Chapter 5

2022

The police officers arrived at the house in the early afternoon, their presence bringing with it an air of foreboding. The boy stood at the top of the stairs, watching as his father opened the door, his face a mask of dread. Two officers stepped inside, their expressions stern but not unkind. The room, usually filled with the warmth of afternoon sunlight, now felt cold and unwelcoming.

"Sir?" one of the officers began, his voice measured. The boy's father nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he gestured for them to sit. They declined, remaining standing as if the gravity of their visit required it.

"We've completed our investigation," the officer continued, glancing briefly at the boy who was now descending the stairs, curiosity and anxiety warring within him. "I'm afraid we have some difficult news. The individuals responsible for the attack on you… one of them is your nephew, H."

The room seemed to tilt slightly, the words hitting like a physical blow. The boy's father swayed, catching the back of the couch to steady himself. The boy's heart raced, pounding in his chest as the officer continued, detailing how H and two of his friends had been caught on surveillance footage, and how the motive appeared to be linked to H's increasing desperation for money to feed his addictions.

"We'll need you to come down to the station to formally press charges," the officer said gently. "But the choice is yours, Sir."

Before his father could respond, the front door swung open, and the boy's uncle burst into the room, his face flushed with panic. He must have been called ahead by the police. "Wait, wait!" he exclaimed, holding up his hands as if he could physically stop the conversation. "This is a family matter. We can't let this go public. It'll destroy us—our reputation, everything!"

The police officers exchanged a look, their professionalism not masking the discomfort in their eyes. "Sir," the second officer said carefully, "this is a serious crime. Your nephew's actions have consequences, regardless of his relation to the victim."

"But he's family!" the uncle pleaded, turning to the boy's father. "We can deal with this ourselves. We'll get him into rehab, make sure he never does anything like this again. Please, just drop the charges. It's the only way to keep this from blowing up."

The father remained silent, staring at the floor, his expression unreadable. The boy's blood boiled as he watched his father struggle with the decision. How could he even be considering letting H walk free after what he had done? After everything that had happened?

The boy's voice cut through the tense silence like a knife. "So that's it? Just sweep it under the rug like it never happened?" His words were sharp, tinged with disbelief and growing anger.

His father flinched, visibly shaken by the raw emotion in his son's voice. But the uncle, desperate and defensive, turned on the boy. "You don't understand. This isn't something that should be aired out for everyone to see. We handle our own problems, within the family."

"A mistake?" The boy's voice cracked, raw with disbelief and fury. "A mistake is forgetting someone's birthday or losing a wallet. This was an attack! They nearly killed him! My father could have died!"

The uncle tried to interject, but the boy wouldn't let him. The dam had burst, and all the anger, all the hurt that had been festering inside him for years, poured out in a torrential flood. "You think just because we share a fraction of a blood, that excuses everything? That we should let him get away with this? How many times are we going to keep letting him slide? This isn't just about what he did to my father—this is about everything he's done, all the pain he's caused, and you want to let him walk free?"

The uncle, sweating now, looked desperately at the boy's father. "He's your nephew. You can't—"

"I don't care!" The boy's shout was almost primal, filled with all the frustration and despair that had been choking him for so long. "He's destroyed this family! He's dragged us all down with him! And now you want to pretend like nothing happened? Like he didn't nearly kill his own uncle?"

The room fell silent, the echo of the boy's words hanging in the air. The father finally looked up, meeting his son's eyes for the first time since the police had left. His expression was one of utter defeat. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed stuck in his throat.

The boy's chest heaved with emotion, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Do you even care about what happens to us? Or are you just too scared to stand up to him?"

The father's gaze faltered, and he looked away, unable to face the intensity of his son's pain. The uncle stepped forward, his voice pleading. "Please… don't do this. Don't tear the family apart."

The boy shook his head, disgusted. "The family is already torn apart. We're just too broken to see it."

