Chapter Text
The next week went by without much to comment on. Enjin was able to take afternoons off but was still called into the office from seven to one, which left Zanka, Rudo, and Riyo to do whatever they wanted to. It wasn’t like they were fused by the hip so it wasn’t a problem, but Zanka saw the slight sadness on Riyo’s face whenever Enjin wasn’t in the kitchen. He and Rudo were the only family she had in reality, Enjin had adopted Riyo when she was six, and a year later, Rudo. Enjin had never told anyone why he had chosen to adopt instead of marry and have biological kids, or why he chose to adopt in general when beforehand he had more than enough money to live how he wanted as long as he didn’t need to support anyone else, yet instead of choosing to spend the money he made on vacations for himself he spent it on adopting two kids and sending them to a good school.
Rudo didn’t hang around the other two much and would instead stay locked up in his room doing whatever he wanted, occasionally coming downstairs for goldfish or to ask if Zanka was using the TV. On day three when Zanka was out at the bookstore, Riyo had smelled something burning in the house and had tracked it down to Rudo’s room where she had found her little brother welding. The silver-haired guy had gotten reprimanded by both the redhead and Enjin when the older man got home. The welder had found himself stashed in Enjin’s car and locked up. Contrary to Rudo, Riyo refused to stay inside. She would go for a run in the morning, practice skating on the road, and even bring her work out onto the porch. The cold never bothered her anyway, Zanka guessed. She would scoop up her laptop, binder, and pencil case and walk to the door, and Zanka wouldn’t think anything of it until he heard the door slam and remember it was thirty degrees out. He would ask why the hell she would subject herself to that and she would reply “I can’t think in indoor air. There are too many thoughts.” Zanka would then call her schizophrenic and shut the door. Zanka himself felt like the days were blending around him warmly, broken only by the occasional notification from Canva or thought of Jabber. After the dream Zanka had refused to entertain a single thought of the darker man, keeping himself physically and mentally occupied. His older sister had once told him that the only way to not overthink, or simply not think at all, was to stay as busy as possible. Unfortunately she was right. Zanka would go on runs with Riyo in the morning before coming back and prepping lunch for the other two plus Enjin, then would watch rigorous videos on complex biological structures and chemicals. In the afternoon he would work on his end-of-year project and at night would curl up on the couch with Riyo and Enjin to watch something. They had become deeply engaged with Grey’s Anatomy.
Jabber would manage to cross his mind mostly at night when Zanka was trying to sleep. At one point Zanka wondered if Jabber had a family to go home to for break, then doubled back and decided probably not. Even if Jabber had a family to go home to he didn’t think that Jabber was the type to value family. Zanka couldn’t help but to reflect on the man in those quiet moments, the ones where Riyo, Rudo, and Enjin slept in their beds upstairs, and Zanka was stretched out on the couch. A guest in a place he called home. Zanka wouldn’t call himself an insecure person. Competitive? Yes. Average? Yes. Jabber was talented. As much as Zanka hated to admit it, the other man was. Zanka had no interest in the arts, because he had always known that he would never become the best at them. Seeing someone who maybe could become the best at something he knew he could never could irked him. Zanka had always wanted to prove that he was more than his family, that he could achieve his dreams and become the best without them, yet they wormed their way into his life every single time and he hated it because they boosted him. He was average, he worked and worked yet the only thing that made him special was his family. Jabber had natural talent, and there was nothing Zanka hated more than natural talent.
These thoughts were much worsened by a text he received on the fourth day of break.
“Fuck,” Zanka groaned out, glaring at his phone and the text bubble that had appeared at the bottom of the screen.
”What?” Rudo asked, twisting around where he had been making toast—a spoonful of Nutella an inch away from his mouth.
Zanka answers for a few seconds, staring with pure malice down at the text on his phone. If he was a naiver person he wouldn’t have expected it, but after all, parents loved butting into their kid’s lives.
“Zanka. You’re mother and I wish to see you and talk about how college is going. If you are reasonable, come and have dinner with us at home tomorrow.”
- E. N.
Sent: 2:45pm.
