𝙨𝙚𝙩, 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠, 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙪𝙣𝙩 | 𝙖. 𝙢𝙞𝙮𝙖

14 ᡣ𐭩

The next morning, the house was eerily quiet. I woke up still holding Suzuki, her small frame curled up against me, her breathing steady and peaceful. For a brief moment, things felt calm, like everything could be okay.

But then reality hit. I slowly slipped out of her bed, careful not to wake her, and headed back to my room. The events of last night crashed over me in waves—my mother's drunken rage, Suzuki's tears, and the cut I now had to face.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling up my sleeve with trembling fingers. The cut was still raw, angry, and swollen. It stung when I moved, but that pain was easier to deal with than the one gnawing at my chest. I rinsed it with water, the sting sharp but almost welcome, a reminder of how deep everything went inside me.

Once it was bandaged, I pulled on a sweatshirt, hiding it away. Just like I always did. No one had to know, not Suzuki, not Atsumu, and definitely not my mom. She was gone again, anyway. I didn't need to check to know that she wouldn't be around for breakfast.

The house felt empty, like it always did when she disappeared like this, leaving behind the mess of the night before. I tried not to think about her, tried to shove down the anger and sadness that threatened to surface. There was no point in dwelling on it. She was who she was, and I had long ago stopped hoping she'd change.

I headed downstairs and started making breakfast, the clatter of pans and utensils filling the silence. The normalcy of it all helped ground me, if only a little. I fried some eggs and put bread in the toaster, trying to focus on the simple tasks, anything to keep my mind off everything else.

As I cracked an egg into the pan, I glanced at the empty space on the counter where her keys usually sat. They were gone. She'd left without saying anything again. It was always like this—she'd storm off after nights like last, and who knew when she'd come back. Sometimes it was hours, sometimes days.

The familiar knot tightened in my stomach, but I pushed it aside. Focus on what you can control, I told myself. And right now, I could control breakfast.

Just as I was finishing up, I heard small footsteps behind me. I turned to see Suzuki rubbing her eyes as she padded into the kitchen, her hair still messy from sleep.

"Morning, Susu," I said, trying to keep my voice upbeat as I forced a smile. "I made you some eggs. You hungry?"

She nodded sleepily, climbing into one of the kitchen chairs and yawning. I placed a plate in front of her, along with some toast, and sat down across from her with my own food.

"Where's Mom?" she asked between bites, her voice soft and innocent.

I paused, unsure of what to say. "She had to go out early," I lied, hoping she wouldn't press further. "But we're okay. It's just us today."

Suzuki didn't say anything else, just nodded as she ate quietly. I watched her, feeling the weight of everything settle heavily on my shoulders again. I had to be strong for her. I had to protect her, even if that meant pushing my own pain aside.

As we ate in silence, I couldn't help but glance down at my bandaged arm, hidden under my sleeve. The reminder of last night was still there, and though the physical pain had dulled, the emotional scars ran deeper.

I didn't know how much longer I could keep pretending I had it all together. But for Suzuki, I had to try. She needed me, and right now, that was the only thing keeping me going.

After breakfast, I quickly cleaned up the dishes while Suzuki went to her room to get dressed. I could hear her rummaging around, probably picking out her favorite accessories to go with her kindergarten uniform. I followed her upstairs, grabbing my own school uniform from the closet—a white blouse, plaid skirt, and the blazer with our school's crest stitched onto it.