. He sat motionless, the world's weight on his shoulders. He didn't react, only blinked a few times, letting the raindrops trace paths on his face.
In a mock huff, the girl jumped off the swing, placing her small hands on her waist. "Kaeeel!" she pouted, "If you won't swing, at least come play!"
"We should head back," Kael, muttered, his voice lacking energy, "I don't want you getting sick."
But the girl, full of youthful defiance, tugged at his arm. "I don't want to! I don't want to go back! I want to stay here!" Each declaration filled with determination.
Kael sighed, a reluctant smile touching his lips, "Alright, a bit more time then. But we can't stay out too long, it's getting late."
The girl's eyes sparkled with mischief, "I want to play hero versus villain!" She ran up the playground, clambering over equipment.
"Alright, so miss hero," Kael began.
"No! I'm the villain and you're the hero," she interrupted with a grin. "Catch me or the world will explode! Everything will go KABOOM!"
After a game of tag, both were breathless, sprawling on the wet grass. "Hahaha! You lost, hero! The world is mine! Now I will cleanse the world!" The young villain declared, her voice filled with glee.
Kael laid down next to her, catching his breath, "That's cheating, you didn't mention a timer."
Her laughter rang out, innocent and pure, "Of course, I didn't! I'm the villain. Villains are evil!"
He turned to her, considering, "Hmmm, so you enjoy being the bad guy?"
She stretched, looking up at the cloudy sky, "...Would you hate me if I became a villain, Kae? Would you hate me if I became... the bad guy?"
Kael raised an eyebrow, surprised by the depth in her question. He ruffled her wet hair, "Hate you? I could never, no matter what you do, I'll always be on your side...But if you became a villain. I guess I'll have to stop you from destroying the world!" And then he began to tickle her, making her burst into fits of laughter.
"Alright, now let's head back,"
She tugs at my sleeve, the innocence in her eyes replaced by a deep-set fear. "I don't want to go back there... let's stay here."
"I know you want to stay here, but you need to eat something. You haven't eaten anything all day... plus, you know, Mittens is waiting for you. He always visits at this time."
Her fingers lace with mine, squeezing tightly. "Can we leave after we eat?"
A sigh slips through my lips. "Of course. We'll head to Uncle Lee's store."
A smile creeps onto her face, a brief respite from the looming dread of returning home. "Yay! I can read my favorite book."
We walk hand in hand, the weight of the world pressing down on me with each step. Despite her best efforts to stay awake, her exhaustion soon gets the best of her, her body going limp in my arms. I carry her gently.
Finally, our house comes into view, though to call it a 'home' would be an injustice. My fingers tremble, apprehension seizing me as I approach the door.
The minute I step inside, the heavy stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke assails my senses. The familiar discord of a television playing too loudly and the incoherent mumblings of a drunken man can be heard. Ignoring everything, I head straight to the kitchen, praying for something – anything – edible.
Rummaging through the fridge, my hopes plummet. Old takeout, sour milk, and the undeniable smell of decay. But then, hidden at the back, I find some stale bread and cookies. Grasping onto them as if they're my lifeline, I quickly pull them out.
As if on cue, the monster that masquerades as my father stumbles in, his intoxicated eyes immediately landing on the food in my grasp. "g-Givve, that here... now," he slurs.
"We need to eat something," I say, my voice betraying none of the fear I feel. "I couldn't find anything elsewhere."
Bill snarls, his patience thinning. "Huh!? If I say give it here, it means give it here you fucking brat!" In a swift movement, he grabs a cable from the counter, raising it threateningly.
I clench my teeth, readying myself for the onslaught. But the pain when it hits, is just as unexpected, just as excruciating every time. Each lash sends jolts of agony through my body, but I endure, silently bearing it, trying to shield her as much as I can.
Suddenly, a harsh voice interrupts, "Bill, stop it! If you hurt him anymore, CPS won't let this go! We won't be getting any more money from the government."
A woman – one who should have been a protector, a caregiver – pulls Bill away. She eyes me with pure disgust. "Don't waste your time on these shitty brats; the money is more important."
Bill spits on the floor, mumbling curses under his breath. "Fucking brats should do as they're told. Fucking brat, I was working at your age."
As soon as they leave, I rush out to the backyard, gently placing her down in a dry spot. My knees give out beneath me, the agony in my back raw and piercing. The cold, wet ground beneath offers no comfort, but I press my palms to it, trying to anchor myself, my breathing ragged and uneven.
Every thud of my heart feels like a vice around my chest, a crushing, choking sensation. The world blurs, and for a moment, it's as if I've stepped outside of my body. The pain, both physical and emotional, comes crashing down. This isn't the pain from the lashings. This is something far deeper, lurking within the recesses of my psyche.
I clench my chest, my fingernails digging deep into my skin, hoping the pain will take me away from this surreal reality. Just when I think I can't take it anymore, the wave of pain ebbs away, leaving me shaking and drained.
A giggle, unexpected and unsettling, escapes my lips. And then I'm laughing. Laughing uncontrollably, tears pouring down my face. The absurdity of it all, the juxtaposition of the moment, overwhelms me.
I can't recall the last time I had a meal, I've never eaten enough to fill me. My stomach is always a hollow pit, never satisfied. Biting into anything, be it stale bread or an old cookie, I...I-I can't taste anything, w-why...just why can't I taste anything. The idea of being sated, of feeling the comforting heaviness of a full stomach, is foreign to me. I..I-Is it wrong to want it?