Zanka scoffed at the precise timing. Knowing his father, he most likely had to schedule texting his son in between his meetings and other duties. The man was as cold as stone and as harsh as the winter air, there was no room for mistakes in his family, and Zanka was sure his parents counted him as one.
”Nothing,” Zanka grumbled, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the couch next to him. “Just my father demanding I come to dinner, the worst part is the sugar coat. I know I have to go no matter how much of an ‘invitation’ it is.”
Rudo hummed, pulling his toast out of the toaster and dumping it onto a paper plate, before beginning to spread a copious amount of Nutella on the bread.
“I don’t see why you have to go,” Rudo said. “I mean, you’re twenty-one so it’s not like they can control you.”
”Yeah,” Zanka hissed. “You know what my family can control though? Half the military. I’m not interested in getting shot up on the street or getting sent straight to the front lines.”
”Yeah I can’t imagine you in a war,” Rudo agreed. “I feel like you’d get irritated by your own comrades and switch sides mid-fight.”
Zanka snorted at that.
”I would if it meant I didn’t have to take instructions from my father. Also, it’s not the end of the world for me, it’s more just sucking up to them for a night so my bank account and trust fund isn’t closed off to me.”
Rudo made a face at that, taking a bite of his toast.
”I just don’t like how they summon you like your one of your families four butlers,” Rudo muttered. “Like I understand valuing family but it’s clear they don’t value you.”
It didn’t sting, Rudo’s comment was nothing Zanka hadn’t thought a long time ago.
“They don’t have to value me,” Zanka acknowledged. “They just have to think I respect them enough so that they don’t kill me.”
”Wow, that’s bright,” Rudo said, rolling his eyes. “Well, I think Riyo is going to the movies tomorrow with a friend, she could drop you off and pick you up if asked.”
Zanka nodded, grateful.
”Yeah, I’ll ask her.”
“Stop messing with it, you're just making yourself look ruffled,” Riyo clipped, slapping Zanka’s hand away from where he was fiddling with his collar.
Zanka groaned, slumping back against the leather passenger seat of Riyo’s car. They had been doing this the whole drive over, Zanka would tug at the collar of his shirt or fiddle with the belt of his pants and Riyo would come to a screeching halt—ignoring the traffic honking behind her—and adjust Zanka’s clothes to peak crispness. Now, as they sat, awkwardly parallel-parked outside of an intricate metal fence Zanka knew all too well, Zanka found himself resisting the urge to simply tell Riyo to turn around entirely. It was almost comedic, how different the two looked. Zanka, dressed as crisp and sharp as a fresh apple, in a white button-down, gray slacks, and leather boots, with a cashmere coat draped over his shoulders. Riyo, hair thrown up in a knotted bun, yesterday’s makeup still smeared around her eyes, in bubble-guppie sweatpants and a hello-kitty crewneck. Zanka felt out of place in Riyo’s old car, a peice of new furniture too shiny and bright in an old house. Even now, after all these years, he wanted to shrink down and apologize that he couldn’t give Riyo more, with all the splendor and money standing right beyond the intricate iron gate it should be easy for him to give Riyo, Rudo, and Enjin a new life, yet he couldn’t.
“You’re overthinking,” Riyo stated, reaching over and brushing a strand of Zanka’s hair behind his ear.
Zanka swallowed any words he might’ve managed to form getting shut down instantly. He averted his gaze from her, eyes falling instead to a crumpled gum packet on the floor of the car.
”Jeez,” Riyo scoffed, smiling. “You never get better at this do you?”
Zanka shook his head, and saw out of the corner of his eye Riyo’s smile dropping slightly into something softer, more understanding.
”I feel bad,” Zanka got out. “That you have to see all this shit my family has when you and so many other people are living paycheck to paycheck.”
”Urgh, please,” Riyo groaned, rolling her eyes. “We’ve been over this a million times. I don’t give a shit Zanka, and Rudo doesn’t know what a paycheck looks like. Enjin loves you as much as he loves Ru and I, plus we don’t need your pity. It’s just different circumstances.”
Zanka said nothing. He knew she was right, but somehow it didn’t help make the feeling go away. As Zanka looked out the window and saw the gleaming gate that he knew was polished every week, all he saw now was someone spending forty hours in the cold completing the task.
