— Chapter 4 —

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The park bench wasn't comfortable, but it was flat enough to lay my head on.

Its chipping timber was better than the worn, bulky mattress at home. The rusty metal legs that kept it standing were better than the broken wood pegs of my own bed. And the chilly winter breeze that washed over me was better than the thin, torn blanket I had grown so used to.

My legs felt heavy—numb—similar to what I imagined the effects of quicksand to be like. I could hardly keep my heavy eyes open, especially not against the sharp wind that itched my lashes. All I waited for was the simple embrace of sleep.

Ignoring the numbness in my shoulder, I had a gentle grip on my bruised side. It stung, tender with the bruise that had slowly formed a swollen red. It was certainly the one that felt most terrible. I knew it wouldn't take long before the fresh red turned into an ugly, unsightly purple.

I sighed, rolling my head back on the jacket I'd folded beneath my head. Every limb was in pain. I was surprised I'd even made it to the park to begin with.

My father was the one who was supposed to protect me, and yet, he was the very person who inflicted the most harm. But perhaps the sorriest part of it all was that I never blamed him for it. All of the beatings were just his method of escape from the life that did him wrong. It was just my fault for being in the same room—for not being the son he could be proud of.

I didn't know how long I'd rested on the bench for, hoping for the precious release into unconsciousness. Though just as I'd finally come across the veil of sleep, the ringer tone of my phone buzzed with a notification. Snapping my eyes open, somewhat irritated, a heavy sigh left my lips.

When do I ever get notifications? I thought grumpily, waving my hand around loosely in an effort to fish out my old phone.

Finding the flimsy thing, I wiped the smudges off the glass and adjusted my gaze to the brightness of the screen.

Hardly paying attention, I typed in my passcode to find a newly shared photo. And the fact that it was from James felt like salt in a wound.

It was a picture of two people. A young woman with blonde hair, who was quite beautiful, grinning largely at the camera... and James, who was standing a few paces behind her with a soft pull on his lips. I couldn't figure out why the girl looked so familiar.

There was no caption, so I didn't pay too much attention to it. Instead, my focus was on James, who rarely ever smiled—especially not in photos. It made a strange feeling itch in my chest. I'm glad you're happy, I wanted to think. But I didn't believe in the words.

Seeing his glowing face made me almost homesick. The post had already accumulated nearly three-hundred comments, with the likes almost tenfold that amount. It served as a small reminder of the two different worlds we came from.

Him, a life of class and luxury... and me, locked away in a little corner of Boston.

James Kato. Born to Japanese parents in the city of Boston, his Japanese-American mother insisted he have some part of his name be English as he grew up in the country. His family was incredibly wealthy, too—mostly old money, but his father was working as a successful councilman in the city, and his mother as a chairwoman in a major investment company.

Not that James wanted anything to do with either of them, though. He got emancipated from his parents when he turned sixteen.

James himself was quite handsome. With smooth, clear skin, pitch-black hair, and a captivating dark-brown gaze, he would always get glances walking down the street. The last time I'd seen him, he was just above six feet tall, with a slim but strong build. And the fact that he always dressed rather expensively certainly helped his charm.

Observing the photo for only a few moments longer, I eventually sighed and turned the phone off.

Part of me envied the smile on his face—had he found some kind of peace in the years we'd been distant? While I was left behind, reliving the same terrible day over and over again?

The other part of me hated that I couldn't be entirely glad for him. He'd spent the best years of my life with me, promising that it would stay that way. But, like everyone else, he moved on... because nobody around me was ever permanent, apparently.

Noticing the heavy feeling in my chest, I carefully shuffled to my side and exhaled a shaky breath. James served as a reminder of the only time in my life that I was ever truly happy... of the life I could never have again.

I still miss him...

Shutting my heavy eyes and grumbling to myself, I couldn't help but feel hopeless. Oh, I'm such an idiot.

"Oi, Kid," a gruff voice spoke, "get up."

I felt a sharp prodding in my shoulder, the pinching feeling making me wince. When I realized that I wasn't at home, my eyes jolted open—leaving me to face the grumpy uniformed man standing by the bench.

"You're not allowed to sleep here. It's public property," the voice spoke again. "Get your stuff and keep moving."

"Sorry," I said flatly. Public my ass.

Weakly sitting up and grabbing the old backpack, I listened to the old man as he continued to speak. "You know the rules. So don't let me catch you again. Come on, hurry up."

Cringing at the memory of that morning, I pushed open the heavy door of a small supermarket, the rusty bell above the door chiming upon my entry.

It wasn't a popular place, but it had the only thing that couldn't be found anywhere else on this side of the city. Redwin's Matcha Tea—pricey stuff, but something I'd been attached to since high school.

"Afternoon, Elliot," the cashier behind the counter greeted me. Her name was Jesse, an elderly East-Asian woman who'd been running the store since the seventies. Her grandson Han had slowly taken up management in recent years, but she still made it in for the afternoon shifts most days.

"Hey, Jess," I smiled. "How's it going with you?"

"Oh, you know. Aches and pains, aches and pains..." she chuckled. "I'm doing alright, youngster."

"That's good to hear."

She grins at me, her eyes creasing tightly together. "How's bartending? Are those bikers giving you a hard time?"

"Ah, they're fine. Noisy as usual, but nothing I can't handle," I assured her, heading down the aisle with all the fancy food. "How's business going? Busy?"

