Forward: After Omori [DISCONTINUED]

Colliding Promises

Sunny wasn't exactly sure what was supposed to happen after he told everyone the truth. He knew he wasn't in the clear, and karma seemed to be going a little bit too soft on him. So really he couldn't be blamed for being convinced something bad was about to happen.

So when the door burst open as if someone kicked it with all their strength, he was also convinced that he was about to be arrested.

Except the person storming into the room wasn't a cop. It was his mom.

"Sunny!" she yelled, rushing towards his bed and pulling him into a hug that made his back crack. "I'm so sorry! This is all my fault, I shouldn't have left you alone."

"It wasn't your fault," Sunny assured her.

Sunny's mom let him go, then cupped his cheek, searching his face. Her eyes rested on the patch on his right eye, and she smiled sadly.

"So, what's this I hear about you and Basil getting into a fight?"

"I ..." There were so many options on how to respond to that. He could lie, for one thing. But he had already promised himself that he wasn't going to lie anymore, so no. He could pull a classic Sunny and not say anything. But then his mom will ask Basil what happened, and Sunny didn't want to put Basil in that situation. He could change the conversation, ask his mom about the new house or something. But his mom would notice the change and just ask the question again.

Looks like there was only one option, after all.

"Mom ..." Sunny started, before his voice cracked with the pressure of trying not to cry. He took a deep, shaky breath, and continued. "Do you remember, after we ... found Mari, you got a detective to figure out why she did it, but you couldn't figure it out?

Sunny's mom stared at her son, biting her bottom lip softly. "Yes, I remember that."

"The reason you couldn't find out why is because ... she didn't ... I-"

"I know."

Sunny looked up at his mom, surprised. "You ... you know? How ..." Realization dawned on his face, then regret. "He told you back then, didn't he? After he found out."

"Yes." Sunny's mom pulled him close to her, stroking his hair. "It was a few weeks after it happened. There were a lot of signs, and ... you would talk in your sleep."

Sunny moved away from his mom, pain on his face. Honestly, there was nothing he wanted more than to be comforted by her, yet he felt like he wasn't deserving of such a luxury. He pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the wall. "You must've hated me when you found out. I bet you still do."

"What? Oh, no, Sunny. I never hated you," his mom insisted, attempting to place a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, pulling his body away. "I had lost one child. The Devil himself wasn't going to take the other away from me. Not without a fight. But your father ..." Sunny's mom took a breath, her eyes staring at something far away. "Your father took it another way. But you already knew that."

Sunny gave no response to that.

His mom pulled him close again, and this time he let her. She rocked him gently, thinking of the times when he was little and afraid of thunder, and she would sing to him until he fell asleep. But Sunny was no longer a child, and a simple song couldn't take away his fears anymore.

"Don't worry, Sunny," she whispered so quietly she wasn't sure he could even hear her. "I will never let him hurt you again."

.

.

.

"Four more days, huh?" the man leaning against the wall asked. He watched his cellmate, who was packing up what little belongings he had into a small suitcase. The cellmate chuckled.

"Yeah. Four more days, then I'll be out of this hellhole."

"Lucky you," the leaning man said, grinning. "I'm trapped here for another two years. How on earth did you get off with only four years?"

The cellmate didn't respond, placing the last of his belongings into the suitcase. He closed it and placed it under the lower bunk, for safekeeping. Finally done, the cellmate got up and stretched, staring at a photo pinned just underneath the window.

The leaning man looked at the photo as well. He was quite familiar with it, due to the fact that his cellmate took it with him everywhere. It was a photo of a child, maybe eleven or twelve years old, holding a violin in his hands and staring straight at the camera. When asked who that child was, the cellmate would respond, "The reason I'm here." Eventually people stopped asking. But it was clear the cellmate hated the child.

"So," the leaning man said, "What's the plan after you're out?"

"Hm?"

"You got family to go back to? A house? What are you going to do once you leave this place?"

"Revenge," the cellmate muttered under his breath.

"What, what was that?"

"Lunch!" came a call from outside the cell, and there was a click as the cell door was unlocked. The sound of footsteps echoed, slowly retreating. 

"Ugh, finally. I'm starving," the leaning man said, chucking to himself. He opened the door, stepping out to leave, then looked at his cellmate. "Hey, you coming?"

"In a minute," the cellmate answered, still staring at the photo. The leaning man watched the cellmate for a couple of seconds, then shrugged and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Finally alone, the cellmate walked up to the photo, removing it from its place on the wall. As he stared at the child in the photo, all the hatred and anger he felt for the past four years rose to the surface. 

"Four more days, Sunny," he growled, and the photo wrinkled under his grip. "Four more days, and you'll find out what pain really is."