”Hey,” Riyo piped up again, and Zanka turned to meet her eyes.
”You're gonna be fine,” Riyo said, smiling, her acidic eyes gleaming in the dull light. “If you get fed up and want to dip, call me or Enjin. We’ll come get you.”
Zanka couldn’t help but feel his heart swell at her words. He couldn’t understand what he had done to enable him to call her his friend—his family. Riyo reached across the middle console, throwing her arms around him and dragging the blonde into a deep hug, and despite Zanka feeling crushed almost instantly, he returned it and wrapped his arms around her waist. After a few seconds, he pulled away with a muttered “thanks” and pushed open the car door, hopping down from the seat and slamming the door behind him.
”Love’ you! Don’t play Russian roulette if they ask!!” Riyo called out behind him, and Zanka couldn’t help but laugh at that.
The Nijiku family’s estate was more than enough to make the average person’s wallets hurt. A four-story building that could easily take up half a Costco. Grey stone and white wood panels made up the structure, with thick black-glass windows that stood taller than Zanka himself. Two balconies wrapped around the house, a private one that could only be entered through the main bedroom on the second floor, and then one that was open to all bedrooms on the third floor. Closed tightly behind the iron gate, you’d think that the gardens were sprawling with exotic plants, trees, and flowers, however that had never been the case. Since Zanka had been a child the lawns had remained cropped into pristine green squares, only broken by the wall of trees that had been planted before Zanka was even born to mark the property line. The property guard had let Zanka in with no hesitation aside from a slightly skeptical look, and as Zanka walked in the eerie quiet to the double doors, he noticed on the edge of the treeline one of the gardeners seemed to have been tasked for overtime. Zanka dropped his gaze at that.
He wasn’t greeted by his mother or father when he pushed through one of the double-doors, only a housekeeper hurried forward to take his coat and tell him that dinner wasn’t going to be ready for another hour and that his mother had told her to tell him that he could wait up in his room or in one of the lounges. Ironic, he wasn’t even allowed the full extent of his own house under his family’s nose. He said nothing to the woman and only brushed past her, walking down the hallway where the walls were covered with unflattering black and white photos. God forbid a lick of color pass through this house. The stairs were made of glass, spiraling up to the upper floors. If you looked down, you would see a pond of Koi fish at the bottom of the stairs. The second floor branched off two ways, one down towards the main bedroom, and then the other led to Zanka’s father’s private lounge and office. The third floor was much the same except it was only bedrooms—Zanka’s being at the end.
Kyouka’s room had long since been empty, holding only a faint line of dust over everything that was washed away by the cleaners. Goka’s room stood two doors down from Zanka’s and even now when the blonde passed he could hear the faint sound of the radio. His own room was clean when he opened the door, clean like he had never even lived there. It was large—the size of Enjin’s whole ground floor—yet it felt even larger due to the sheer emptiness. Zanka’s bed stood in the middle of the room, plush and crisp, grey sheets with blue trim and four posts. It stood with the back to the large windows that overlooked the back grounds. More flat lawns occasionally cut with tall cherry trees, something that Zanka’s father had insisted on since it reminded him of his home in Japan. There was a stone pathway that led out from the back deck to a large oval-shaped pool, colored a pale blue at the bottom and draped with a tarp for the winter. The white deck chairs and umbrellas that usually sat on the deck were now in the storage room, but Zanka knew that his mother would be snapping to get them back out the second it became warm.
Aside from the bed there wasn’t much. A thick maple bookcase stretched from ceiling to floor, right next to Zanka’s desk which took up at least five feet of space on its own. A skin carpet covered the floor under the desk, cow, and indented by the feet of his desk chair. There were two pieces of artwork in his room, one above his desk, and one mirroring it on the opposite wall. The one above his desk he remembered was auctioned off for three million dollars, and his father had ended up buying it for Zanka after he’d said he liked it. It showed a Sultan on the back of a albino elephant, pouring water onto children to cool them down in the bright sun. The children reached up to him, trying to offer flowers in thanks, while their parents watched in the background. The one opposing it was a portrait of the old family dog, passed down to Zanka from his grandfather. It had been a gray Bedlington Terrier named Daigo, who died just before Zanka’s father was born.
