Chapter 11: Heracles' POV
Kiku and I left three days after Christmas. I wasn't happy to be leaving, partially because I missed spending time with Mom and partially because I was sure I'd miss seeing Kiku so relaxed and happy. Back in the States, it seemed like there was some sort of dark, oppressing cloud hovering over him that he had been able to outrun during our trip to Greece. It was nice to see him actually letting himself have fun, instead of the usual tenseness that hovered around him. I couldn't get the expression of absolute awe and pure joy on his face while he was watching the fireworks show out of my head. It was a beautiful expression that fit him much better than the careful neutrality with an undercurrent of terror that he usually displayed.
I was still concerned about the late-night phone calls and the way he seemed to be constantly on edge, but I wasn't going to pry. After all, I wasn't exactly being completely honest to anyone; not with my situation with Sadiq. I quickly forced those thoughts away. I didn't like thinking about that. It made my ribs throb in memory of a long-gone injury.
I was afraid for Kiku. I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that something else, something darker, something worse was going on in Kiku's life. I didn't wat it to be true, but I couldn't remember the last time my gut instincts had been wrong.
The feeling intensified when he woke me up during that nightmare on Christmas Eve. It had killed me to see him so broken, so afraid, and I wasn't able to resist my urge to wrap him in my arms and keep him safe that night. I had been worried that it would have weirded him out, made him more scared, but luckily he seemed more flustered and embarrassed than anything. It was adorable, how easily I could make a blush spread so delicately over his almost too-pale skin.
I knew I shouldn't have been having thoughts like that. I was dating Sadiq, and Kiku was probably straight as an arrow. Still, it didn't change the fact that he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He woke me up, too. With him, I was alive, energetic, awake. I felt like I was able to live, to see clearly for the first time in my life, whenever he was around. He made all the colors and noises and smells sharper, like I was becoming sober after years and years and years of living underneath an alcoholic daze, like I was finally fully aware of everything around me. It was amazing. It was beautiful.
I wondered how he would react if I told him that? Surely, he would deny it at first; say that I was wrong, that he was anything but beautiful. He didn't have a very high opinion of himself, which made me want to find whichever jackass that had given him that impression of himself and make sure they could never bring someone down like that again. But what about after that? Would he be disgusted? Afraid? Or would he be happy? Would he say that he felt the same?
But what did I feel? Kiku seemed to make everything more confusing and clearer at the same time. The effect he had on me was baffling, but I felt like if I spent just a few more minutes, hours, days with him, I'd be able to make sense of it. I had never felt anything like that. Then again, I had never met anyone who came anywhere near Kiku. No one had had anything close to the effect that the small Japanese boy had on me. The closest thing I could relate it to was when I had first me Sadiq.
But I had thought I was in love with Sadiq. Was that what it was? Was I in love with Kiku? No, that didn't seem quite right. Somehow, what I felt for him seemed deeper than love. Deeper, more sacred, more precious. It was…
I didn't know what. But somehow, whenever I thought about it—mostly after Kiku had fallen asleep and was resting in my arms like some sort of angel—I kept landing on that one term. Love.
Maybe that was what it was. I didn't know. But I decided that that was what I'd call it for the moment. I didn't know what kind, or how deep it was, but I decided that I was at least a little bit in love with Kiku Honda.
The day that Kiku and I were to leave Greece and go back to the U.S., I had pulled my mom aside and told her about Kiku's apparent fear of planes. She had just smiled knowingly and told me to be there for him. I decided that that was exactly what I'd do.
Mom got teary-eyed as she said goodbye to us at the airport, hugging both Kiku and I so hard that I, at least, thought my ribs were going to crack. From the way he winced and rubbed his side afterward, I figured that she had done the same thing to him.
Kiku definitely seemed calmer on the plane ride that time around, but I couldn't tell if it was because I kept my arm wrapped around his shoulders the entire time or because he was sitting there sketching. I never got a chance to see what he was drawing; every time I'd try to take a look he'd blush bright red and cover it with his arms so I could never actually see it. I had seen the little sketches he did in the margins of his notes in class, though, so I was sure it was amazing.
