Of the Twisted and the Lost

Chapter 31:

Stress: it can make the most beautiful wither, the invincible fall defeated, and make nightmares and old habits rise up again. . .

For Junjie, stress makes him work. 

It numbs him for a while, takes away the cold and icy and hard reality — but later in the night, when he's not thinking, it all goes back to her again. 

It's odd, really, how one person can change your life. 

Reduce you from the man you used to be and make you into a workaholic. Junjie doesn't mind the work, as long as it diminishes that nudging feel of pure guilt. 

Guilt, because of what happened to her. Guilt, because of how things ended. Guilt, because of how many people he's broken. 

"Did you ever care about me?" 

"No." 

That part had been a lie. Of course Junjie cares about her. But as he said before, the closer people got to him, the more they got hurt. 

Junjie sucks in a breath, trying to shake away the bright pain, the one that knocks his head and says: Wake up, Junjie. You aren't in a fantasy anymore. You lost everything and it's your fault. 

"Junjie!" a voice snaps, breaking him out of his reverie. "Are you even listening?" 

Junjie blinks, staring into the eyes of Inspector Seth. 

"Of course I'm listening," he snaps back, before directing a fake smile at the client. "Do go on." 

"Well," the client starts, anxiously twisting a lock of her brown hair, "I came home, and then when I got there, I saw my husband! Dead! Lying on the ground!" 

Junjie tunes her voice out, focusing on her entire demeanor. 

Left-handed, based on how her hand keeps straying to touch her hair. Banker, possibly, due to her clothing choice. Clean, organized, prefers order than messes. Worry lines on her forehead — pressure? Tension? From work? No, something even better. Pressure for being a perfect wife. She has a nervous tick and her left hand occasionally drums against the armrest, signifying. . . 

"Piano," Junjie interrupts. "You play the piano?" 

The client looks startled, but she nods. 

"I used to play with my husband all the time," the woman sobs, to which Junjie stiffly hands her a napkin. "But now he's dead and I don't know what to do!" 

"Murder or accident?" Junjie questions. 

"Well—" 

"No need to answer. It's a murder, obviously, otherwise why would you be here?" 

"Maybe for comfort?" suggests Inspector Seth. 

Junjie gives his friend a bland look. "No, no, no, if she wanted comfort, she wouldn't have come to me," Junjie says, though he's quite sure Seth already knows that. "You know how I am." 

Seth laughs, playfully jostling Junjie's shoulder. "Of course not. You're so blunt and stiff all the time. Mate, you ought to relax and just chill sometimes." 

"You know I don't do chill," replies Junjie, before focusing on the client. "Alright, please do continue." 

The woman continues her tearful story while Junjie continues to think, unrested by his thoughts. 

You're guilty, a voice whispers teasingly, taunting and soft. So much guiltiness because of what happened— 

"Shut up!" Junjie spits out. 

"What?" the woman asks, hand shaking. 

Junjie tries for an unaffected smile. "Do go on," he says, voice not at all betraying the everlasting guilt he really feels. 

Junjie exhales. 

Even his thoughts right now are disagreeing completely with him. 

"So the only reason you wanted to help me was to get money?" 

"Look, Sera, I'm sorry I hurt you. . ." 

At that moment, Junjie knew what it looked like to have heartbreak. 

I broke her heart. I'm sorry, Sera. Even though that doesn't change the fact about anything. 

"Junjie," Seth sighs, giving him a look. "If you can't focus, maybe we should have someone else help Ms. Rose here." 

"Sorry, no, I can do it," Junjie rushes to say. "I just have a lot of things in mind right now." 

Seth's dark eyes soften in understanding. 

"If you need a break, just tell me," he whispers, lowering his voice so only Junjie can hear. 

Junjie forces a smile, before nodding at the client. 

"So these are all the pictures?" he asks, gazing down at the rays of photographs. 

Blood splatters everywhere in the kitchen, as a knife stabs deep into a man. 

"Yes," the client answers. "Please, you have to help avenge him. . . you're the only one left I know." 

You're the only one left I know. . . 

Junjie nods, as he tries to focus his eyes on the pictures. 

Breathe, Junjie, breathe. You're fine. 

As he peers down at the picture, his eyes draw down to the side. "Your neighbor," he finally says. "She murdered him." 

"What?" the client breathes. "Not Marie. . ." 

"She's been cheating with him for years, without you knowing. Then one day, when he wouldn't divorce with you, she decided to kill him. Plain as day." 

"But she wouldn't do something like that! I've known her since I was born!" 

Junjie looks away. 

"Sometimes it's the people who are closest to you that really make it hurt," he says. "I'm sorry, Ms. Rose, but it was indeed Marie who did this." 

Ms. Rose stares at the picture, a silent tear rolling down her cheeks. 

And even though Junjie swears never to feel any emotions ever again, he feels a slight stab of sympathy. 

"I have to go," Junjie mumbles, rising up from his chair. "Inspector Seth, can you deal with Ms. Rose and her neighbor? I need some air." 

Seth nods, before murmuring a few words to Ms. Rose. 

Meanwhile, Junjie strides out of the living room, a feeling of something heavy in his chest. 

I'm sorry. . . 

Please forgive me. . . 

Sera. 

I'm sorry. 

His thoughts bounce around his head, as he flings open the door, breathing in the cool air. 

Another day down. Without Sera.