I've never stepped foot in a classroom, never heard the ring of a school bell. I've never known the joy of scoring a goal in a playground soccer match or the thrill of racing to answer a teacher's question. The innocence of childhood was ripped away from me before I even had the chance to experience it. Why...j-just why can't I have that?
"Why? Why can't I feel it?" I sob, my voice hoarse, filled with anguish. The weight of my existence, the constant battle to protect her, to provide for her, bears down on me. Why Why Why Why Why Why Why...just why can't I feel joy? No matter how hard I try...I can't feel anything.
I glance over at her, wrapped in an old blanket, her breath steady, innocent in sleep. The very sight of her is both my anchor and my torment. Every bite I give her is a bite I deny myself. Every soothing word I whisper to her is a lie that pierces my own soul.
"I hate myself," I whisper, the words heavy with guilt and self-loathing. I hate that every day, I consider the unthinkable – to leave her, to flee from this nightmare. Yet, the very thought of abandoning her rips me apart and I don't know why, just why can't I leave her? Why am I caring for her? Whenever I see her, all I want to do is abandon her....why, just why haven't I?
Cold wind brushes against my cheek. I raise my hand to clear my stuffy nose, finding solace in the mundane act of breathing. That's when I hear it. The familiar soft meow that I've grown so fond of. It's Mittens.
He makes his way toward me, his green eyes gleaming in the dimming light. I look at him and can't help but feel a slight smile form. A bittersweet connection to the world outside my torment. With shaky hands, I break off a small piece of my already tiny portion of bread and offer it to him. "Here. Have some. I'm sure you'll enjoy it more than me."
As Mittens nibbles on the bread, I continue, "She really loves you, you know. I think you're great too." There's a genuine warmth to Mittens. He doesn't talk back, doesn't judge, and he's fighting for survival just like I am. Every little morsel I feed him is a sacrifice, but if I don't do it, she will. She needs to eat more than me.
A sudden noise interrupts my thoughts. Bill emerges from the shadows, his eyes instantly locking onto Mittens. "HUUUUH!? Are you fucking kidding me?" His voice is a venomous hiss. "You took MY scraps just to feed a fucking rodent!?"
Before I can react, Bill lunges at Mittens, delivering a vicious kick. The pained cry of the cat rips through me. Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it, "Stop it!" I scream, but Bill doesn't listen. He kicks again, and again, each blow landing with bone-crushing force.
As tears blur my vision, I rush forward, positioning myself between Bill and the injured Mittens. Bill's rage is undeterred. "You fucking little cunt sucker!" He shouts, his boot connecting with my ribs.
I gasp for air, tasting blood. The pain isn't from the kicks; it's from the anguished cries of Mittens, the broken state he's in. "I don't understand," I think to myself, "why do I care so much? I have no connection to this cat, not like her."
Bill, with all his anger, leans in close. "I bet she's also feeding the damn rodent, huh!?" He sneers. Without thinking, I lunge at him, wrapping my arms protectively around her, trying to shield her from any potential harm.
As he begins his assault on me, the harsh sound of the backdoor slams open. The woman's voice pierces through the evening. "For fuck's sake, Bill! I told you to ignore these fucking brats! Get your ass inside! I'll call my brother, stop making it worse. You know CPS is watching us!"
Bill gives me one last spiteful look before retreating. The yard is left in a chilling silence, broken only by the soft whimpers of Mittens and the heavy breathing of my own shattered chest.
I crawl over to the injured cat, my hands shaking. "I'm sorry," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. I want to do something, anything to help. But I'm helpless, just like him.
The world around me seems to still, all sounds drowning into a distant hum. My mind is a haze, a blurry fog that refuses to lift. I hear her before I see her - soft footfalls approaching, each step heavier than the next.
Turning my head, I find her standing a few steps away, staring down at the lifeless form of Mittens cradled in my trembling arms. Every word I try to form sticks in my throat, choked back by the weight of my guilt.
"I..." My voice cracks, the words coming out as distorted fragments. "I-I tried... I didn't... I wanted to save..." But the more I speak, the harder the words become to decipher, as if I'm speaking through a haze of broken glass.
She doesn't interrupt, doesn't look away. Her gaze stays locked onto Mittens, her blue eyes filled with a sorrow too deep for someone her age. The atmosphere grows even heavier, the weight of the world pushing down on me.
"I'm sorry," I croak out, tears streaming down my face, mingling with the blood staining my clothes.
She remains silent for a heartbeat longer before stepping closer, her tiny arms wrapping around me. The warmth of her embrace is in stark contrast to the coldness of the world around us. She pulls back slightly, looking directly into my eyes. A sad smile, filled with understanding, graces her face. Tears flow freely from her eyes, but her voice, when she speaks, is firm and clear. "It's okay, Kael. We should give him a proper goodbye."
I open my eyes, I'm no longer in that desolate backyard but on a luxurious yacht. The warm sun bathes me through the window, the gentle lapping of waves against the hull, and the distant call of birds fill my ears.
The memories of what transpired flood back, the weight of it causing my chest to tighten. Pulling my legs close, I bury my face in my knees, my body shaking with silent sobs.
And as I sit there, trying to calm my erratic breathing, a thought pushes itself to the forefront of my mind, overshadowing everything else. It gnaws at me, persistent and haunting. A question that, no matter how hard I try, remains unanswered.
"Why...j-just why can't I remember my own sister's name?