Zanka turned, letting himself fall backwards onto his bed, the thick mattress hard from little use, and the silk sheets instantly crumpled from his weight. There had been no stuffed animals, no comics or coloring books, only philosophy and oil paints. Zanka closed his eyes to the room, breathing in the smell of cleanness and cold air, but before he could even relax fully there was a knocking on his door.
”Mr. Zanka, dinner is ready!”
Has it really been an hour? Zanka thought, as he begrudgingly sat back up.
A quick glance at the antique clock on his desk gave him the answer, and he groaned as he stood up.
The dining room had all the warmth and compassion and friendliness of an execution range. It was by far the biggest room in the house. A twenty-foot long obsidian table stretched down the center of the room, with ash-wood chairs flanking it like a royal guard. Paintings lined the walls, all unbelievably expensive, and touched up every five years. From the ceiling hung an assortment of real flowers, all exotic, and woven through with lights that should've given the room a warm glow, but it came off more sinister than anything. Of course, the most sinister thing was Zanka’s parents, sitting at the far end closest to the arching windows, his father at the head and his mother on the left side.
”Oh Zanka,” His mother sighed out, before Zanka had even gotten a chance to sit down. “Must you be so cold? It isn’t polite to not greet a lady even if she is your mother.”
Zanka stiffened, already feeling annoyance creeping into his throat.
”Sorry mom,” He said, loudly and clearly so she wouldn’t have a chance to check his tone. “You look lovely.”
”Why thank you,” Annushka replied, swiping her long ginger hair over her shoulder. “I would return the compliment but I hate the bleach, you look ragged.”
Zanka pursed his lips, saying nothing as he sat down. It was true, his mother was incredibly beautiful, and rich which was why she married Zanka’s father. Zanka had been told she held most of his mother’s traits, minus the red hair, and he wouldn’t argue. Annushka, though Russian, was born and raised in Japan, during a business party when she had been nineteen she had met Zanka’s father Egawa, and he had fallen in love with her sculpted figure, bright blue eyes, ginger hair, money, and submissive attitude. Zanka could see the resemblance in the blue eyes, the pale skin, the small hands and mole on both of their lips. While now he stood a head taller than her, and would often avert his eyes in contempt, he still couldn’t help but feel a pang when he remembered how she would carry him around the grounds and tell him to not touch wild animals. Zanka’s father couldn’t be any different, a hulk of a man with thick black hair and beard, he had long since rejected the tasteless culture of this country, and continued to wear traditional Japanese clothing. Even now he wore a Houmongi, decorated with beetle embroidery. Egawa and Zanka shared no traits except for their thick black hair, which Zanka bleached half of, and their inability to express self-love. In fact, Zanka’s father hated himself so much that the second he saw his children happy he would squash that in an instant, if he was miserable everyone was miserable.
It was an awkward affair, dinner. The first half wasn’t unbearable, since all Zanka had to do was occasionally nod or shake his head to his mother’s questions and listen to her and his father converse occasionally. For appetizers they had been served smoked salmon over small bread bites and a mushroom sauce, along with a glass of thick red wine which Zanka only sipped when his mother had told him too. After their appetizers had been cleared and plates of Wagyu on sprout greens topped with caviar had been set before them, did the conversation take a more harsh turn.
”Zanka,” His mother piped up as she brought an uncannily small piece of meat to her lips. “Have you been watching your weight? You look at least ten pounds heavier than when I last saw you.”
It took everything in Zanka to not simultaneously roll his eyes and slide under the table at the same time, resorting to tightening his grip on his fork and giving her a much-forced smile.
”Yes I have,” he replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “During physicals the doctor told me I was twenty pounds underweight and that I needed to start gaining it otherwise it could lead to blood and circulation problems.”
”Urgh,” His mother brushed his words off like they were a fly she wanted to swat. “Don’t listen to those ‘doctors’ they don’t know what they are talking about. Plus, I doubt the meals they serve at that…school, will help you gain healthy weight. You’re practically just drinking oil.”
That was objectively not true but Zanka chose to stay silent and eat a piece of Wagyu. There was a minute of pure silence, before Zanka’s father spoke.
