Elder stepped toward her. Grabbing her hands, he yanked them down. “I’ve respected your desire never to see me again. I’ve stayed away even though it fucking kills me to be an outcast from my own family. But I won’t let you believe such lies. I loved Kade and Otōsan just as much as you did. If I could turn back the clock and never get involved with the Chinmoku, I would. I didn’t know the price. I was na?ve, but that doesn’t give me the right to beg for your forgiveness.” His voice turned sad, accepting that this fight had no winner or loser—they were both too stubborn to concede. “If you never want to see me again, then that’s you’re right, but, Okaasan, I love you—”
His mother let out another wail, struggling in his hold. He didn’t let go as if unable to part after so long. Her eyes fell onto Elder’s tattooed wrist. Such small ink compared to the artwork on his chest with the illusion of ribs and organs protected by a mythical beast. Most of the time, I forgot about the tiny characters ingrained into the thin skin of his arm.
I had no idea what it meant.
But his mother knew all too well.
Another sob escaped as she collapsed, dragging Elder to the floor with her as he tried to capture her weight without touching her more than necessary.
She struck him as her sob turned to howls.
Her hate turned to grotesque repugnance.
She shoved him away from her as if he was vile scum. “How could you! How could you?!”
I stood lost and unsure, but Elder sighed heavily, his face falling as he conceded defeat. “I could because they were mine too. I lost them too. Their names remind me every hour of every fucking day not to be that kid again. To harness it. To control it. To never ever forget.”
His mum crawled away, tears racing. “I hate you!”
“Too bad, I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.” Elder took a step back, letting her go physically and spiritually. “I’m sorry, Okaasan. For everything.”
Coming toward me, his body quaked, his hands balled and shaking. He kept his gaze on his mother writhing in agony on the carpet. “I’ll leave now, but you’re welcome to stay. Tell Raymond he has permission to stay as long as he likes—as I told all my uncles and aunts, nieces and nephews. Family you won’t permit me to see. Family who don’t even know I’m alive. But please, Okaasan, be careful.”
Rocking to her knees, his mother shut down. Her tears dried up. Her mouth thinned to a fierce line. Her emotions locked behind impenetrable gates. With a straight and true finger, she hissed, “Get out.”
“Goodbye, Mother.” Elder bowed low and sweeping like a prince paying homage to his sovereign before striking out for his own kingdom.
My heart broke for the disaster that’d happened. That I hadn’t helped more. That there was no way else for this to end.
With cold fingers, Elder captured my hand, took one last look at the woman who gave him life, and took me with him.
Far away from her.
Chapter Thirteen
______________________________
Elder
FUCK.
I threw the empty crystal glass at the wall, not caring if I dented the sleek perfection of paint and wallpaper. The tumbler was too thick to shatter, and it bounced off with an angry thud, rolling across the carpet.
It offered no satisfaction. No crash or splinter to soothe the rampaging agony and anger inside me.
“Goddammit,” I muttered, stalking to collect the glass to pour another shot of vodka.
I shouldn’t.
I really shouldn’t.
I’d had one. One was my limit. One taste to stave off the desire for the entire bottle. A trick I’d learned to allow a small sample of something before cutting it off entirely. Having that one taste made the removal easier rather than harder because at least I’d enjoyed some before being denied.
But it hadn’t worked tonight.
Tonight, the first shot wasn’t enough. The second shot wasn’t either. Perhaps, a third would help put out the fiery nerve endings and memories, and I could finally store away the bottle and calm the fuck down.
Splashing a generous amount into the glass, I threw it back. The alcohol burned my throat, granting discomfort before hitting my stomach in a wave of heat. Wincing, I cocked my arm and threw the tumbler again, pockmarking my wall with yet more anger-fuelled aggression.
Pacing, I dragged both hands through my hair. My eyes went to the vodka bottle again, craving something, anything to calm me, but knowing enough about myself not to have another.
My own family didn’t want me, but that didn’t mean I would destroy myself. I hadn’t when they’d banished me, and I wouldn’t now.
I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing their ostracizing had ruined me. I would never fall because they expected that of me. And I definitely wouldn’t screw myself over for when the Chinmoku found me. It wasn’t a matter of if but when. I was surprised it had taken this long.
How dare Raymond take my mother to my place without telling her? How dare he accept my offer of free accommodation without getting in touch? He’d willingly taken my gift but not offered thanks in return? He’d enjoyed my food, my home, my motherfucking hospitality, all without giving me something in return?
Asshole!
Not for the first time, I wondered why I held on to the past so hard. Why I craved the approval of so many who were no longer a part of my life. They’d left me to rot. They’d had no input into who I’d become. They didn’t know I had a guard watching them constantly—ready to alert me for when the Chinmoku decided to kill off more of my family. They didn’t know I silently watched from the shadows and kept them safe through any means necessary.
I was the reason they were in danger. But they were the reason why they remained so vulnerable—because they didn’t take me up on the offer of sanctuary on the Phantom while I hunted and killed the threat to my entire lineage.
My mother had carved out what was left of my heart the day they’d unanimously agreed that I should leave and never return. Never listen to my warnings. Never forgive me.
“Stop thinking about it for God’s sake.” I pressed my temples, willing the alcohol to have some effect, but at the same time, fearing it. Marijuana was easier on my system. It only offered me quietness. It didn’t make the world a better place or give me false illusions like liquor did.
I didn’t get happy or sad or reckless or conniving. Pot made me slow down. It halted the thoughts and allowed me to just be. To hover in the moment.
I needed that.
I also needed to stand in one place, judging by the carpet track marks from where I’d paced. My feet didn’t listen and continued to stalk the suite, hunting for a reprieve.
On the thirtieth or so pass, when I approached the remaining vodka on the side table in its crystal bottle, I scooped it up and marched to the front of my room.
I couldn’t have it taunting me anymore.
My strength was waning.
I need it gone.
Strangling the silver labelled bottle, I flicked the button to head outside. The wraparound toughened glass opened, allowing me access to the main deck. Laying anchor a few kilometres from shore allowed the constant sea breeze to find us and blow away the cobwebs of the fight with my mother.
Inhaling deep, I cocked my arm back and tossed the bottle as far as I could. It arched up in a flash of crystal and liquid then tumbled over the side of the Phantom, breaking the brine and sinking to the depths below.