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When I shiver again, he reaches for his jacket and throws it over my nakedness. “Though it’s a pity to hide your tits.”
“Are you a sex addict?” I joke.
“Maybe. Who knows?” He lifts a shoulder as if that’s a normal occurrence. “Now, back to your beloved justice. Do you still believe in it?”
“I do. I believe in the concept that what goes around comes around.”
“Isn’t that karma?”
“Another form of how justice manifests.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you believe in justice?”
I lick my lips and I can feel my walls slowly crumbling. Maybe it’s the fact that our conversation is so easy or that I appreciate him holding me instead of leaving me a bit too much.
At any rate, the words leave me easier than I would’ve ever thought. “When I was in kindergarten, there were a bunch of white girls who bullied me. One of them said I was yellow like a banana and often called me names. She told me her mom said that it’s because of yellow people like me coming here all the time that her dad can’t find a job. Due to the constant jabs and bullying, I didn’t want to go to school anymore, even though I loved my kindergarten teachers. I hid in my closet and refused to come out. But one day, Mom grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me out of there.
“‘Did you do something wrong, Nao-chan?’ she asked me and when I shook my head, she said, ‘Then why are you hiding as if you did?’ So I explained the situation with big ugly tears. I felt so wronged, so victimized, and it made me frustrated. I thought Mom would share my feelings, but her expression remained stern as she told me, ‘Don’t be scared of people who judge you because of the color of your skin or where you came from. Look them in the eyes and show them with action that you’re here to stay.’ And I did. I got back to school and didn’t bow down. When they became vicious, I became just as vicious. Soon after, that girl and her friends lost interest and stopped bothering me.”
Sebastian remains silent for a beat before he asks, “Is that why you believe in justice?”
“It’s part of the reason. The other part is because I need it to be real.”
“What for?”
“So those who hurt people weaker than them pay.” My voice breaks at the end and it doesn’t escape his notice.
He stares down at me and I lower my gaze as I swallow. “I was nine and he was Mom’s boyfriend.”
I feel the way he turns rigid, how his muscles become as hard as granite. When he speaks, his voice is tight and closed, “What did he do?”
“He came into my room when Mom stepped out to do some late-night work. She didn’t usually leave me alone with him and he hadn’t made a move on me before. But I knew, somehow, since I didn’t feel comfortable around him. It was as if he was biding his time for the right moment.
“For that night. I remember…waking up startled as if I’d had a nightmare, but I couldn’t remember it. I recall my hazy vision slowly getting used to the darkness, to the motifs of the sun on my curtains, the curves of them and the way they seemed like headless monsters in the darkness. I’ve never forgotten that sight, even twelve years later. I also remember the scent of alcohol, pungent and harsh to my nostrils. It’s why I don’t like drinking much, even now. It’s strange how the brain remembers things like that, but I couldn’t erase them if I tried.
“It took me a few disoriented seconds to realize there was a heavy weight perching over my small body and hands feeling up my chest and between my legs. I remember wanting to vomit as a coaxing voice told me to stay quiet, whispered it with his alcohol-scented breath near my ear. But then…I lost track of it all. It was dark, too dark, and there were screams. I think they were mine, at least at some point. I swear there was red, too. Like blood. It was sticky and all over my fingers and face, but I don’t remember how it got there. I don’t even remember how I fainted.
“The next time I woke up, I was tucked against my mom’s chest as she cried softly in my hair. It was the first and last time I’ve seen her cry. She’s more powerful than the world itself, my mom. She’s the strongest woman I know, but she was weeping like a child. I couldn’t return those emotions because grief wasn’t what I was feeling back then. It was anger. Blind, ugly anger. I was mad at her for leaving me with him. I think I’ve been mad at her since because justice didn’t happen. She just cut off ties with that scum and he got to move on with his life as if he didn’t ruin mine. She let him get away with it so he could find others to prey on.”
Burning tears prick my eyes when I’m finished and the sting hurts just like the memories from that night. As foggy as they are, they’re still there.
Haunting.
Taunting.
The red night made me who I am, whether I like to admit it or not.
It made me scared of people, of attachment, of allowing anyone close.
And most of all, it made me grow apart from the only family I have. My mom.
Sebastian remains quiet even as his finger strokes my throat.
I sniffle, waiting for long beats and getting nothing. Did I divulge too much? Should I somehow take it back?