”I don’t understand why you go there,” He said, and Zanka’s whole body tensed. “I have offered you countless job opportunities that you could take with no question, yet you choose to waste time and money on a pointless degree that will take you nowhere.”
Ah, Zanka thought. So this is what it’s about.
“I have interests outside of business, and science runs this world. I will have no problem finding a job in the field,” He replied, carefully. “I appreciate your concern but I will be fine.”
”I am not concerned,” Egawa replied, his dark eyes narrowing. “I am disappointed that my most competent son won’t take what is being laid out in front of him, just to run off with a bunch of low-slung workers who have nothing to contribute. You are not stupid Zanka, but you are acting like it.”
The blonde’s skin flushed. Now, normally he would be able to sit through his father’s berates. But he couldn’t when his family was brought up. Zanka’s eyes met his father’s.
”Exactly,” The blonde replied, coolly. “I am your son, I do not wish to be your employee on top of that. Trust me, it is enough work.”
“Zanka—“
His mother’s yell was cut off as a scraping clang noise echoed around the room, and Zanka flinched as the tip of his father’s meat knife nicked his finger, coming to a dented point between his pointer and middle finger. Zanka’s breathing quickened as he looked up at his father, who had barely shifted in his chair, his dark brown eyes dull with cruelty.
”Careful, boy,” he rumbled. “My father would have cut off a finger for each word of disrespect I spoke against him.”
Zanka’s eyes were locked onto the knife, fingers shaking as he tried not to move it away. His gaze flickered to his father’s hand on the handle, where two fingers where missing.
”Then I am grateful you are my father,” He muttered, flinching at the screeching sound as Egawa dragged the knife back towards him.
There was a clattering of the knife as his father tossed it to the floor, no doubt leaving it for a maid to pick up later. The rest of dinner was taken in silence, only interrupted once by Annushka opening her mouth but getting shut down with a single look from Zanka’s father. The meal tasted like nothing in Zanka’s mouth, and the only thought that crossed his mind was that he was eating at least five-hundred dollars on this meal alone. He declined another glass of wine when it was offered to him, and only took two bites of dessert, his mother stared at him disapprovidly as he did so, and it made it all the more worse as she had nothing in front of herself. He got up the second he found an opening—a yawn from his mother—and steadily strode down the halls towards the door, not looking back even as his father yelled after him.
”My offer still stands!”
Zanka didn’t care, snatching his coat from the doorman and shoved the oak open. He quickly walked down the steps and onto the stone pathway leading to the gate, pulling the coat onto his body and whipping out his phone, and opened Riyo’s contact.
“Hey, just finished. Can you pick me up? I’ll send you my location.”
- Zubadooba
Sent: 8:03pm
Zanka threw his phone back into his pocket, shoving the metal gate open even when the boothman protested, whipping around the hedge corner and hurriedly scampering towards the nearest bus stop, he needed a real burger.
When Riyo still hadn’t seen his text by the time Zanka had found, ordered, waited, and ate a double burger at the nearest joint he could find, he frowned, concern creeping into his mind. Riyo was chronically on line, she never left anyone on delivery much less seen. Even if she didn’t like you she’d just shoot you a text saying “fuck off,” so her not replying after Zanka had texted her two extra times. He knew her phone wasn’t turned off, the movie had ended an hour ago and her phone wasn’t dead because his texts were going through. He shoved a handful of greasy fries into his mouth as he stared at the chat, waiting for her to respond. It had been over an hour, and Zanka was beginning to become concerned. His finger hovered over the call button for a moment before he exited out of her contact and opened Enjin’s hitting the call button quickly. Enjin didn’t pick up on the first call, but on the second the man’s voice came through the speaker crackily.
”Zanka, hey…”
Immediately Zanka knew something was wrong, Enjin’s voice sounded exhausted and raw, almost trembling, and Zanka instantly stood up, heart dropping.
“Hi, I—Riyo wasn’t picking up the phone and I got worried. You sound terrible is everything ok—“
Zanka wasn’t even able to finish his sentence because Enjin’s voice cut across his own.
”Riyo is in the hospital.”