He turned away, the finality of his words settling over the room like a death knell. The boy walked to the door, his movements stiff and jerky, like he was struggling to hold himself together. He paused for a moment, his back to his father and uncle, then said quietly, almost to himself, "If you let him get away with this, then you're just as guilty."

With that, he left the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo louder than any slam. The weight of his departure left the room feeling emptier, colder, as if something vital had been stripped away. 

The tension in the house had been simmering for months, ever since the decision was made to let H go unpunished. The boy had watched it all unfold with a cold, detached sense of betrayal. His father's silence, his mother's forced composure, the uncle's desperate attempts to keep everything under wraps—it was all too much. Each day that passed, the boy felt the anger growing inside him, like a sickness that he couldn't shake.

One evening, as the shadows of dusk settled over the house, the boy finally decided that he had enough. He found his father alone in the study, staring blankly at a stack of papers on his desk. The room was dark, the only light coming from the dim lamp on the corner of the desk, casting long shadows on the walls.

The boy stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His father didn't look up. "Papa," the boy began, his voice steady but edged with something dangerous. "We need to talk."

His father finally lifted his gaze, his eyes weary and bloodshot. "I am busy, What is it?" he asked, his tone resigned, as if he already knew what was coming.

The boy took a deep breath, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I want to know why you let him go," he said, his voice cold, almost emotionless. "Why you let H get away with everything he did."

His father sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "We've been over this. It was a family decision. It's over now."

"It's not over," the boy shot back, his voice rising. "It's never going to be over. He's still out there, living his life like nothing happened. While you—while we—are stuck here, pretending everything is fine."

His father's face hardened, the weariness replaced by a flash of anger. "What do you want from me, huh? What do you expect me to do?"

The boy's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "I want you to let me do what you should have done. Let me take care of him."

For a moment, there was only silence, the words hanging in the air between them like a live wire. His father stared at him, disbelief and shock battling with the anger in his eyes. "What are you saying?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The boy didn't blink, didn't flinch. "You heard me. Let me take care of H. I'll do what needs to be done. I'll get rid of him."

The words were said so simply, so matter-of-factly, that for a moment his father didn't seem to comprehend them. And then, like a dam breaking, the rage that had been building for months finally exploded.

"Are you out of your mind?!" his father roared, rising from his chair so quickly that it toppled over. "What kind of madness is this? You're talking about killing your own cousin! Have you completely lost your senses?"

The boy didn't move, his face a mask of cold determination. "He's not my cousin," he said, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Not after what he did. He's a threat, and threats need to be eliminated."

His father's eyes blazed with fury. "You're talking like a psychopath! This isn't some game! We don't just kill people because they've wronged us!"

"Then what do we do?" the boy shot back, his voice trembling with the force of his emotions. "Just sit here and take it? Let him destroy our family, ruin our lives, and do nothing? You call that living?"

The door to the study swung open, and his mother rushed in, drawn by the shouting. Her eyes darted between her husband and son, panic etched across her face. "What's going on? What are you two talking about?"

The boy turned to his mother, his expression unyielding. "I'm talking about doing what Papa should have done months ago. I'm talking about getting justice."

His mother's face paled, her hand flying to her mouth. "No… no, you can't mean that…"

The father's rage boiled over. "You will not speak of this again!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the boy. "Do you understand me? This conversation is over! You're not going to lay a hand on him, or anyone else, for that matter!"

The boy's calm façade began to crack, his voice rising in desperation. "Why? Why won't you do anything? Why do you keep letting him get away with everything? He's a monster, and you're just letting him walk free!"

His father's face was red with anger, his chest heaving as he struggled to control himself. "Because I'm not like him!" he shouted. "Because we're not like him! We don't solve our problems with violence and hatred! That's not how this family works!"

The boy laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and cold. "Family? What family? We're already broken, Papa. Our real family is over in the north, do you compute this? We are living amongst literal human hyenas leeching off of us."

