As I stepped out of the office I realized I probably should have told Mr. Ryujin about Shinso. Perhaps he'd understand and give advice—maybe even have the two of us meet in his office for a one-on-one talk. The thought of talking with Shinso was somewhat exhilarating, but at the same time, I felt a strange sense of anxiety.
Shinso hadn't ever wanted to openly talk with me after what transpired at U.A. Based on the way his demeanor was in the coffee shop told me he was offended and hurt by what I had done. I had left him because he snapped at me—and he most likely perceived it as an act of fear, not an act of social respect and understanding. I had only walked away because he was probably stressed.
I suddenly thought back to our small conversation in the cat cafe, how the boy had openly expressed his liking for cats. Aside from him walking out after I failed to give a proper explanation, he seemed somewhat genial when cats were the topic of discussion. Perhaps the next time we meet I'd take it slow and ask him about cats. Or I could arrange for a cat to be nearby somehow so he'd have a reason to talk aside from boredom or disgust with me.
If the cat were to be involved, as he's petting it, I could lighten up to him and give a proper explanation. That way he'd mostly likely understand, and the presence of the cat would have already adjusted his mood to begin with.
Looking back at Mr. Ryujin's office for a few more seconds. I did want to talk to him about Shinso, but at the same time, what if he would make a mistake and pick the boy up at the wrong time? After a few moments of deliberation I decided not to ask the favor. I could either stop by the park to finish my book or go home.
What if I were to run into Shinso in the park? Would I be prepared for such an interaction? Or should I go home? Shinso doesn't live in my neighborhood, so I guess that would be the better of the two options.
Ayumi had already left U.A twenty minutes before me, so I didn't have anyone to talk to on the way home—not that it was a bad thing. Overhead most of the clouds had disappeared, except for a few lone ones floating in the sky. The sun shone brightly onto the sidewalk and street, which were both dark and damp from the previous rainfall.
Just then, my stomach grumbled. On the way out the house this morning I had a bowl of that nauseating grain cereal, and it didn't go that good of a job in terms of filling me up. My lunch that day was filling, but the vigorous walking to U.A and gym class most likely burnt most of the calories.
I didn't want to go back to the cat cafe, as that would risk an unprecedented interaction with Shinso. The boy's been there almost three-hundred times! Aside from that option I could stop by the convenience store and get a freebie from Garry. Every Thursday his store offered free slushies. But would it be awkward considering what occurred this morning?
I had attempted to get my father arrested. I don't know why I had acted like that—it's not like me. But at the same time, I wanted to do it with all my might.
I figured I should just go home; I could eat whatever was sitting in the fridge if we had anything besides cup ramen and dollar store stuff.
...
My neighborhood had the usual odors of marijuana and other drugs. Today, it was surprisingly prominent. I reached down and undid my tie, wrapping it around my nose as I continued forward.
Maybe one of my neighbors had an overdose.
I could still smell it through the slightly sweaty fabric of my tie, the two foul scents intermingling to make my nose want to explode. Before I knew it I had already left my neighborhood and decided to take a detour. It wasn't necessarily a bad detour, but it was one I considered lengthy.
My neighborhood had a shape similar to a square, with four streets that were interconnected to form the shape. One of the sides of this square had an extra road from outside, forming an intersection. If I could navigate that road I could make it back without passing out from the foul smells.
I walked back out to the border of Hosu and assessed my current position. I was on the edge of the east side of my neighborhood, and from some research I had conducted the rogue street came from the rest. Using the compass in my phone I navigated west, passing through another neighborhood that had a much higher quality than mine.
This was the neighborhood rumored to be run by the mafia and drug gangs.
Each of the houses had a more polished and refined appearance, with neatly trimmed bushes and the distant sounds of sprinklers washing the lush, green grass. The grass of my neighborhood was also green, but other patches of it were yellow and brown—dead.
Even if the place appeared well-done, I didn't see a single face, a single person in this neighborhood. The eerie silence of this place had my heartbeat speed up slightly. All around me, I could feel invisible gazes peering at me from all directions. Sweat began to accumulate as it dashed down my face, the collar of my uniform beginning to darken from the liquid soaking into it.
My steps became faster rather quickly, and the pattering of my feet under the unscathed sidewalk accelerated as I began to speedwalk forward—my gaze remaining on the compass on my phone. Eventually, that feeling gradually dissipated, along with the fleeting sounds of sprinklers.
Looking ahead of me, the sun had begun to descend, but it wouldn't be another three hours until it got dark. Around me, the polished and neatly trimmed bushes had been replaced by shaggy trees, fungus, and a strange amount of loose foliage.
The street I found myself on was rather wide, enough for two cars to drive down it at the same time without colliding, which was much unlike my neighborhood, where our road was slim. Most of the people in my neighborhood walked to their locations because of the road's condition, or they couldn't afford to purchase cars or rent a taxi ride.
