You know that feeling when you’re so excited, you can’t stay still?
When your fingers keep clenching and unclenching to do something and you feel like throwing up from the strength of those emotions?
That’s me right now.
I skip over the steps as I go downstairs. I’m humming along with a tune from a rock song I was blasting first thing this morning while I got ready.
Today, I abandoned my headphones in my room and I even wore a short dress with pink and white stripes. Mom made me this one for my birthday two years ago and I never wore it. I was even mad that she’d think I’d appreciate something so cheerful.
Today, I’m in the mood for brightness. For…happiness, I guess.
After last night, there are no other words to describe what I feel right now. Not only did I have a heart-to-heart with Sebastian, but I also ripped open the stitches and allowed a weight to lift off my chest for the first time since that red night.
The therapists don’t count. They thought my negative emotions toward my mother were toxic. That I was destroying the mother-daughter relationship we could be having. They secretly judged me for it and I secretly saw my mom reflected on their faces.
Sebastian, however, didn’t. He didn’t call me a freak or irrational.
He understood.
Not only that, but he told me things about himself, too. Instead of going back to the party, we kept on talking. Me, about my dad and how I hired a PI to find him just so he could tell me that he’s most likely dead. And Sebastian told me about his uncle and how they have a power struggle against his grandparents.
Nathanial Weaver intrigued me since I met him that time. Not only is he cool, collected, but he also seems to be the only person Sebastian respects enough to hold on a high pedestal.
I say respect because I don’t think he’s capable of caring. At least, not in the traditional sense of the word. But even that doesn’t stop me from celebrating the fact that I feel more emotionally close to him than I have been with anyone else before.
Even Lucy doesn’t know about how deep my mess goes. She’s aware of my ‘daddy issues’ but not really my ‘mommy’ ones. She always looks up at Mom and says she’s this strong, independent woman that she strives to become one day.
That makes one of us.
After I got home last night, I was in such a delighted mood that I sat down and wrote a letter, too. This time, I sent it.
Dear Akira,
I know you said you don’t want to listen to me whine or talk about my problems, but you’re going to. Deal with it or stop writing me.
But even if you do, that doesn’t mean you’ll get rid of me. In case you didn’t notice, you’re kind of stuck with me and my antics. Again, deal with it, you grumpy asshole.
You said I’m just someone who’s pretending their life is hard and that I whine more than I take action. You might be right, but fuck you, Akira.
Fuck you for judging me and kink-shaming me because it makes you feel good about yourself. Are you the morality police? Or are you just scared about trying out your own kink? And don’t tell me you have none, because you mentioned breath play porn once and that’s too specific to not be a fetish. But instead of finding someone who gets off on the same thing, you probably only jerk off to staged porn.
Fuck you for implying that I’m pathetic and sick just because I went for what I want.
Fuck you for thinking anything two consenting adults do is wrong when you’re the one who’s screwed in the head.
Because you know what? I’m brave enough to stand up for what I want. Instead of running away, I barged in the middle of the scary storm and embraced it. What did you do?
Aside from hiding behind your pen and jabbing at me to enable your grandiose self-esteem.
Guess what? That self-esteem of yours is merely inflated, just like the thought that you actually have any type of moral compass.
And no, Akira, I don’t have that compass when it comes to my needs. And the person you described as being as perverted as I am is the one man who didn’t judge me.
Unlike you, asshole.
Go hang a talisman. You’ll need it when Yuki-Onna storms through your window at night.
The very opposite of love,
Naomi
He’ll probably send back a scathing reply, but I couldn’t care less at this point. I’m not letting Akira or anyone else tell me that I’m doing something wrong. Not after what happened last night between me and Sebastian.
And it’s not only about how I’m walking funny today, despite the number of oils I rubbed on myself or the hours I spent soaking in the bath.
It’s not about how utterly satisfied I am, both physically and mentally.
It’s the fact that a bridge has been built between us. Before, we were only ever forced to be beast and prey.
Now it’s different.
Now, a new emotion has blossomed between us and I have every intention of exploring it. That’s part of the reason why I woke up in an excellent mood.
All I want is to go to school and see his face.
Maybe kiss him, too.
Maybe watch him practice.
Maybe provoke him so he’ll chase me.
My wild train of thoughts scatters when the sound of arguing comes from the living room.
Mom is talking rapid-fire as two male voices try to interrupt her. I usually wouldn’t bat an eye at the sound of people in the house since she brings her staff over for meetings all the time.
The fact that they’re all speaking in Japanese is what makes me pause.
“I said no.” Mom’s voice is hard—more than usual, that is—and I can sense tendrils of her anger simmering to the surface.
“You don’t have a choice Sato-san,” a man says with a hint of suppliance.
“Never have, for that matter,” another one speaks, and the calm in his tone somehow causes sharp needles to erupt at the base of my neck.
“Get out of my house,” Mom shrieks. “Both of you, out!”
“You’re making a grave mistake, just like you did twenty-two years ago,” the first one says. “Be rational, Sato-san.”
