A/N- Trying to get back into writing. This is a short story I did awhile ago.
As an orphan boy his personal thoughts were all that he was truly allowed to own, to keep. His mind was the one thing that people couldn't penetrate, no matter how many questions they knifed at him. The shelters child psychologists' notepads remained free of his grief, his fears, his traumas and much of the meetings consisted of his eyes downcast on some speck of dust floating across the polished linoleum.
"Would you like something to drink, or a bite to eat?"
He'd clinch and un-clinch his fist around his shirt, his jaw set to express his lack of cooperation. A protest he never made subtle, though it never did him any good—the stodgy psychologist would only fill the empty space by forcibly clearing his throat and commentary about the weather. The deep hot smell of coffee bean always assaulted his nostrils and in response his stomach roils with displeasure.
"Did you know your parents, before here? Would you like to talk about it today, maybe that would help shake some memories loose? There's no harm in opening up."
The questions used to make him feel like a frog who's already been torn limb from limb, on top a sterile silver bed, being prodded and prodded for information that always lurked just outside of his reach. A choice he resolutely made since being "rescued". That's where he liked it, his life before Suna—far away and yet, it was still too close, like a rabid beast breathing down his neck. Waiting to be acknowledged, if only to find some kind of understanding. And yet, it was all too horrible to understand, to relive. That sort of confession would land him in a place much worse than this and as much as he hated it here, he wasn't too fond of withering away behind bars either.
"You should dial it back with the leering, they're just tryin' to help in their own creepy way—they pity us cause we're refugees—savage kids. It's something yanno, pity, well, that's the way I see it anyway. We ain't in any position to be uppity about it. Where else is there to go, yanno? B'sides, I hear if they can't match ya, eventually you'll phase out and they'll put ya back on the streets. Do you really miss it that much, being a street-rat?"
Shin, a boy he met in the orphanage nearly three months ago, had told him. Shin ran his mouth more than any therapist that Sai has ever crossed, which initially felt like an issue he didn't feel like he could resolve peacefully. However, Shin provided the perfect cover for a person like Sai because Shin never asks questions. Their (one-sided) chats provided a sort of background noise, noise that Sai could fade comfortably into without hearing and also noise that kept their bunkmates away.
It also helps that Shin has been in the orphanage longer than Sai and could provide him with some useful insight about its ecosystem. If he saw Sai doing something incorrect or punishable, he'd be the first to thoroughly set him straight. He recalled a time when the grey-haired boy helped him make his bunk on the first day, whilst everyone snapped to attention, awaiting inspection as though it were judgement day.
Sai did wonder why he even cared to help him but the thought was dismissed once the inspection actually began. Any bed that didn't perfectly reflect the tidiness of the establishment would be flipped and the occupant of the offending bed, would be struck vigorously over their knuckles with a flimsy wooden panel. The boy across from him had the displeasure of being the first example of what happens when the linen beneath the green waffle-weaved blankets, were not stretched taunt and tucked with precision at the corners.
He couldn't say that he was stunned by the action but the swift whoosh of the wooden instrument before it met skin and bone, felt oddly close, ruffling his freshly pressed collared shirt and unruly hair. His blood would go stagnant and his eyes would only zone in on the polished loafers of his roommates, or the way their caretaker's navy dress brushes the ground as she moves on. The sound of her shoes striking with finality, paralyzing the next wary occupant.
"I hear you're quite the artist. Are you self-taught?"
He felt his ears nudge at the side of his skull, interest pulling at his brain, blinking himself back into the session. His eyes wander up to finally meet the man who interrogates him an hour out of every day, only to compete with uncomfortable silence. The man isn't looking at him, he's picked up a dark maroon briefcase and begins rifling through it, occasionally muttering at himself.
"…can't imagine the paper towels here offer much longevity or ease," he says, filling the loaded silence with his dry humor, "but you know what they say, a good artist can make a masterpiece of anything."
Curiosity continued to run rampant through his brain, he shifts in his chair—wondering what stunt the guy would pull to get him to break his vow of silence. Would he pull out a splintered stick to force some sort of sound out of him.
The man peaks up from behind the square lenses of his glasses, seeming quite pleased to have drawn the boy's inquisitive gaze.
He chuckles, a sound that seems surprisingly genuine, "Ah," he nods tersely, looking down to withdraw a red moleskin bound book. "here it is," he places the suitcase down by his foot, huffing up another throat cough and standing. Sai quirks a brow, watching the man carefully approach him—proffering the book with a kind of shine behind his reptilian eyes.
