Page 59 of Brutal Unionn
That was the last time I saw my mother alive. The next time was at her funeral, where I stood in black with my fists clenched so tight the nails broke skin. I remember Father calling it a sign of maturity. I remember wanting to rip his throat out for saying it.
I lift my eyes now, watching the horizon bleed red and gold as the sun sinks into the sea. The sky looks the same as it did that day, as it looks every day that I come back to my mother’s hometown. It’s a shame I can’t come here to remember my mother, and now I have to kill the father of my girl.
The handle of the knife is smooth in my palm, worn down by hours of use, the blade dull from recent work. I pull a whetstone from the cloth satchel beside me and begin to drag the edge along it, slowly letting the steady scrape fill the silence between memory and murder.
I speak softly, more to the wind than anything else. “You’d probably tell me not to do it.”
My voice doesn’t carry far, and I’m glad. No one should hear this but her.
“I can hear you now. 'Sho, you can't meet violence with more violence.' You'd sit beside me and wrap your fingers around mine, guide the blade away. You’d try to make me see the bigger picture.”
The whetstone whispers against the steel, smoothing it clean. The rhythm steadies my hands, but it doesn’t settle my heart.
“I don’t know if I’m doing this for revenge or protection anymore,” I murmur, eyes fixed on the horizon. “Maybe it’s both. Maybe it doesn’t matter. But I know this—he doesn’t get to keep hurting her. I won’t miss the same way I did with dad.”
“Her name is Nadia by the way. You’d like her. She is fucking ruthless, and gorgeous. She reminds me of you.” I let out a quiet breath, half a laugh. “Actually, no. She’s worse. Or better. Depends on the day.”
I glance down at the blade and test its edge with my thumb. Sharp enough.
“She says she’s no one’s. That no man owns her, not even me. But she looks at me like I might be the first person who could prove her wrong. And that scares her. And it scares me.”
The sun dips lower, half-swallowed by the sea now. The light flickers across the surface, gold bleeding into crimson.
“You told me once that Princess Kaguya cried because she was human for a little while. Because it hurt to love people whocouldn’t understand her—and still choose to love them anyway.”
My voice is rougher now, as I grind the rock down harder. The knife catches the dying light, and for a moment I see myself in the steel—eyes dark, hollowed at the edges.
“I found my girl,” I whisper. “I want to give her everything you didn’t get. She deserves peace. And he took it from her. Just like they took you from me. Just like they take everything from everyone.”
My jaw tightens. I run the blade across the stone again, once, twice. Sparks don’t fly, but I wish they would. I wish it would catch a flame. I wish the steel could carry all the rage in my blood.
“I swear to you,” I murmur, my voice breaking against the wind. “She will never wonder if she matters. Not like I did. Not like you did. I will be a better man. I will be a strong man…just like you raised me to be.”
And just as the last sliver of sun disappears, a figure comes into view, moving slowly down the beach, just beyond the tide line. I watch as this old man drags his feet through the sand with a paper bag and a can of beer, just like his neighbors said he would.
He looks smaller than I remember. Slower. His shoulders curve inward like the years have finally started collapsing his spine.
I rise without rush. Wipe the sand from my palms. The knife slips into the loop on my belt as I make my way over to him. He doesn’t see me at first. His attention stays on the water, his movements are well practiced and his eyes stay focused. I walktoward him without sound, each step pressing firm into the sand.
He’s a few feet from the rocks now, where the shoreline breaks and the beach grows uneven sitting right on the edge as if he is meditating and I found him at the one place where he finds peace. How ironic to die where you thought you could at peace.
Once I am close enough to hear the waves he tenses, his hands crushing the beer can in his hand. “You picked a hell of a place to die.”
He turns to look at me but I tap his shoulder back forward with the tip of my boot.
“Don’t take your eyes off that,” I say, my voice steady. “It’ll be your last.”
He exhales. “Did my bitch of a daughter put you up to this?”
I shake my head and click my tongue. “I would recommend you speak better about my future wife,” I say calmly. “You’re already going to die with your eyes plucked out. Don’t add to the pain, Boris. I beg you.”
He huffs, then finally turns to face me, not flinching, but not smiling either. “She’s got you wrapped tight, doesn’t she?”
I don’t answer, but Boris leans back on his elbows, eyes locked forward.
Boris chuckles without humor. “You think she’s yours. She’s playing you for a fucking fool.”
“You’re not in a position to talk about her,” I snap, eyes narrowing. “You forfeited that right the first time you casted her out, but now that you’ve put a hit on her? She’s deadto you.”
