When I'm With Them, I'm Free

Chapter Nineteen: Love Is Waking Up

warning: slight manga spoilers

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You finally woke up the moment your aunt came into your bedroom, your mind having processed every event that had ever occurred in your life as she stood by the doorway with a glass of tea in hand.

It wasn't an awareness that ensued after sleeping or a rousing that followed washing your face in the morning or eating breakfast.

It was a consciousness that transpired after an opaque fog had covered your mind like a thick blanket, dimming every event down to an unimportant circumstance. Every bloody splatter you saw on the roads of the city, every unaccounted-for person, and every screaming child in your arms was trivial, a mere insignificance. It didn't allow for the heavyweight of the situation to settle on your shoulders, causing each of your intense emotions to postpone. It allowed a few to slip out in the heat of the moment. But, it always kept the larger heap of anger or sadness or fear behind view, forcing it to wait until the thick mass of air wasn't holding your mind hostage anymore.

You had been clear-headed at the beginning of the war, slight insight of what was possible pressing anxiety into your spine. But the feelings, the knowledge, the awareness evolved into a sunken mass in your stomach. It turned into an unknowingness you couldn't get rid of. It clouded your mind like fog in the early hours of the morning.

It made everything seem less than it should've meant, it dampened everything you felt, numbing your intense sadness until all you felt was pangs of upset bullets. Like with Shoto, the true, raging emotions behind your eyes were a lot more powerful than the hot tears that ran down your cheeks. As you had watched him walk away, the thunderstorm in your stomach and mind was stronger than the sobs that left your throat in choked whines.

Sitting up on your bed, you used your arms to press up behind you. Your back was slouched, your legs exposed and outstretched, though slightly bent in front of you. The covers of your bed that once entrapped your body were curved and tangled, parts of your legs bare and touching the cooler air.

With this visibility, you would be able to look down and see the large, green, and purple bruises on your shins. But you weren't looking, your eyes more focused on the woman at your doorway.

[Aunt's Name] has the side of her body pressed against the opened door, her hip popped. She wore a long, red sweater, the ends of the thick fabric reaching her jean-covered knees. When you looked at her face, you could see how tired she was. Dark circles were under her dark green eyes, the sullenness of exhaustion deepening the forming lines on her face.

She never looked so old until this moment, and you wondered what made you ignore her aging so much.

Was it the image of your late mother? The hope that maybe she wouldn't wither away as her sister did?

A white cup was cradled in her palms, steam visibly floating from the hot liquid inside. You moved a bit more, pushing your spine out of the lazy curve that it held. You began to pull your legs to the floor on the side of your bed, wincing at the pain that ran from your hips to your toes.

The covers that once rested comfortably over your body stayed in their designated place as you moved, your legs growing more exposed with the passing second. Soon, you sat near the edge of the mattress, your feet pressed firmly against the ground as you waited for the moment your head would stop spinning.