Chills scrape icily down his back, his eyes falling to the squared notebook, noticing a black mechanical pencil tucked into its corner and kept there by a single string which tied the book shut.
"Go on," The man insists, his voice almost lost over the sound of the air conditioner roaring over head, "take it, it's yours to do as you please. Something tells me this will be a lot more suitable for a young artist such as yourself."
A loaded moment passes, and then another before he finally, albeit hesitantly, extends a hand to grab it, half expecting the man to yank it back and laugh. Nothing is for free, not even this. So even though he doesn't snatch it back, he'll be expecting something for this exchange. That's how it works.
No gift will be given unearned.
Nothing was his.
The book was weighty, though it wasn't much bigger than a mouse pad. He let his eyes explore the pristine body of this book, his fingers brushing its bare surface.
The man studied him closely, lingering at his reaction—though the boy senses it was only a matter of time before he revealed the catch.
"No catch," The man assures him in earnest, which makes his head snap up at him, anxious that this person was somehow accessing his mind. How did he even guess that Sai enjoyed drawing? He had certainly never revealed it. "You can continue to freeze me out during these sessions until you're comfortable. In the meantime, maybe you can even bring the sketchbook along and spend the time instead—being productive, I'd have nothing against that. Art is a form of expression and it couldn't hurt to spend this hour doing what you like, I'm sure."
The man taps lightly at Sai's shoulder with a single knuckle.
For once, their eyes meet and the man offers a commiserating smile, which seems off putting since his voice was a bit of a sibilant whisper when he says, "A little trust goes a long way. I don't want to hurt you Sai, believe it or not—you remind me of myself at your age. Ghosts aren't seen, aren't heard and therefore, they aren't approached. However, too much silence, we'd fade out of existence, unable to connect with the living. Forgotten. After everything you've been through out there in that hellscape, you've found yourself here—alive. Do you truly want be forgotten?"
The man leveled a concentrated stare with the boy, as though he was trying to will the child to speak. The boy's gaze falters to the book and then back to the man. He takes a ragged breath, swallows twice and opens his mouth to reply throatily, "I don't know."
The rest of the day goes by as unimpressive as the other days before it. He attends classes with his roommates in one of the five rooms assigned for courses. Teachers who volunteered at the shelter alternate between the five class rooms, teaching either; Mathematics, English, Science, Social Studies or Home Econ. The gymnasium next door was the designated area for physical education, though they sometimes canceled P.E because it was a public gymnasium for community use. All classes were nearly two hours a piece with some sort of break between. The curriculum was rigorous and they were tested every other week to determine if the information was being digested properly.
It may have made him irritable, the biweekly test, had he not had a natural willingness to learn. Or, at least to use it as a type of coping mechanism. Unlike a lot of his classmates, he didn't think of the work as punishment. Instead, the work felt like a way to drown out the shadows lurking in his mind. Without his studies they'd be knocking down more walls than he could build. Every beast lurking in the labyrinth of his mind seem sated when he was hard at work, thinking outward instead of in.
About time the lunch hour rolled around, he had managed to be caught up on most of the homework—choosing to ignore some amphibian natural geographic video that their science teacher decided to nod off during. Though he'd twist around in his desk every so often to point a remote at them and reiterate that, "this will be on the test." A test that would most assuredly include the end credits too.
"Guess what," Shin appears at the circular wooden table he's been seated at, pondering the strange actions of his therapist and if he should just return the sketchbook. Shin slams down a dark green food tray. The silverware judders, the plasticized bottle of water topples over on the tray. Sai looks up from his soggy cup of ramen and Shin goes on, "I'm flunking Math!"
He plops down on his stool, shrugging off the gray hoodie he wore over his collared shirt. Scoffing at the dampened pools of sweat at his armpits, he plops into a seat exhaustively, furiously rolling up the sleeves of the rankled shirt.
"Why?" Sai asks, staring at Shin from beneath his lashes—though his eyes roved around after getting a whiff of his friend's repulsive body odor. Shin had a habit of skipping showers, claiming that he'd sleep through first bell if he took them too late. Though Sai never saw him making any moves to hit the showers early either. There was no telling why Shin seemed hydrophobic but being that Sai didn't have to endure this offensive odor often, he never called him out on it.
Shin, rips open a cellophane wrapped rice cake eagerly, and wastes no time biting into it like a ravenous animal.
"Why else?" he retorts irritably, scowling at Sai as if he were affronted that he'd even ask, "It's gibberish, for one, plus if enough people bomb maybe we'll get Professor Kure fired."
