THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR SOME READERS.
The nurse hesitated before speaking. Her voice trembled like it might break if she spoke too loudly.
"So...? Is she okay? What happened to her?" Damon asked in a tone that was too tired of keeping calm.
"…She's gone."
The fluorescent lights above him buzzed faintly as the words echoed through his skull. The nurse's voice was soft, but to his mind it was merciless. It made something twist inside him.
'Gone? No. That's not right. I just spoke to her. Just... sat beside her bed.'
The world tilted, but only for him.
"Do you… need to call someone?" she asked, her tone careful
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Her lips were still moving, but her voice was already fading to him. They sounded drowned by the hum of her words in his head.
Everything sounded far away. His feet moved on their own as each step felt heavier. Like the world didn't care he'd just lost someone he loved.
"Mom's gone...? How could— how could she die after saying that? Did she ever... What?"
He didn't even realise his hand pushed the hospital doors open.
Outdoors. Past the corridor, and into the cold again. It was like the city had no idea what had just happened. Cars honked as streetlights flickered. People laughed, talked, argued, and even chased each other.
The world moved forward. Yet he was stuck.
He stared at the ring, and it shimmered faintly in the low light, a flicker as thin as dust. No one else seemed to notice. Though his hands didn't move. They just stayed at his sides, brushing past him without him, while his body walked, leaving his mind behind.
He crossed the road without looking. A horn blared as the car swerved. Tires screeched against the asphalt.
"Watch where you're going, idiot!"
He didn't even flinch. The driver's voice was gone before it reached him.
Home smelled like dust and silence. He shut the door behind him — soft, deliberate. Took his shoes off and dropped his bag. No greeting. No warmth. The gift box still sat open on the table. He brushed past it and went to his room.
Some minutes passed. Maybe hours. Then the sound of keys. The door opened again.
His father. Richard.
His father stepped inside in his doctor's coat. He was taller than most, adjusting his glasses with a tired hand. His dark hair, almost the same shade as Damon's, was messy from a long shift. His green eyes looked dull behind the lenses. He had a healthy body, one that spoke of hours of workouts without saying a word.
"Hey… Happy birthday, kiddo," the man said.
No reply.
"You got the ring, right? Your mother asked me to give it to you when you turned seventeen."
Silence.
"Something wrong? You look—"
"Mom's… gone."
"Yeah. I know, she went for her—"
"She's dead."
The man froze. For a moment, he was statue-like. "That's not funny," he said. "She's having her surgery today—"
"She's dead! I called you over and over! I even texted you! Even the hospital called you! I told you, we should have put her in the same one you worked at! You didn't listen! You never listen!" Damon snapped.
The man opened his phone and saw a couple of missed calls and texts. Then, he finally saw the ultimate text, and his eyes widened while his heart clenched.
The words hit his very being with a wrenching shock. It was comparable to the sudden noise of a shattered plate in a silent home. His father's breath caught, and he covered his mouth with a shaking hand, breath breaking in his throat.
His knees hit the floor, and he stared blankly ahead. Nothing came out — no words, no tears. He stood quietly and walked upstairs.
Damon followed his father with his eyes. The house was dead quiet, save for a creaking stair and the click of a bedroom door closing. The dining room sat untouched, and only the low, mechanical hum of the kitchen fridge broke the silence.
Something heavy slammed into the wall. Then, the sharp crack of shattering glass. Damon flinched, then looked through a narrow opening in his father's door.
The desk lamp was wrecked, and papers covered the floor. Then his dad screamed, and his mother's vase exploded against the drywall.
Damon didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just watched. Afterward, he showered and brushed his teeth on autopilot. He was exhausted. He skipped dinner entirely, spending the night staring at the ceiling with wide, sleepless eyes in his bedroom.
Warm tears leaked sideways into his pillow. He buried his face, muffling the sounds of it, and the fabric grew damp against his cheek.
Each time he thought of the happy times with his mother, the thought of her last words followed, like dark paint over sweet memories.
The night passed without sleep. Morning arrived, but nothing inside him moved with it.
His dad stood in the doorway while Damon stayed under the covers. When he noticed his dad, he covered himself with the duvet and faced the other side. The man's tie hung loose, with eyes that looked completely vacant.
"You should go to school," he said quietly. "It's what she'd want."
Damon almost laughed. 'She wouldn't have wanted me at all,' he thought.
The world was busy again. The wind was gentle, and the sky was grey. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, attempting to chase whatever warmth he could find. One strap of his bag slung lazily over his shoulder while his uniform remained untucked with a loosely knotted tie.
He looked good; the black uniform still fit his frame perfectly, but the person inside it seemed to have shrunk.
As he walked through the school gates, the noise around him just faded. Everyone's morning chatter sounded muffled, like he was underwater. He didn't feel cut off from everything, because that would mean he had to feel something.
He walked into class without fully remembering the walk there. His seat was exactly where it always was—the middle column, last row—but it felt unfamiliar, almost as if he were sitting in someone else's life. He dropped his bag beside the desk and sank into the chair in slow and automatic movements.
Natsuki walked in, and her eyes brightened when she noticed him from the door. She approached him in light but confident steps and sat beside him before the bell rang.
"D… how was yesterday? Your birthday?" she asked casually, and turned to him. "You didn't reply to any of my texts. I figured you were having the time of your life or something."
He didn't answer her. His gaze stayed fixed on the table with unfocused eyes, as if the lines in them were the only things holding him together.
She spoke again, but softer this time. "We'd normally spend yesterday together with Daiki. I know he's not here, but I hoped we'd hang out." She paused, "Maybe we could still go out after school? You know… just us?"