“I lost that part of me the day I lost that last name. It’s Chester now, and I will not be intimidated by you or him. Tell him that the days of me running away are over. Do you hear me? They’re over.”
“That’s not very wise, Sato-san,” the second man emphasizes.
“She said her last name is Chester.” I step out of the shadows, my fists balled at my sides. Mom and I have our differences, but I would beat anyone who bullies her the hell up.
Not that I thought anyone was able to bully my mom, who’s always been larger than life and just as intimidating.
Three pairs of eyes slide to me. Mom’s are frantic. The two men’s are contemplative at best.
One is short and older, around his mid-thirties. The other is taller, leaner, and looks way younger, probably around my age. Both men are Asian and are wearing dark suits with a white shirt and no ties. The taller one has black button earrings and what appears to be a tattoo of a snake peeks from his collar up the side of his neck. His looks are discreet, like some sort of a smart accountant who somehow turns out to be a serial killer.
A shiver rattles me at the way he’s watching me with an intent that could break stones. His gaze is sharper than that of the other one, who has a round face and a bland stare.
I inch closer to Mom so we’re both facing them and whisper, “Who are these people?”
“No one you should worry about,” she says in English, then switches to Japanese. “Leave right now or I’ll call 911.”
“If you could, you would’ve done that already,” the short one replies in the same language.
“I’ll call them if you don’t leave us in peace,” I say in Japanese while I point my phone at them as if it’s some sort of a weapon.
The taller man smiles, but it’s predatory at best. Or maybe it’s amused. I’m not sure which way to read the glint in his eyes.
He offers me his hand. “My name is Ren. Pleased to meet you, Hito—”
Mom steps in front of me like a mama bear ready to cut a bitch down. Her words are growly and deep. “Leave. Now.”
“You’re making a grave mistake,” the shorter one tells her.
The tall one, Ren, peers over Mom, which isn’t hard since she’s short, and smiles at me. The feeling of being targeted hits me again. “We’ll meet again…Naomi-san.”
Mom looks ready to grab a bat—or better yet, her gun—and shoot them down, but they bow, perfectly demonstrating Japanese manners, and then waltz out the door.
Neither Mom nor I bow back, which is considered rude. Our feet remain caged in place as we watch the front door until their car, a black van, leaves the property.
Wait.
A black van?
Images of the van that followed me a few weeks ago slip back in my mind, but I quickly shoo them away. I’m making up stories again and that’s never a good thing.
Mom’s posture relaxes a little, but she doesn’t lose the sharp look in her dark eyes or stop breathing harshly through her teeth.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her beside herself since the red night. She has always acted cool and collected, and I actually started to doubt if she has a heart or if it was replaced by ice at some point.
“Who were those men, Mom?”
“No one.”
“They were clearly someone. Are they from your past?”
Her gaze snaps in my direction and her pupils are so dilated, it’s like she’s on drugs. “Why are you saying that?”
“They called you by your old last name.”
“Right. That.”
“What other reason would there be for me saying that?”
“It’s nothing.”
“There’s obviously something going on. Why did Ren say ‘pleased to meet you, Hito’? Do I have another name?”
She purses her lips. “Your only name is Naomi Chester. That’s all you need to know. And erase that motherfucker’s name from your memories. You didn’t meet a Ren.”
“But—”
“Go to school, Nao. You’ll be late.”
I want to argue and be mad. I want to demand being in the know about things happening in both our lives, but the weary look on her face stops me. Dark circles line the bags under her eyes and her face is a pale shade of white.
It’s been that way for a few weeks now. Is she even sleeping properly?
I should get her one of those sleep aids from the pharmacy later.
While I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, I also can’t pretend as if nothing happened. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Mom. I can sense when things are wrong, no matter how well you hide it. So instead of keeping me in the dark, how about you just…talk to me?”
Her expression softens a little, her voice softer, lower. “How about you?”
“Me?”
“Will you talk to me, Nao-chan?”
“About what?”
“About why you no longer look me in the eyes for more than a second and how you don’t kiss me goodnight anymore.”
“I’m not a little girl.”
“I can see that.” She smiles a little. “You even have a boyfriend.”
“Sebastian isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Is that why you make out when you think I’m not looking?”
My cheeks flame as images of what we did rush back in. “You saw that?”
She nods. “He looks like a good kisser.”
“Mom!”
“Fine…fine. I won’t tease you about your first boyfriend.”
“I had Barry from middle school.”
“The one you dumped because he didn’t like anime and manga?”
“Barry made fun of me for reading manga.”
“Sebastian doesn’t?”
“No.” I kick an imaginary rock. “He…even thinks my sketches are cool.”
“That’s because he has a good eye.”
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly, lowering my head as I make my way to the door.
“Nao-chan?” she calls after me in an affectionate tone that she hasn’t used since I was young.
I stare at her over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Come home early. I need to tell you something.”
I pause at the vulnerability in her voice and the way she grabs the cigarette pack and fingers it, but then I whisper, “Okay.”
I’ve been wanting her to talk to me for a long time, but why do I have a feeling that this might not be what I bargained for?
At all.