His mother stepped forward, her voice trembling as she tried to intervene. "Please, both of you, stop this. This isn't the way. We need to stay together, not tear each other apart."

The boy shook his head, tears of frustration and helplessness welling in his eyes. "It's too late for that, Maa. It's too late for everything."

His father's voice softened, the anger giving way to something more painful. "See that? I told you he would lean towards this impulsive side of his, we've failed to raise him like a decent human being."

But the boy could only see the betrayal, the inaction, the refusal to protect what was left of their family. "You already let it consume me," he whispered, the last shred of hope dying in his voice.

The room fell silent, the weight of the confrontation settling over them like a shroud. The boy turned away, his shoulders slumped, the fight gone out of him. Without another word, he walked out of the study, leaving his parents standing in the wreckage of what used to be a family. The boy stormed out of the house, the echo of his father's voice still ringing in his ears. His chest heaved with anger and frustration, the emotions bubbling over and threatening to consume him. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to get out, to escape the suffocating walls of his home. His mind raced, thoughts of betrayal, hatred, and helplessness swirling together in a chaotic mess.

He found himself at the café, the one where he had first met Akari. The memory of that encounter felt like a lifetime ago, a distant echo of a time when his world hadn't been turned upside down. He shoved open the door and walked in, his eyes scanning the room until he saw her, sitting alone at a table near the window. She looked up as he approached, her expression softening when she saw the turmoil in his eyes.

"Akari," he said, his voice rough and strained. "I need to talk."

She nodded, gesturing for him to sit down. "I'm here," she said simply, her voice gentle but steady.

The boy collapsed into the chair across from her, his hands trembling as he tried to hold back the storm inside him. He couldn't keep it in any longer—the words poured out of him, a torrent of anger and pain.

"They're letting him get away with it," he spat, his voice choked with bitterness. "My father, my family—they're just going to let him go. After everything he's done, they're just… letting him go."

Akari listened quietly, her gaze unwavering as she absorbed his words. When he finally stopped, his anger spent, she leaned forward slightly, her voice calm and measured. "Why do you think they're doing that?"

"Because they're weak," he replied, his voice thick with frustration. "They're too scared to do anything, too afraid to stand up and fight. They'd rather pretend everything's okay than face the truth."

Akari tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Or maybe they're just trying to protect you. To keep you from falling into the same darkness that consumed him."

The boy clenched his fists, shaking his head. "I don't need their protection. I need justice. I need to make things right."

"Justice," Akari repeated softly, as if tasting the word. "And what does justice mean to you?"

He hesitated, the certainty in his mind suddenly wavering. "It means… it means making him pay for what he did. It means making sure he can't hurt anyone else."

Akari leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the window as she spoke, her words like a quiet, flowing river. "You know, justice is a tricky thing. It's easy to see it as something absolute, something that will bring closure. But in reality, it's often more elusive, more complex. And sometimes, the pursuit of justice can lead us down paths we never intended to walk."

The boy stared at her, struggling to grasp the meaning behind her words. "So what are you saying? That I should just let it go? Pretend everything's fine like they're doing?"

"No," Akari said gently, turning her gaze back to him. "I'm saying that sometimes, the things we want the most—revenge, justice, closure—don't bring us the peace we think they will. They can consume us, turn us into something we never wanted to be."

Her words hung in the air, each one resonating with a truth that was difficult to accept. The boy's anger began to ebb, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty. "But if I don't do something, then what? Am I just supposed to live with it? With knowing that he got away with it?"

Akari's eyes softened, her voice taking on a more intimate, almost poetic tone. "Living with something doesn't mean accepting it or pretending it didn't happen. It means learning to carry it, to understand it, and to find a way to move forward without letting it define you. You have a choice—you can let this anger control you, or you can take a different path."

The boy looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of the decision before him. "I don't know how to do that," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No one does, not at first," Akari said, her voice reassuring. "It's a journey, one that takes time and strength."