Sai hunches over the broth, tweezing with his chopsticks at the few noodles left. His throat nice and toasty with hot brine. The noodles were an acquired taste but it was either that or something that looked suspiciously like sewer snot and puree carrots. Thanks to his punctuality, he's always arrived to lunch early enough to not be stuck with the latter.
"What's wrong with Professor Kure?"
Sure, she was a bit excessive with the flowery scents, and he didn't appreciate her enthusiasm when it came to assigning group reports—which forced him into some of the worse interactions with other humans. But, for the most part people liked her—well, not as a teacher. Like is too tamed a word. A great deal of his classmates seemed to think they stood a chance at having some sort of secret sexual encounter with their teacher. He was certain Shin was the ringleader of that horny and delusional demographic, so he couldn't imagine what had changed.
Shin chuckles menacingly around cake, leaning in with his elbows like he has something wicked to say, which wouldn't surprise Sai.
"She's a boring prude man. Listen, first time we get a milker as a teacher and she's wearing all these sweater-condoms, and bulky long skirts," he rages animatedly tugging on his pants to emphasize, 'skirts'. His brows raised as though he couldn't fathom why a thirty-five year old woman wouldn't be busting out of the seams of her bra for a school full of teenaged boys. "and the sad thing is, we're being robbed—every day because she's obviously got a crazy fat rack, right?" It isn't a question and he chews just as rapidly as he's speaking, staring at a space behind Sai.
Without having to wonder why he's stopped ranting, Sai can hear a distant bell and knows that it doesn't belong to their shelter, but the girl's shelter—which also happens to be in the vicinity. The girls also use the gymnasium for physical education, but never at the same time.
A few boys dart past their table in a vicious sprint towards the back windows, kicking up an icy draft in their wake. A dozen others follow suit, vacating their tables for the lunchtime ritual of watching the girls file into the building next door. Sai never participates, never understanding what any of them got from ogling the girls. It didn't seem to offer anyone any relief and none of them had ever spoken to any of the girls.
Fraternizing seemed to be forbidden but there was never a time that either gender crossed paths, well, other than lunchtime.
"I dunno they're just nice to look at and think about," He recalled Shin's explanation, when he had asked about it on the first day. "I mean, ya probably a virgin so ya don't think ya have anything to hope for. Me on the other hand, I know what I'm missin' out on and it fuckin' blows…literally."
He never did tell Shin that he was wrong, about the virgin part but no matter how much it would bring him thrill to see Shin unduly surprised by his confession, it wouldn't be worth the explanation that he'd demand soon after.
Presently, Shin makes a low clicking noise, as if he is contemplating joining the excitable chatter behind them. And then, he hisses between the cracks of his teeth and punches at the table with finality, "Yeah, can't miss it. Save my seat."
Snatching up his water bottle, he hastens down the aisle toward the very illegal festivities in the back of the lunchroom. Despite knowing all the rules, he still breaks them. The chatter goes from indistinct to a maelstrom of salacious hollering, boisterous voices echoing off the walls of the small cafeteria space. Sai twists around to see that he couldn't see a thing from here other than the backs of his classmates, everyone either already pressed up against a panel of glass or trying to squeeze into the limited spaces that offered a view.
He shakes his head, reaching for his own water bottle, uncapping it easily.
"Pathetic," a voice ripples out toward him, saturated in displeasure, "you'd think they've never seen a girl their entire lives. Making us all look that fucking desperate should be punishable."
Twisting his head around, he catches sight of a boy with eyes that rivaled the darkness of his own eyes. Black and familiar, mirroring the moon-like reflection of his face. The boy has already made himself comfortable in Shins spot, a navy-blue messenger bag on top the table—a red and white symbol embroiled into it. He had seen it before but couldn't quite recall where. He scratches at the itch stirring at the back of his head. Fingers brush absentmindedly across the faint stitch that he could still feel at the back of his skull. Cold lances through him and he retracts his fingers.
The boy across from him furrows a brow at Sai quizzically, "You some sort of mute?" the boy asks, swiping a grape off Shin's tray and popping it into his mouth with a deft flick of his thumb. A coldness scrapes its talons up Sai's spine and shakes his head noncommittally, hoping it would get the point across that he didn't want company.
The visitor doesn't seem willing to disengage and flashes Sai a crooked smile, his irregularly long lashes brush his cheekbones. And then he scoffs out loud, continuing to pluck up grapes.
"Let me guess, you're new here?" he asks, accusatively jabbing a bitten grape in Sai's direction. "Super shy type, that—or you're a filthy creep," the stranger observes him keenly with unreadable eyes, "mmmmh, fifteen—no, no, no, sixteen?" he's cocked his head to the side as though he's channeling some kind of ability. "Ok I'm gonna go with sixteen."
