No strings attached / Leon s. Kennedy

Chapter 24

Amber

I'm on vacation. A break, or at least that's what it's supposed to be. But, honestly, I don't even know what to do with myself. Leon's probably at home, enjoying his own time off. Or doing whatever the hell Leon does. For all I care, he's likely as restless as I am.

I lean back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that I should enjoy the free time. But what does vacation even mean when your whole life is wrapped around your job? The thought crosses my mind—maybe I should go say hi at work. I laugh to myself, realizing how crazy that sounds. Going to work on your vacation? Who the hell does that?

But I've always been like this. My life has always been about work, always about keeping busy. That's what keeps me grounded—keeps me from thinking too much, from feeling too much. Without it, I don't even know who I am.

I glance over at my phone, half-tempted to text someone from the office just to see how things are going. Ridiculous, right? I should go out, maybe grab a drink somewhere. Do something normal for once. But the idea of being around people, pretending everything's fine—it feels like too much effort.

Still, sitting here doing nothing feels worse.

I stand up, pacing the length of my apartment. Maybe a drink would clear my head. Or maybe it would just make me feel... something. Anything other than this empty restlessness. Yeah, I think. A drink sounds like a plan.

I leave my apartment, the familiar click of the door locking behind me as I step out onto the street. The city's alive, buzzing with the sounds of passing cars, people chattering, the occasional laughter cutting through the air. I walk in the direction of the bar, blending into the background, just another face in the crowd. Parents with their kids, groups of friends, teenagers messing around... all of them lost in their own little worlds.

I was a teenager once, like them. Normal.

People didn't ask me about my parents back then, not really. No one ever came up and talked to me about it directly. No, they preferred to whisper behind my back, like they thought I couldn't hear. Not that it ever bothered me. I didn't remember anything, so what was there to be upset about?

But still, there was always that weird, gnawing sensation whenever I'd see the other kids getting picked up by their parents. When they'd talk about family vacations or complain about how embarrassing their mom or dad was. All those little, everyday things that I missed out on. Because I had that once—until I was 10.

I had a mother who loved me, who cared about me in a way that made me feel safe. And my father... well, he was a tyrant, no question about that. But even he had moments. Little flashes where he'd try, where he'd act like he gave a damn. Those memories are faint, though, buried beneath everything else.

And then it was gone. One night, everything disappeared, and the next thing I knew, I was growing up in an orphanage, watching other kids get adopted, get second chances. But not me. I was just... there. Existing.

I shake my head, trying to push those thoughts away as I weave through the crowd. I don't think about it much. Can't think about it much. There's no point. That life is long gone, and the person I am now doesn't have room for memories like that.

Still, sometimes, in moments like this, when I see parents with their kids, I wonder what it would've been like to have that again. To have grown up with a family, with a normal life. Would it have changed anything?

I reach the bar, glancing up at the sign, wondering for a second if 6 PM is too early. Probably not. There's already a low hum of conversation inside, the kind that suggests a few people have been here long enough to forget the time.