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"Go spend time with your mother," Sasuke said. "I'll take care of this."
I glanced at the dirty kitchen once more before nodding and leaving him to clean.
My mind was spinning with confusion. Was this really the same guy who'd held a gun to my face last night? What had changed to ignite this strange compassion in him?
Had my sad situation sparked his humanity? Or maybe it was guilt over kidnapping me and forcing me out of my routine. I couldn't understand why he was acting so differently, especially considering his violent nature.
My eyes followed him as he scrubbed the grimy dishes, careful not to drop any. He moved deliberately, almost tenderly, taking his time to ensure he left no trace of filth behind. His muscles danced under his shirt as he worked, his movements precise and efficient.
This situation was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. My life was not going to get back to normal until Sasuke killed Harris, and even after that, how could I ever live normally knowing I was an accessory to murder?
I plunked down beside my mom on the sofa, watching the light from the television reflect in her bloodshot eyes.
How did one truly recover after death, anyway?
"Hey, Mom?" I said gently.
Mom seemed surprised to see me as if she'd forgotten I was there. "Julia," she said with a smile.
I felt the hot prickling of tears behind my eyes. "I love you, Mom," I sighed, pulling her frail body into a hug.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself go and grieved.
Chapter thirteen
Sasuke
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I lost myself inthe rhythm of washing dishes.
The kitchen was in complete disarray, with dirty pots and pans and garbage piling up, and the dishwasher looked to have been broken for several months.
The sight of Julia's home and her emotionally broken mother had brought back emotions that I'd long shoved down into the deepest depths of my black heart. The fresh feeling was raw and uncomfortable. The feeling reminded me of when my father passed away when I was barely ten years old.
Twenty years ago...
"Okaa-san?" I called out for my mother into the dark apartment. "Mama?"
I was tired and hungry. It was the fourth day in a row that my mother hadn't packed me a bento for lunch or walked me home from school.
The weight of my mother's grief was destroying me, and I was too young to fully realize it. All I knew was that I was cold, hungry, dirty, and tired.
I wandered through our small apartment to find my other exactly where she was when I left, in bed.
"Okaa-san?" I whispered.
My mother mumbled something and waved me away. Her room smelled like stale coffee and sweat. I wasn't sure the last time she bathed.
I wandered away from her room to the main room and knelt in front of the small funeral shrine we'd put together for my dad. I brushed away the old incense and lit a new stick. "I'm home, Otou-san," I said, looking at his photo beside the silver urn. "I miss you."
It'd been two months since he died. Mom hadn't stopped grieving since that day.
"I wish you'd come back and help us," I whispered. "We need you, Dad."
My stomach growled, reminding me of my hunger. I moved to the kitchen, shooing away the cockroaches that'd settled on the dirty dishes. They used to scare me, but not anymore. Now, they just annoyed me.
I filled up the kettle and grabbed a pack of instant ramen. Another dinner alone in the dark with no television or radio to fill the silence.
