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“It has great weather and you’ll be able to leave the small town you hate so much.”
“We’re moving?”
“I’m just asking, Nao.”
“More like, you already looked into a thousand houses and have signed with three real estate agencies so we can relocate.”
“Not three. Just one.”
“Mom! We’re supposed to talk about this before you make a decision.”
“It’s better for both of us.”
“I’ve been hearing that sentence since I was a kid when you relocated us from one state to the other and I’m so sick of it.”
“You’re angry. I get it. We’ll talk when I get home tomorrow.”
“Forget it. If you want to move, do it on your own. I’m no longer underage and I can live on my own. In fact, I should’ve moved out three years ago, but I stayed because someone begged me not to leave. Oh, let me think about who it was. You!”
“Nao-chan…”
I wipe at the tears trapped in the corner of my eye. “I have to study. Bye.”
“Okay.” She sounds defeated. “Gambatte.”
I slouch on the sofa, cradling my head with my hand as I finger my phone. I want to call Lucy, but she said she’d be out with her parents today.
I scroll through my last exchange with Sebastian about half an hour ago. When Mom said she wouldn’t be coming home tonight, I made the mistake of having a glass of tequila. Being alone always
puts me in a weird mood. It gets me to thinking about parts of my life I’ve been trying my hardest to keep buried. So I thought, hey, a glass of tequila would make me feel better. Apparently, it made me foolish, too, because I sketched something from a scary part of my subconscious and sent it to Sebastian.
I hadn’t heard from him since he brought me home after the game last night. Something felt like it was missing all day long and I tried convincing myself it was because I’ve been conditioned to endure his constant bugging. That it felt peaceful now that he wasn’t shadowing my every move. But after that drink, I succumbed to my impulse and messaged him.
I showed him a part of me, even indirectly, and his response to that was to be an asshole. A perverted one. My cheeks heat as I read his last lines. I contemplate replying, but just like earlier, I find no words. Just why does he have this type of effect on me?
If someone else told me that or spoke about me sexually, I’d poke their eyes out. No kidding, I once got an unsolicited dick pic and I sent him back a monologue about how the sight ruined my evening.
If Sebastian sends me a dick pic, however…
I shake my head. Why the hell am I thinking about Sebastian sending me a dick pic?
I raise the volume of my latest true crime show. The ominous events play out in front of me, and I gulp as one of the surviving victims describes the circumstances of the night of her abduction.
My mind turns foggy, and I don’t know if I’m listening to her or actually replaying what happened. It was dark and no one else was there. I had to run until I couldn’t feel my limbs.
I’m such a sick person.
I can’t believe I’m replaying the thrill I felt that night in the forest when someone else suffered from something far more traumatizing in real life. When did I become like this? When did I turn into a glutton for something even I don’t recognize? Is my childhood catching up to me after all? Is the monster from my nightmares real now?
I finger my phone before I swipe up the screen. I stare at the sketch I sent to Sebastian, at the invisible eyes and the anonymity of it. All this time, I’ve tried to bury that part of me and when it kept appearing in my moments alone and nightmares, I fought it. Then I denied it.
And yet, it’s still alive.
In fact, it’s been festering inside me all along.
I shake my head to focus back on the documentary. There’s a blur of pictures before they move on to the retelling of events. The shot is dark, shadowed, and the suspenseful music makes my toes curl.
A dark figure appears at the edge of the screen and then…