He remained silent.
"Damon?" she whispered, leaning closer.
He didn't even blink, it was like her voice was entirely out of range. She reached out with her fingers just inches from his shoulder when the classroom door flew open.
"Alright, settle down," the teacher announced, stepping inside. "You've got your final exams in a few months. I don't want you thinking of it as next year, study as if they're tomorrow. Let's start with Biology, shall we?"
Natsuki lowered her hand with her eyes fixed on him. Damon didn't notice.
'What's up with him?' she thought.
Books began to flip, and pens scratched as soon as the teacher began the lecture, but he didn't hear a word. For a while, all the warmth drained out of him; the sudden chill felt like the air that day.
After a while of lecturing...
In his mind, an uninvited, and faintly warped voice brushed his hearing, sounding like someone shouting down a long hallway while he was trapped underwater.
"…mistake…"
His breath hitched, and his eyes began to lose focus as the desk blurred.
"…never wanted…"
The chalkboard distorted as if the room began to warp and spin. A blurry image of his mother's hollow eyes flashed in his mind.
"…you ruined everything…"
Remembering the words hurt like a sharp knife cutting inside him. He squeezed the desk tightly to hide the pain and steady himself, but Natsuki noticed.
"…regret… ever…"
"Damon!" the teacher called out. "Answer the question."
He blinked, his eyes scanning the room to find the topic. 'What subject... is this?'
The teacher's voice still sounded miles away, completely muffled.
"Are you even listening?"
Damon stared at the board, then caught his reflection in the window. The ring looked completely normal again. Still. Safe. Innocent.
He forced his hand up. "Can I go to the bathroom?"
Natsuki watched him stand, noticing the total blankness in his eyes. He moved with a presence that hinted that his mind was far from his body.
Damon splashed cold water on his face, but the faucet kept dripping in the quiet bathroom. He looked into the mirror with red eyes from exhaustion and tears. He gently hid himself inside a toilet stall, curling up as time felt like it was standing still.
By the time he finally left, the hallways were dead. He grabbed his bag, slipped outside, and slumped down beneath the red-leafed tree, and that's where Natsuki found him.
She stopped a few paces back, noticing the dead in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. "What's wrong, D? You were completely gone in class today. You didn't answer my texts either," she said softly. "Are you alright?"
He didn't really look up at her. He just sat there with his elbows on his knees, staring at the dirt.
"What happened?" she asked.
He shifted his gaze to her now and paused for a while. "She's gone."
"What do you mean she's gone? Who's—" Her breath hitched. "Y–Your mom…?"
He nodded once. A tear dropped down his face, though he quickly wiped it off. He didn't say anything, but his voice cracked as he took a breath, as if he wanted to cry out loud, but quickly held it back in.
She sat beside him with wet eyes and trembling hands. When she hugged him, he didn't blink or hug her back.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Damon waited a few seconds, staring into a puddle beneath him as it began to rain. "I have to go home," he said as he handed Natsuki an umbrella beside him.
Natsuki took the umbrella, opened it, and placed it over them. "I'll come with you," she offered.
He shook his head. "No need," and he walked from under the umbrella.
Natsuki watched him go with the rain soaking his clothes within seconds. She held the umbrella over the space next to her, tracking him with saddened eyes until he disappeared into the grey storm.
Damon opened the door to see his father at the table. His tie was off, with an arm wrapped in a bandage, and empty bottles lined in front of him and the arm of the chair.
His father looked up slowly. "This is your fault," he said quietly. He was clearly awake, but his tone was sleepy.
Damon froze, "What?"
"You know where her cancer came from...? You. Your cells stayed in her and—" His father opened his mouth, then stopped. His voice came out lower, slower.
Damon realised he knew what he meant, for a split second his mind travelled back to the quoted words on a classroom chalkboard: "FETAL MICROCHIMERISM."
Then his head snapped sideways.
The sound of the impact hit his ears before the pain actually reached his brain. He didn't hit back, and he didn't even speak. He just stared at the floor as his cheek burned with a cold and numbing sting that seemed to reach his bones.
"Her body… it… It turned against her. Because of you."
A silence laced with tension stretched out until the room felt dead. The only sound left was his father's ragged breathing, his fingers twitching against his pants leg.
"YOU. KILLED. HER." Each word matched the beating that followed. The slap cracked through the room, sharp and hollow.
Damon's head turned slightly from the force of each slap. He didn't retaliate or act otherwise. He just stood there, absorbing the violence until the stinging finally began to fade.
Damon's body and mind remained utterly still, like a child waiting for a countdown to stop. For most people, panic and adrenaline usually kick in during a countdown like this, but Damon only felt a strange, quiet relief.
Every second of pain was like a countdown to the moment he could finally just... be. While he tolerated it, there was an uninvited soft and blue shimmer from the ring on his hand. Even the bulbs seemed darker, but the rings' dim light remained bright.
When the room finally stopped shaking around him, the house settled into a heavy silence, and in that silence, his feet found the stairs.
Before climbing the steps, Damon paused. Tears fell one by one, though his face stayed empty. He glanced at his father. He was drunk, distant, and somewhere far from here.
He walked upstairs, face expressionless. He closed the door and sat on his chair in the darkness. The ring's light pulsed faintly against the wall. Once. Twice.
He remembered the sting of the slap. The ring reacted.
The ring trembled as a low vibration crawled up his arm. White light from the ring shone through his fingers, then blue, but this time it felt like a pulsing heartbeat. His reflection flickered in the dark monitor.
"What the fu—"