She shrugged. "It's been busier the last few days. We've been getting more and more customers in lately, which is quite nice. Han is such a smart boy—who knew you could get so popular advertising on the internet?"

"Not me, I swear," I joked, listening to her little laugh at my words.

As another customer approached her to get their items scanned, I ducked my head to see some of the lower shelves.

Redwin's, Redwin's, Redwin's... I frowned, scanning the shelves left to right. My eyes finally land on a dark emerald box on the second-last shelf, mistakenly tucked behind one of the other products.

I got the last one, I thought, grateful that I hadn't missed the opportunity.

"Hey, I've been looking everywhere for this," someone's voice rang out from beside me. They plucked the box from my hand with little effort. "Thanks!"

Surprised, I rested my gaze on the younger woman who'd snatched it from me. She looked like the kind of person who was too classy to be caught on this side of the city, dressed in a formal suit with a blonde ponytail and a strand of pearls around her neck.

Jesse had noticed everything, however, passing me a brief glance as the lady approached the counter. Quickly scanning the other items, she then picked up the box, pulling it away from the woman's stuff.

Feigning concern, she said, "oh, I'm sorry ma'am! It actually appears this item is past its use-by date. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to sell it to you."

The woman frowned, snapping rudely. "That's ridiculous! It's tea, it can't have expired that quickly. Give it here, let me see."

Jesse tucked the box behind the counter before the lady can reach it. "I'm sorry, you'll have to come get one on another day. Or you can pick from some of the other teas we have on show."

The woman whined. "But I came for that one! The only other place that sells it is across the city!"

"There's really nothing I can do, ma'am."

"I can't believe this. After I drove all the way here? Ridiculous!" She complained. "You know what, keep the rest of it, too. I'll go somewhere else."

Shoving the rest of the products across the counter and sending them falling to the ground, the woman then stormed out, the clacking of her heels fading as she left. Jesse rolled her eyes in response.

I rushed over, picking up the stuff that had fallen on the outer side of the counter. Jesse gives me a soft 'thank you' as I pass them to her.

"Can you believe that?" She asked me, pulling the small box of tea back out for me.

"You didn't have to do that," I said nervously. "I would've been fine with something else."

"Nonsense. Someone had to teach her a lesson," she smiled, "and besides, you buy that same tea every time you come in here. I'm not letting you go home without it, kiddo."

Lost for any other words, I could only express my gratitude. "Thank you, really."

"Ah, don't worry about it," she said, ringing my stuff through the checkout before I passed her the cash. "Come back soon, okay?"

Taking the bag from her, I offered a warm smile and waved her bye. "Of course. Bye, Jess."

"Bye, kid."

Walking out into the street, I was almost blinded by the sunlight that blared into my eyes. Sunset, already? I thought, adjusting my gaze to observe the orange hues in the sky.

"Jeez," I mumbled, fishing through the bag for my Pocky sticks. It wasn't much, but I deserved to treat myself to something from time to time.

I'd walked halfway down the short road by the time I'd unboxed the small packet. Picking the silver wrapping with my teeth as I adjusted the bag on my shoulders, I walked inattentively, focusing more on the growling in my stomach rather than the pacing of my feet.

I couldn't wait to go home and eat the pizza hiding in the back of the fridge, assuming my father hadn't gotten to the leftovers already.

Jeez... I could already smell it. The crisp bottom layer, the sauce, the pepperoni... god, I was basically salivating at the mouth.

I was at the intersection of a deserted crossroads by the time I'd finally torn the packet open—though, what happened next made me realize that it wasn't as deserted as I'd originally thought.

Something roared in my direction as I'd stepped into the middle of the road to cross.

Headlights.

A motorcycle. Moving unbelievably faster than the legal speed limit.

My sudden presence on the road must have shocked the driver. Frozen to my spot, I felt time slow considerably as the rider yanked their handlebars—missing me by only a few precious inches as the bike toppled over with an ear-splitting screech.

The bike continued to skid on the wet asphalt, finally coming to a halt just a few feet off from the nearest building. Other engines thundered in the distance, too, but my attention was on the rider.

They'd managed to hop off the bike just in time before it had completely turned over. Now lying in the middle of the road, I watched in shock as they turned weakly onto their back and let out a rough cough.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, the engines that I'd heard earlier finally arrived on the road in the distance... moving just as fast as the driver that had tipped over only seconds earlier.

I turned my focus back to the fallen rider, dropping the plastic bag in my hands and jogging over with whatever strength I had left in my jelly legs.

"Are you okay?" I asked, watching anxiously as I heard their irritated grumble behind the tinted visor.

Loosely finding the edges of the matte black helmet, the rider sunk their fingers under and pulled the guard off his head. Who I saw shaking their hair out almost made my jaw drop to the floor.

I just made Noah Black capsize his bike.

God, I'm so dead.

But the rumbling engines from earlier had finally arrived beside us, giving me little time to express my surprise. The riders circled around the scene, before hopping off their motorcycles and tearing off their helmets. With the scowls on their faces, I realized quickly that they probably weren't friends.

"Damn," I heard Noah mutter from the ground behind me.

One of the other riders, who I figured was the ringleader, walked ahead of the small few and announced, "well, would you look at this idiot?"

Noah didn't seem to take them seriously, watching them upside-down from his angle through thick lashes. His pierced tongue grazed his ivory teeth almost hypnotically... but I was captivated by the raw adrenaline in his gaze, and the fearless smirk on his soft lips.

"Hiya, fellas."