ᴛᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʜᴇʀ

ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ

It had been a whole week since I last spoke to Akira. A whole, unbearable week. She kept avoiding me, slipping out of sight before I could even get close. It infuriated me that we didn't share any classes this semester I had no excuse to see her, no chance to force a conversation. The days felt longer, stretching endlessly, each one a painful reminder of what I had done.

I shouldn't have said what I said.

Why'd you have to go and say that to her? This is your fault.

"Shut up!" I snapped at the voice in my head. My fingers tangled in my hair, pulling hard as if I could rip the thoughts out. "I was angry, okay? I—" My voice cracked, frustration curling in my throat like smoke.

You fucked things up.

"SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP! I'M TIRED OF YOU!"

My fist swung before I could stop it. A sickening crack split the air as my knuckles connected with the mirror. Jagged lines webbed across the glass, distorting my reflection. My fist throbbed, but I didn't care. Again. Again. Shards rained down onto the counter, glinting under the dim light. Blood smeared across the fractured surface, staining the cracks like veins.

If Akira could see you right now...

"Shut up."

She'd think you're insane. They'll send you to that institute Do you really want that? You'll never see her again.

I dropped to the floor, pressing my hands against my temples, trying to block it all out. The pounding in my head, the broken mirror, the accusing voice it was too much. Then, a knock at the door snapped me back to reality.

"Akira?" My voice was hoarse, desperate.

"Dear, open the door. It's your mother."

Disappointment settled in my chest like a stone. Of course, it wasn't her. Letting out a slow breath, I turned to the sink, watching red swirl down the drain as I washed the blood from my hand. My reflection, fractured and ghostly, stared back at me. I'd have to fix the mirror. Eventually.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, my mother was already sitting on my bed. She stood the moment she saw me, concern etched into the soft lines of her face.

"How are you, sweetie?" she asked, scanning me as if she could see through the lies I was about to tell.

I didn't answer fast enough.

"Why do you look so pale? Have you been eating enough? You've lost weight, haven't you?" She sighed, shaking her head. "I knew I shouldn't have let you boys live on your own."

"Mother, it's okay," I said, forcing a small smile.

Her eyes flickered with doubt.

"Why are you here?" I blurted out. Then, realizing how that sounded, I quickly added, "I mean how are you? What brings you here?"

She exhaled, brushing past my awkwardness. "Well, as you know, your father and I's anniversary is tomorrow. I wanted us to have dinner as a family." She reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before patting the bed beside her. "It would mean a lot."

I hesitated before sitting. "What time?"

"Six." A shadow crossed her face. "I'd love for your brother to come too."

I swallowed. "I'll ask him, Mother. No promises, though."

Her lips pressed into a thin smile. She kissed my cheek and smoothed my hair like she used to when I was a child. "Thank you, my darling boy. I brought dinner for you both it's downstairs." She stood, lingering for a moment. "I just wanted to see you."