Sweeter Than Candy

chapter one

age four

The woman with brown eyes, eyes that reminded her of the dirt shaded by a trees towering branches, called her Nana. With a smile that stained her cheeks with a rosy red and arms that stretched out to her, the woman was, in simple terms, persistent. Gnawing at the nail of her pointer finger, Nana merely stared at her. There was no rush, in her opinion, to move and she wasn't sure what this woman wanted. Caramel colored hair fell seamlessly over the woman's shoulder, glinting and shining in the small ray of light that crept through the closed curtains.

"Nana-chan," She cooed, wiggling her fingers as though that were going to inspire Nana to move, "Come to Okaa-chan."

Oh, Nana blinked, pulling her finger from her lips and watching with disgust as a string of drool followed, she's my mom? What about the other woman?

For the past four years, Nana hadn't truly been able to gain much understanding of the world around her. Cars were the same, but the language was different. Houses littered the suburban area while apartments towered over the city streets. Where Nana lived, she wasn't sure. The...the complex—yes, that's what it's like—fostered over fifteen people. While that wasn't many, it was more than she expected to see. They were all dressed in the same garb as her: the women in dresses with a sash? Was it called a sash? She wasn't sure, Nana barely remembered getting dressed this morning; and the men wearing dark black robes that hung dauntingly off their shoulders.

It was only inside the safety of her home that she was allowed to wear childish dresses or shirts and pants.

"Nana," The woman's altoic voice sang, catching her attention and drawing it back towards the woman, "Come to Okaa-chan."

Strands of light brown flooded her vision, her short hair swinging freely above her shoulders as she shook her head. This woman was not her mom—no way. The woman who forced her to sit on her lap during the long meetings, the ones where those creepy old men stared at her with wide eyes, was her mother. The one who barely looked at her and forced her from her sight the moment she no longer wanted here there—that was her mother...Right? Nana tilted her head to the side and the woman before her, as if knowing exactly what going through her mind, said:

"No, Nana-chan, Tomoko is not your Okaa-san."

Like that's any help, Nana rolled her eyes. There was only one person's name she knew in the cult-like place she now called home, and it was her dad's. With eyes that reminded Nana of the sea on the stormiest of days and hair the same color as the obsidian gem on his middle finger, Akito was her only safe place. It was he who lifted her when she stumbled, sleep clouding her vision. It was he who gently guided her away from the dark-haired woman—Tomoko, she now learned—when the meetings had adjourned; and it was he who, with gentle hands, taught her how to write.

"And you are?" The words left her without second thought, her eyes narrowing as glowered at the woman before her.

Pain, pure and raw, glimmered across the woman's eyes. The kind smile on her face faltering and dropping, hurting covering the hope and excitement that once shone. Nana didn't like it. She didn't like the frown that was now there or the way tears were beginning to brim her eyes. The woman—the woman her father called Moe and spoke with stars in his eyes and adoration in his tone—looked to her hands that fell lamely into her lap.

"No, Nana-chan." Moe said slowly, "I'm not."

Nana wasn't sure if she believed her.

age six

"I don't want to get married."

She was whining—Nana knew she was. If Tomoko heard the pathetic pleads and heavy sobs that wracked her small body...Nana didn't want to think about it. Except, the arms that held her weren't Tomoko's, they were Moe's. Cocooning her tightly, pressing her against the familiar, rough white fabric that scratched her face. She didn't care; if anything, Nana pressed her face further into the fabric. Her chest heaved with each stuttering cry, her eyes burning and swollen from the tears that never seemed to end. Moe said nothing, Nana didn't know if she wanted her to. Her nails lightly dragged through her longer dark brown hair, gently scratching her scalp. It was a motion Nana found soothing—one that she had for years.