Sai had met a lot of guys in the shelter and never quite preferred to be seen by any of them. It wasn't like he couldn't fit in; he just couldn't be bothered to be that open. Wanting to, was having the space and space required facing more shadows. Space required, opening up his headspace to accept others in and expecting others to accept him too.
Nothing was free. Friendship isn't free, family isn't free. He would have to give to get and he doesn't have anything he's willing to part with.
Shin was different, in the sense that he enjoyed hearing his voice far more than the average person. The exchange between them was simple; Sai listens to Shin and Shin gives him something to listen to other than his thoughts going haywire in his head. Sai could put in minimal effort and somehow Shin will never run out of things to say.
If his life was as vast as the ocean, Shin had been the only floatation device keeping him from sinking into oblivion. The only thing keeping a ghost like him from fading.
"You strike me as an intelligent guy, Sai—so I won't insult you, by acting like I come in peace," The guy starts. Sai blinks once, twice and looks the guy straight in the eyes. "Truth is, I'm going to kill you."
The words may as well have been the howls of a coyote because they stabbed down at him, like jagged teeth getting trapped in flesh. The roars of his classmates dullened, replaced by an impenetrable silence, that somehow felt just as paralyzing as he felt, sitting here. His heart beating down his ribcage in some unspoken battle.
It wasn't evident, not until the searing burn of hatred flecked, that Sai knew those eyes. No, not the ones that looked at him today. The ones he remembered had died out, went black like a starless night. Wide disbelief, fierce anger and fear that his body couldn't even contain.
He wasn't the killer by choice.
Could he even say that? Would that make it better? A big part of him knew making amends wasn't feasible. Murder, no matter how accidental, wasn't something that could be remedied with a, sorry. There was no water under this bridge, just, concrete and fire.
And as he sat there, looking at a demon from his past, he wondered if things would have gone differently, had he not taken that sketchbook today.
Nothing is free.
"You had to know that I'd figure you out."
Sai only looks at him, "You're going to do it here?"
The boy shakes his head, "I'm no amateur, like you—and b'sides I like the hunt. I'll stick around a while. I don't want this to be easy for you. You didn't make it easy on my brother. You…and t—that girl, I'll get her too. I know she's close."
His voice felt like an irritable scratch, "You have me. She had nothing to do with it."
The boy scoffs, "Bullsh-"
"Me." Sai enunciates, steeling his voice, surprised to hear a foreign husk filling his chest. The boy, his former friend, regards him like some filthy abomination. "Just me."
"You were both there, I saw it. You ran, the both of you."
"You saw, me," Sai cuts a look dead at him, his breaths shallow, hearing his own voice speak so strongly gave him a comforting shock. "I accept it. Just, me—not her."
"We'll see."
"Uh…who the hell are you and why are you eating my food?"
The boys are starting to disperse and go back to their seats. Shin comes face to the face with the boy who has stolen his seat. The sound of his voice is like a rock crashing through a panel of glass, Sai nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden intrusion. Sai's executioner begins gathering his things and standing. Sai becomes aware of how he has grown; broad shouldered, toned and towering over Shin. Much more built than his twelve-year-old self—much like Sai himself. Time has warped them, life experiences left them chiseled and calloused.
"I won't forget," he nudges his head in Sai's direction, "there's no point in running, Sai." the boy grins humorlessly at Sai before securing one strap of his bag over his shoulder. He pivots and walks out of the cafeteria without ever looking back.
"Friend of yours?" Shin asks, frowning, looking after him, "Dudes an asshole. What was he even talking about, is he giving ya some sort of trouble? I'll straighten him out."
Sai's up out of his seat, cramming the new sketchbook in his backpack and then securing his stuff on top his tray.
"No, just stay away from him." He demands, giving no further explanation. Shin starts to babble but he's already rounded the table and then stopping dead in his tracks.
The whole cafeteria seems to adopt a similar stance because Professor Kure is coming through the west doors of the cafeteria, ushering in uniformed students—only, they aren't boys.
They're girls.
He's already mapping out the other escape route to avoid the holdup but just as he puts some purpose into his step, he spots her.
Eyes that he'd be able to identify within an ocean of cerulean. Suddenly his feet are bolted to the ground. Like magnets their gazes sync up and the wariness behind both their eyes, mirrored images of the same horror story.
She's close.
He meant this.
She shouldn't be here, close to him, this isn't what they agreed on. This wasn't the plan.