He looked up at her, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but found none. There was only sincerity, only the promise of support and understanding. The tight knot of anger in his chest began to loosen, replaced by a tentative, fragile sense of relief.

"What if I can't do it?" he asked, his voice vulnerable, almost childlike.

Akari smiled, a warm, comforting smile that reached her eyes. "You can, and you will. But even if you stumble, even if you fall, you'll be fine, I know."

The boy felt something shift inside him, a small flicker of hope igniting in the darkness. He didn't have all the answers, didn't know what the future held, but in that moment, he realized he didn't have to face it alone. Akari's words, her presence, gave him the strength to take the first step on that long, uncertain road.

"Thank you," he said quietly, the words carrying a depth of gratitude he couldn't fully express.

As the boy made his way out of the café, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement. He felt a slight weight lift off his shoulders after his conversation earlier, though a gnawing unease still lingered. Just as he stepped out onto the street, he saw her—N, standing by the entrance, her eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and something else when she saw him. N was someone he'd known for a while, someone who had always been kind to him in a way that made it clear she cared for him. She had that soft, genuine smile that hinted at something more than just casual affection. And he knew—he'd always known—that she liked him. It wasn't that he didn't feel something for her too, but there was a wall inside him, something he couldn't break through, something that kept him from opening up to her or anyone else.

"N," he said, his voice guarded, as if trying to keep his emotions in check.

"Hey," N greeted him, her tone warm but laced with the slightest hint of apprehension. Her gaze flickered around for a moment before settling back on him. "I haven't seen you around much lately. How have you been?"

He forced a half-smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Went to Afghanistan to steal rescue the Nigerian prince" he replied vaguely, trying to keep the conversation light. His mind was racing, trying to find a way out of this interaction without letting too much slip.

N's eyes searched his, looking for something, anything, that would give her a clue to what was going on inside his head. She had always been able to sense when something was wrong with him, and today was no different. But as much as she wanted to help, she knew from experience that he wasn't the type to easily let anyone in.

"Ah, yes still the jokes. I've missed hanging out," she said, her voice softening as she spoke. "We used to talk all the time, and now it feels like you're miles away."

His chest tightened at her words, but he kept his expression neutral. "Just been busy, I guess," he lied, knowing it wasn't the truth, but unable to give her anything more. There was a part of him that wanted to tell her everything, to let her in on the turmoil inside him, but that part was small, buried deep beneath layers of self-protection.

N nodded, but there was a sadness in her eyes, a sadness that told him she understood more than he was willing to admit. "I get it," she said, though her tone suggested she didn't believe it fully. "But, you know, if you ever need someone to talk to… I'm here."

He looked away, the weight of her words pressing down on him. The offer of understanding and support was right there, just within reach, but it felt like an impossible distance to close. He couldn't bring himself to reach out, to take what she was offering, because deep down, he didn't believe he deserved it. Not after everything he'd been through, not after everything he'd done.

"Thanks, N," he murmured, his voice betraying none of the turmoil inside. "I'll keep that in mind."

N's smile faltered for a moment, and she took a small step closer, as if trying to bridge the gap between them. "You know you don't have to carry everything on your own, right? It's okay to let people in."

The words struck a chord in him, and for a brief moment, he considered it—considered opening up to her, letting her see the mess that he was inside. But then the fear took over, the fear that she would see him for what he truly was and pull away, just like everyone else eventually did. He couldn't bear the thought of that, couldn't bear the thought of losing even the fragile connection they had now.

"You know what N, leave me the fuck alone," he said, the words heavy with unspoken meaning. But the truth was, he didn't know how to do that, didn't know how to let anyone in without risking everything. And so, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't give her what she wanted.

As he walked away, he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder. N was still standing there, watching him go, her expression unreadable. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was leaving something unfinished, something that might never be resolved. But he couldn't face it—not now, maybe not ever. And so he kept walking, the distance between them growing with every step, a distance that felt both physical and emotional, a distance he wasn't sure he could ever close.