We went our separate ways at the airport; since the town was so small we could easily walk to our respective houses. I wandered around town for a little bit, having no desire to go back home, to go back to Sadiq. But eventually, the sun began to go down and I had to, not wanting to sleep outside.
I was met with an icy silence as I walked through the door of my apartment. Technically, Sadiq lived there, but he wasn't paying any of the damn rent and he did have a house to go to if I kicked him out.
Which was extremely tempting most of the time. I would have done it a long time ago, but he wouldn't have taken it well and I knew it.
I was able to head to my bedroom—which I reluctantly shared with Sadiq, just like everything else—and put the things I had packed away before Sadiq decided to confront me. The Turkish man was bigger and stronger than me, and won any and all physical altercations, and he knew it. Which was part of the reason I was afraid to kick him out.
"So," he said, his tone deceptively neutral as he leaned against the doorframe, "you went to Greece,"
I nodded, not wanting to dignify his implied question with a response, and didn't even bother to turn around to face him as I continued putting things away. I knew that he'd be pissed for my silent rebellion against him later, but I didn't care at the moment. I just wanted to be back in Greece with Mom and Kiku.
I tried desperately to cling to the warmth in my chest that the thought of the quiet Japanese boy brought.
I failed, though, when Sadiq's hand slammed into the wall inches from my head. I could feel his disgustingly hot breath on my neck, and his body was pressed up against my back. My skin crawled at the contact, and not in a good way.
"And you didn't think to tell me? To invite me?" He growled venomously in my ear.
"No, I didn't. You can't be with me all the damned time, Sadiq. Get over yourself." I injected my voice with poison to match his.
"I would, but you invited some little Japanese whore instead. What the fuck was that for, Heracles?"
I couldn't restrain the growl that bubbled from the back of my throat. I could stand the insults about me, hell, I could withstand the ones about my mother, as much as I wanted to punch him in the face for those ones. But I would not—could not —let him talk that way about Kiku.
"Do not ever speak about Kiku that way again, or so help me I'll—"
"You'll what?" he sneered. "Besides, the little bitch deserves it. Rumor on the street is that he even lets his dad fuck him, the little slut. How many times did he let you into his pants, huh?"
The blood in my veins froze at the notion that Kiku would ever let his father do anything so vile, so revolting, so absolutely disgusting. Without warning, I shoved my elbow backward, and was rewarded with a heavy grunt as it dug into his stomach. He stumbled back, caught by surprise. I turned around, fully prepared to start yet another row with him, and got his open palm to my cheek. I brought my knee up, hitting home right between his legs. His squeak of pain was too high-pitched to be natural as he sunk to his knees.
I was tired, but not physically. I was tired of his constant jibes, the constant arguments, the constant yelling, the constant fights that were physical more often than they weren't.
"Get out," I growled, and he looked up at me in shock.
"But—"
"Get out, Sadiq. We're done. I'm over it. You're an abusive, greedy asshole, and I refuse to be the one you take your shit out on. So get the fuck out before I call the goddamned police."
He tried to speak up, but I cut him off with a sharp glare. I pointed to the door and he stared at me. We kept eye contact for a few more seconds before Sadiq stood, glaring right back at me. He spat in my face and left.
I wiped the saliva off my face as soon as I heard the front door slam shut behind my ex-boyfriend. I was sure he was convinced that I'd come crawling back to him, with tears in my eyes and probably offers of hours of apology sex. Like hell would I ever let that happen. I didn't give a second thought to the supposed rumors about Kiku that Sadiq had brought up. That was all they were; rumors that were probably on-the-spot accusations made up by Sadiq himself.
Slowly, I lowered my arm and stared at my hands. They were shaking… Or was that me? My vision blurred and slowly, the tears that I had held back for almost a two years began to drip down my cheeks and into my open palms.
