Life After Death

24 } The Counting Game

"We're just...?"

"Teenagers." She scoffs, throwing her hands in the air, "We're a bunch of teenagers - mostly - who ride motorcycles and shoot guns and-"

"And run the Slums." I interrupt again, "And evoke fear on those who remain - those who can feel fear. We're teenagers who managed to do that. I mean fuck Vee, the arena. That doesn't impress you enough?"

"Yeah!" She actually laughs, "Yeah, it impresses me but not enough. You," She steps forward and pushes me, "Of all people should know that. Sylvie got it right when she left-"

"Don't say her name." I warn. And my tone? It's deafening. Vee understands now she's always allowed to be upset with me, angry, whatever - but that tone means I'm putting my foot down. "Just because you've seen her for two seconds doesn't mean she's not off limits still."

Vee's eyes hold that fire. They're narrow and firm - but she holds her chin high and nods nonetheless, "Sorry."

I hold her stare, "Good."

"Guys, stop comparing dick sizes right now please? Let's get the fuck home and talk about this in the morning when we're actually running on sleep. Sound good?" Seb claps his hands together.

I nod, "Sounds good. Vee?"

"Yeah, sounds good or whatever." She mumbles, picking up our pace once again and kicking a pebble on her way. I think of Mars at the movement. Of the way she's either always fidgeting or thinking about something entirely too deep for her or readjusting that disgustingly beautiful bright annoying red fiery hair...

I need help. And more than the familial issues kind. 

I was born eighteen years ago to two very terrible people. A mother and a father who didn't love each other, not normally at least, and decided having three children was the best idea for a couple of emotionally stunted people. 

Before Sylvie was even born they had already decided what they wanted to do to the world. How they wanted to take over. Start a new civilisation with grander, more produced and practically artificial people composed solely to their expectations and liking. 

My mother and Richard Yamamoto. Both from striving and rich families - that also had ties to Japan's Edo period. What can I say? We're royalty. I mean not entirely...but I grew up in a home with flowing streams and small bridges in the backyard. Sophisticated enough to be royal for me. 

They aren't entirely the worst I suppose. Don't get me wrong, they're terrible - all it took for them to turn against the world was meeting Laurel, but they could have been worse...well, they could have been Laurel. That's the only worse. I really wouldn't have anything to defend them with if she didn't exist. But that woman is...how do I put this? 

If fines still existed, every time she were dropped off somewhere by her fancy little EVA drivers, said drivers would get said fine for littering. 

Sylvie though...she's everything. She was everything. She was my parent. More of that than an older sister, I guess given the almost two decade age gap. I'l l give her credit where it's due...she definitely did try to fight for us. She tried to stop them. From either the physical torture or the verbal comments that soon became so natural they stopped feeling like bullets. She tried. She did. 

But then at the peak of it? When it was the absolute worst? She left. She left the both of us, and never returned. 

I was seven. Alex was five. Sylvie was twenty-four. I may have been young, and perhaps most kids at that age wouldn't fully comprehend the notion of being left - abandoned - but it was pretty simple to me. My parents being as emotionless as they were forced me to inerpret the most miniscule expressions.