Lining the road were numerous pieces of trash and disposed items. Some were discarded fast food wrappers, old, broken toys—even a few used condoms. My gaze suddenly fell to a teddy bear lying on the side of the road near a dumpster. What triggered me was there was a dumpster, but nobody bothered to use it.
The teddy bear wore a worn yet pleasant-looking smile, and on the left side of its chest was a slightly faded but large and eccentric pink heart. On the heart were two bold, red letters: Press Me!
I felt an unwelcome yet strange surge of curiosity as I held the bear in my grip, pressing down with my two thumbs on the fabric heart.
"I love you so much!" An old, rusty voice sounded from a speaker underneath the bear's skin. The voice sounded like something I'd hear from a cartoon: happy and optimistic, yet warm and reassuring. Those words were ones I was familiar with, but they've never been focused towards me. It was always the couple on the cheesy romance television show or words I'd read in a book.
But hearing those words from a stuffed bear, whose owner discarded it—leaving it alone to rot, I felt my heart tighten, and my throat tighten. As if paternally, my grip habitually tightened around the bear, holding it to my chest.
My legs began to quiver underneath me, as if unstable and unable to support themselves much longer. I slowly walked over to the dumpster and sat down, still gripping the bear closely to my chest as I looked down at the dead grass. My ears must have been filtering out the noise, but I heard the energetic voice sound again and again.
"I love you so much!"
"I love you so much!"
"I love you so much!"
Warm and salty tears began to accumulate in the corners of my eyes as I continued pressing the bear's chest, hearing the words again and again like they were an affirmation. My vision blurred a little as tears gushed down my face, my grip around the bear tightening to the point where I might break it.
I rested my head back against the cold surface of the dumpster, feeling the rough and bumpy texture of the metal gracing my scalp, as if giving me a massage.
"Oh my god..." I heard a female voice sound.
My eyes darted open, assessing my surroundings. It was pouring above me, and I was curled up inside of the dumpster. I held a stuffed turtle plush to my chest, the mottled, green fabric riddled with tears and stitches. The lid of the dumpster was pried open, and I saw a young woman and black hair gazing down at me.
Beside her was a man with black hair and a stubble, his eyes assessing yet filled with worry. It didn't take much time to recognize those figures, they were my parents!
"Russel, give me your coat!" My mother looked back at her husband, extending her arm. My father removed the coat quickly and handed it to her.
"You're gonna be ok, sweetie." My mothers voice was soft as she slowly reached out her hand towards me.
Just then, my vision was overwhelmed by a blinding light. My eyes opened, this time slowly. I looked around in a daze. The sun had set below the trees, casting the surroundings in darkness. Had three hours passed when I was asleep?
I tried to stand up but my feet were like jelly, and I felt an abnormal throbbing pain in my head, as if someone had bashed it against the dumpster again and again. After a few moments of silence I leaned back against the metal, taking a deep breath.
Why had I seen my parents like that? They looked so young and well-off. The coats they were wearing were unlike the ones they wore now—they appeared much more refined and elegant. Had I seen my parents when they were younger? Was that...when they found me in the dumpster?
...
After twenty minutes of sitting there, I had finally gathered the strength to propel my body upwards and continue walking. I had made the rest of the way home and stood at my front door. If I were to open it I had no idea how my parents would react. My mother would most likely wonder where I've been, while my father—on the other hand—would most likely rough me up a little.
When I usually came home from school my mother was in the process of making dinner, and my father was either asleep on the couch or at work. The amount of time I was away prompted them to both complete their tasks. My father didn't have work today, so he most likely drank all day or went to meet up with his friends. My mother would have finished dinner and called me for it about an hour ago.
My legs moved on their own, and I didn't think twice. I opened the window into my bedroom and entered it. The air was still and I heard no noise from the inside of my house. My bedsheets were as I had left them when I woke up, and nothing had been moved or adjusted.
Had my parents not entered my room?
Just then I heard a knock on the door. It was a light knock, which belonged to my mother.
"Honey, dinner is ready."
"I'll be right there." I turned around and closed my window, tossing the stuffed bear onto my head and putting it under the covers. If my father were to see it he'd either toss it away or torment me with ridicule. My hands trembled slightly as I opened the door. I took a deep breath as I walked down the hallway and assessed my parents' conditions.
My father was looking right at me, but his gaze didn't exhibit any signs of malice or danger. My mother—on the other hand—was looking down at her plate, eating her chicken. My eyes widened when I saw the fast-food bags on the table.
"I saw your report card, sweetie. I'm proud." My mother looked up at me, offering me a gentle smile.
"But a sixty-four in math?" My fathers gruff voice sounded as he pushed aside the paper bag. "I thought you'd told me you would do better?"
"Sorry, maths's not my strong suit." I sat down at the table, thanking my parents for the meal as I opened the fast-food bag and peered inside. There was nothing.
"I don't mean to sound rude but...where's my food?" I looked up at my parents.
"We bought him food? I thought it was extra." My father let out a small burp as he leaned back in his chair.