Threesome? • Tokyo revengers

Chapter 24

I cried in my bed for so long that I eventually ran out of tears. And now I felt... nothing.

Rindou was pacing back and forth in front of my bedroom door. He had tried to talk to me at least a dozen times but I had ignored him and stayed buried under the covers.

I perked up my ears when I heard another familiar voice.

'How is she doing?'

Ran.

'She's hasn't come out of her room yet. She hasn't eaten anything either...'

The edge of worry in Rindou's voice was unmistakable.

'Did you try to talk to her?'

'Yeah, but she won't listen to me.' Rindou let out a long sigh. 'I have urgent things I need to take care of in Ginza right now, but I don't want to leave her alone like this.'

'I can stay with her for tonight.' Ran offered. Rindou must have looked hesitant because his brother quickly added : 'I'll keep an eye on her and make sure she eats something.'

A few seconds of silence passed before Rindou finally agreed. 'Okay.'

I heard the door of my bedroom open and close again, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching my bed.

'Y/N.'

Ran's voice was soft, and I fought the urge to pull the cover down to take a look at him.

'Leave me alone, Ran.'

His breath exhaled on a hollow laugh. 'You know I can't do that.'

I felt him sit on the edge of my bed.

'I'm so sorry. We had no idea Sanzu was going to do that.'

He sounded sincere but it could have been an act. I honestly didn't know what to believe anymore.

When a minute of silence passed, I thought he might have left. But then he spoke again.

'Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy...' Ran was reading ''pride and prejudice'' to me in the hope that it would cheer me up. And somehow, it did a little bit.

Slowly, I pulled the cover down my head, only revealing my forehead and my eyes. Ran didn't notice it at first. He kept reading, unaware of the way I was busy studying him. His pretty lavender eyes were moving across the page of the book, the silver rings on his fingers brushing against the paper each time he turned a page.

He finally noticed I was staring when he sneaked a glance at me. His gaze softened as a relieved smile crept across his face. 'There you are.'

I didn't have the strength to stop him when he reached out to pull the cover down so he could see my whole face.

'You have to eat something-'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Just tell me what you want. You can ask me anything. What could make you feel better?'

An appropriate answer to this question would probably have been something along the lines of ''I need time to mourn'' or ''I need space to think about what happened''. But unfortunately, my coping mechanisms had always been toxic.

When my mom passed away, I was only a teenager. The smoking, the drinking and the excessive partying could have been attributed to my adolescence crisis, but in reality, those were the only ways I had found to deal with my emotions, or rather, to not deal with them.