So What if I'm Evil?

New Isn't Always Good

I've never seen him cry before.

Sure, when he broke his wrist at 5 years old he cried from the pain, but not like this. Physical pain and emotional pain are very different.

Physical pain is a sting, a tear in your muscles that contract rapidly to alert your brain that whatever's happening is something you should get away from. Most people then try to get away, while others let the pain happen.

There's no escaping emotional pain, no matter how much you want to. It's like a fire that pushes through you but doesn't hurt. It tears you in half and burns you alive. Like being colorblind and constantly told how colorful the world is. Like a little boy that is really good at something, but then becomes incapable to do that thing.

Yep. Emotional pain isn't something I wish soon my greatest enemies.

I didn't ask questions, only ushered a tearful Kacchan inside and onto the bed. I closed the door and sat down next to him. The sound of soft sobs ripping through his throat was too much for me to handle.

"Talk," was all I said.

"M-mom... dad..," he whimpered. He covered his face in his hands. I awkwardly placed my arm over his shoulders and leaned his head onto my chest, ignoring the fact that I was shirtless. Then I gingerly later down on my back so we both would be comfortable. I pulled the blanket up to his collarbone and covered myself as far as I could.

My hand rubbed up and down his strong arm as it shook, then played with his hair. "It's alright," I whispered.

I said encouraging words to him for a few minutes, and soon he stopped crying. I grabbed my discarded shirt off the floor  cave it to him so he could wipe his face. It's not the best method, I know, but the tissues were on the other side of the room.

He cleaned his face and sat up long enough to toss the shirt to the dirty clothes basket. The way he instantly moved back to his position, I could tell that he was comfy. I didn't think my abs were very good cushion, but he was calm.

"It's hard, I know," I said, "loss isn't something to joke about. But it gets better. You'll think about them now and it'll hurt a lot. Nothing can change that. But over time it won't be so bad. I know that one day you'll think about them... and you won't feel anything. You'll still miss them and wish that they were alive, but you'll... I can't believe I'm saying this, but you'll almost be happy when you think of them. You'll think 'mom, dad, look at me now. Look at how far I've come. I hope I've made you proud'."

There was silence, then a soft snore from him. I chuckled a little, which almost woke him up. Key word: 'almost'. It was clear that he was exhausted.

I closed my eyes, and surprisingly, it was easier to fall asleep than the last time.