"-ku, are you awake yet?" was the first thing I heard from my father.
The last thing I remembered before going to sleep was changing my clothes, apart from the fact that I was sleeping there.
I didn't dream anything, or at least, I didn't remember anything I dreamed. I've heard that the brain always dreams, and only sometimes do you remember it. To me, that's a lie. A person's mind can never be creative enough to dream every day.
Before saying anything, I got out of bed and sat there. "Yeah… What time is it?" I said, rubbing my eyes.
" Well, I was calling you for dinner. Also…"
"Is something wrong?"
"Well, I forgot to tell you Mom was having dinner with us today."
"…" As worried as my dad was about my answer, and a possible dinner party mess, I didn't take it too badly. I still didn't like the idea, anyway.
"And if you want, you can tell me what you wanted to tell me later. We got home a while ago, but I didn't want to wake you up until now."
" Yeah...that's it…" I also didn't like having to be the one to tell him about the letters. Although, looking at it from another perspective, I really don't have a reason to hide that from people. "Do I need to change?"
"Not at all, it's not going to be serious. She's your mother, anyway." And just because 'she's my mother' I should pretend she didn't do anything?
I don't intend to forgive her, much less treat her as someone close to me.
" I'm embarrassed when he sees me dressed like this. I'll change and go downstairs."
"Yes, we'll start dinner when you come down." My father, his voice calmer, left my room. I, just as I said, began to change my clothes.
Since the sweatshirts and pants in my closet also fit, I grabbed any piece of clothing I saw and threw it on. I ended up with a combination that only she could wear. It wasn't hideous, it was just her style.
After getting dressed, I left the room and went downstairs.
She was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the living room table. As if she'd never left, she greeted me as soon as she saw me.
When my father arrived with dinner, and with the help of my mother, we set the table, the three of us started eating.
I'm thankful my father didn't force me to talk at any point. I didn't have to say anything, and the situation was already awkward enough without having to make it worse.
They, on the other hand, were much more comfortable than usual. I just hope they stay separated. I don't want to have to live with my mother again.
My father isn't the kind of person who would completely break down over this. He wouldn't make such a bad decision.
What's not normal is that I'm so calm.
At this point, I would have gone crazy. Instead of slowly eating the steak on my plate, I would have already raised my voice at my mother. I probably would have said a bunch of horrible things to her, causing her to leave the house, and then having to face my father.
Am I heartless? Has it affected me so little that I've already dismissed it as "normal"? What should I be doing now? What am I supposed to do? Do you want me to forget about it all, as if it never happened, and live my life as if I were an only child?
As much as I'm still a 'brother,' I'm not anyone's brother. And it's not like people are going to understand that.
Now I'm that kid who's been through something horrible. Every time they hear my name, they'll think of this first, then of any problems I might have, and finally, of me.
I refuse to accept that this is my fate. I don't want to end up wasting money on a shitty psychologist who'll only rub salt in the wound. He'll moisten the dried blood stuck to my hands.
The more I think, not about what has already happened, but about what will happen next, the less motivation I have to continue. But I have no other choice.
No matter how many nights I've thought about that nonsense, I have to accept that it's always been nonsense, that it'll never be serious. I just have to accept it and move on.
And even though my head is full of voices, the ones I hear the most are theirs. And I should just suppress them anyway.
"();!…" Out of nowhere, the natural conversation my parents were having was interrupted by a slight cry from my mother, followed by a worried tone from my father, throwing into the air the name of the person who was crying.
I wasn't paying attention to the conversation at all, but I guess she's crying about it.
As if I had the right to. If you're going to cry, cry for not being here when everything was normal.
Between sobs, she kept saying that this shouldn't have happened, that she shouldn't have had to-
Static.
She didn't want to believe that her precious daughter had done such a thing. She wanted to know why. She wanted to know why no one wanted to help her. She whispered how much she se-
Static.
It was a desperate cry towards society, for having let such an angel die.
But you are the last person who can say that.
Being the first to leave her, you have no right to know anything about her, nor to blame others for having abandoned her.
You're not one to judge the facts when you're more concerned about your reputation than your own daughter. You're not going to fool me with a handful of water dripping from your eyes.
In fact, when Grandma died, you cared more about the fact that I had exposed you in front of her than about her death itself.
You only care about how people see you, you shitty actress. I just hope you never leave the boyfriend you got, at least then you have someone else to put up with.
And I refuse to believe you've changed. Even though it's been five years, I don't believe someone like you will ever change. I can't trust you. You didn't even leave on a good note. You got divorced, packed up everything in the house, and left. We chose to stay with Dad.
That's why I don't want you to come to me crying because she's gone. I'm sure you're even one of the reasons why-
"Riku, is something wrong?" It was my father again. The scene was completely different from before. My mother was calm now, although her eyes were a little red from crying, and my father had regained his friendly tone, with a hint of dejection. My mother told me he seemed very tense. Afterward, he apologized for standing like that at the table.
Apparently, they had already finished dinner, I was the only one with the steak on my plate, I wasn't even halfway through.
"If you're not hungry, you can skip the food. I'd rather do that than feel sick later." Now I was the one 'making a scene' by barely eating.
"Ah, no, no, I want to eat." I replied in a slightly low tone.
I didn't do much else. While I ate, they talked. The only thing I can't get out of my head is the thought of them telling me tomorrow they're getting back together. I don't think my mom wants to do that, especially since she's already in a relationship, and I hope my dad doesn't stoop so low as to get back together with her.
When there wasn't much else to talk about between them, my mother decided to talk to me. She asked me about my studies, if I'd made any friends, or if I had a girlfriend. The atmosphere was like any other family dinner. It makes me angry.
I answered as briefly as possible, but without sounding harsh. The slightest tone I use that isn't kind to her will make her furious. I'd rather not have to swallow that.
In the middle of that "conversation" we were having, my father took the opportunity to clear the table, since I had also finished. He picked up the plates and cutlery, along with the glasses, and went to the kitchen to put them away.
On my mom's side, she kept bringing up things to talk about. I don't care if you tell me about what you did with your friends, or what you're doing now with your new friends, and with your new boyfriend. I don't care what you tell me. Even if your voice sounds different, even if your gaze looks gentler and more trusting, I'm not going to s-
"But there's something that makes me laugh even more…" she said suddenly. Until now, the atmosphere in the room had been awkward, at least for me, but at that moment, I could feel the air getting thicker and thicker.
"How are you capable of saying those things to me after everything you've done? Your temper is worse than a child's having a tantrum."