𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝙳𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙱𝙰𝙶 ,, high&low

chapter three | filthy

three

filthy

It's funny how life works.

How everything goes fine and then one event screws up your life so much that it haunts you in your sleep.

I've never slept well, but after this past summer it's been even worse.

I see it every time I climb into bed. Replaying the exact moments play by play. On particularly bad nights, sometimes by brain even goes as far as to speculate what my life would be like now if the Amamiya's hadn't found me.

That night was no different, everything playing seemingly on a loop.

I left the building site with a cheery smile on my face, buying an iced chocolate drink from a vendor nearby. We had just gotten the grades for our midterms back and I was shocked to find that I, the only girl in the class, had top marks. I'd been in a good mood all day, and I was determined to let nothing break that.

I'd promised Daichi that I was going to make a celebratory ramen dinner. From scratch, obviously, not the instant packet stuff.

The sun reflected off the neon and silver on my navy construction jacket, breeze blowing my hair behind my head. That jacket was still the most comfortable piece of clothing that I owned.

It seemed to happen in slow motion: the black van pulling out of the alleyway, the men in black running towards me. I let my guard down for a second to check a text message from my dad, then a pair of rough arms wrapped around my midsection.

I sprung into action, lashing out with kicks. Once I was free I threw a punch at the guy in front of me, blocking a strike from someone to my left and throwing him over my shoulder in perfect judo form, right into his friend.

I was starting to get the higher ground, but when I reached for my phone they took that chance to kick me to the ground, then kick at me from all angles.

Until it let up. Grunts and shouts rang out from behind me, but I was too scared to stand.

Minutes later, when it all went silent, a hand reached out to help me to my feet. Two guys dressed in leather jackets stood in the alley next to me, the members of Doubt lying on the floor groaning.

The one with brown hair helped me to my feet, holding me tight as I threw my arms around him and cried.

I shot up in bed, breathing heavily. The digital clock on my nightstand read 2:45 A.M as it illuminated the area near my bed in a calming lavender light.

I slowly stepped out of bed, stretching my arms.

Once I was awake, there was no getting back to bed.

Crossing my grey shag carpet, I stood on the tips of my toes to pull a small white photo storage box from the top of my closet. Sitting on my bed, legs crossed, I pulled the top of the box off. Inside, colorful but faded envelopes sat stacked on top of each other, my messy Japanese scrawl indicative of what age I was when the photos inside were taken.