Quiet

Chapter 8 - Scared Bad Boy

I tug Cynthia's arm, and we go around the Yakuza. Just before the doors close, two of them get on our subway car. They must want to know where Cynthia lives. "You're staying with me tonight," I say.

Outside my station, they ask me for advice about food! I point at a small yakitori restaurant down the street. When they slide open the restaurant's door, we get into a cab. As far as I can tell, no one else gets into a taxi and follows us. "In the morning, we'll avoid the station," I say.

At home, I tell my mother that Cynthia's sleeping over. My mother isn't perfect, and I resent my mad loyalty and painful subjugation to her, but she earns my love too, like now. She asks no questions and makes Cynthia comfortable. She knows something's wrong, but she must think it's with Cynthia's parents, and she understands that kind of trouble. At supper, she adds extra pork to Cynthia's bowl of hot udon soup and brings our meals to my room.

Later, I wake up in the night, and Cynthia's shaking, so I put my arms around her. After awhile, she's quiet. After awhile, she speaks. "Thanks, Makiko." She rolls over to face me, but it's too dark to see much of her face, just the whites of her eyes. "I feel better, but I think I want to sleep in my own bed now."

She needs what she needs. I won't argue. I search under my blankets for one of her hands and squeeze. "Okay, I'll call a cab and ride with you."

Cynthia pauses so long I expect her to object, but she presses her forehead against mine. "Thanks."

We keep our foreheads together for a little bit longer. I like having her in my bed. Sophia and I cuddle sometimes, but Cynthia and I could really talk if we do this when things are normal. "You'll stay away from the runaways for awhile, won't you?" I say.

"Yes."

"Being in danger doesn't help anyone," I say.

After a moment, she nods and rolls onto her back. She squeezes my hand.

***

Cynthia and I change out of my pajamas and gather her stuff. We're not in a joking mood, so we move around silently. We work hard to be quiet on the way downstairs. My mother must not hear us. If she did, she would investigate. We're absolutely silent, because she might stop us.

When the taxi pulls up outside my house, Cynthia just stands in the entryway, exhausted and unanimated. After a second, she gets going. As I close the door of my house softly behind us, she waits with me. It's been hours - more than half a day - since the man in Nakameguro assaulted her. Cynthia's so strong. It messed her up this much, so I'd probably be a sobbing wreck, but I won't let her make the journey home alone, no matter how much my body shakes or my stomach wants to heave.

The taxi driver's old and gray-haired. Cynthia doesn't give him her address, just the vicinity. At first, he mutters about that. As he drives, he peers at us, especially Cynthia. "Should I drive you to a hospital?" he says.

Cynthia shakes her head, so I thank him and decline. Afterwards, I doubt myself. And my mother. Does he see something we don't, a symptom of deep trauma that my mother and I are too emotionally detached, too elegant, to pick up on? I entwine my fingers with Cynthia's. Her weak smile is a relief and a concern.

Hold her hand. That's all I can do right now.

I think of my mother and all she's done for me since we left Boston. That's why I react the way I do to my father wanting to meet me. My mother deserves my loyalty. I'm also guilty of not liking Cynthia's friends enough. All of those guys message me sometimes, but I don't say much back. What am I waiting for?

I have her warm hand in mine. Whenever I look at her, she looks at me, though it takes a moment. Unlike me, she must be thinking about something more important than herself. I love that about her. I want to be her best friend even if she has a girlfriend or boyfriend someday. I'm so selfish though I'll probably be jealous. And of course I feel guilty about that, before it even happens.