Zanka froze. His mind, his body, the sound of the restaurant died around him to a buzz that sounded like flies. He must’ve heard Enjin incorrectly, how could Riyo be in the hospital? She went to the movies for fucks sake! What was the popcorn poisoned? Zanka steadied himself on the edge of the table, ignoring the waitress who asked if he was ok.
“What?” He blurted, frantically digging in his wallet for money. “Wh-why? What happened?”
There was some crackly noise on the other end of the phone and Zanka tossed a twenty on the table and dashed to the door.
”I can’t talk now,” Enjin’s voice cut back in, more staticky this time. “I’m sorry I would send Rudo to pick you up but he won’t move can you—
“I’ll call an Uber!” Zanka assured, panic evident in his voice. “I’ll call an Uber, where are you guys?! Which hospital?”
“Argh, um,” Enjin said, pausing for a minute. “It’s Saint Cathrine’s hospital, probably a thirty-minute drive for you but it was the closest thing to us.”
”Right, right,” Zanka hurried, tapping an Uber order while Enjin was on speaker. “I’ll be there soon.”
”Ok,” The man exhaled, and Zanka could hear it through the phone. “I have to go, I’m sorry. I’ll send Rudo to meet you at the front desk when you get here.”
”It’s fine,” Zanka assured, but he couldn’t even get an ‘I’m sorry’ out before Enjin ended the call.
Zanka cursed, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and digging his hands into his heart. No, no, no, no. Riyo had to be ok, she had too. Zanka felt his heart clench and he bit his lip to distract himself, trying to convince himself that she was ok and stable. Enjin hadn’t said she was in any critical condition, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be. What had happened? Had she gotten into a car accident? Had she gotten jumped? Zanka’s mind swirled with possibilities, and didn’t even notice when the car had come till it honked at him.
The ride to the hospital was horrible. Zanka’s leg bounced as he sat in the backseat and tried to fight back the urge to scream every time they stopped in front of a traffic light. It was too long, too slow, too hot in the car even after he rolled down the window. He would consider himself gods strongest soldier if his best friend wasn’t quite literally in the hospital, the cherry on top of this day was Riyo getting possibly run-over after he just had to sit through one of the most insufferable dinners of his life. Zanka leaped out of the car before it had even stopped moving, dashing towards the hospital doors and almost running into three people. Zanka hated hospitals, he hated the bright lights and smooth floors. It reminded him too much of the house he grew up in. He slowed as he stepped through the revolving doors, flinching slightly at the ever-potent smell of bleach and plastic. There were several people sitting around the waiting room, Zanka spotted an old man who was coughing violently, soothed by what must’ve been his daughter, and a child who managed to puke violently at the exact moment Zanka looked at him. Avoiding them both, the blonde skirted around the edge of the waiting room to the front desk, startling the worker.
”Hello,” she said, but Zanka cut her off before she could even finish.
”Riyo Reaper-Sphidi Pharjin,” he said desperately, ignoring the look of mild annoyance that crossed her face.
“Give me a moment,” she said, turning away from him to her computer, and beginning to type.
After an excruciating five minutes she finally spoke again.
”Ah, yes,” she said, looking back up at Zanka. “Her father said you would be coming and that it would be ok to send you up. Room 509, fifth floor to the right, the elevators are right down that hallway.”
She pointed at the hallway in question and slid a visitor pass across the counter to him.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the pass and giving her a quick smile before walking towards the hallway.
Rudo was waiting for him outside the room, and Zanka’s stomach dropped into his shoes as he saw the dark tear-streaks running down the younger man’s face. When he saw Zanka he straightened almost instantly, wiping his face with his forearms and lowered his head as Zanka approached.
”Rudo what happened?” Zanka asked, desperate.
Rudo shook his head, and simply pushed the door open for him. Zanka hesitated, but only for a split second, then he stepped inside and his heart broke. Riyo, lying flat on a hospital bed with an oxygen mask covering her mouth, and multiple IV drips in her arms. She was wearing a hospital robe but it was cut open on one side, revealing a patchwork of patches and bandages surrounding a tube that was extruding from the inside of her stomach. Zanka gagged at the sight of greenish-yellow liquid being drained into a bag, desperately trying not to freeze up. There was a beeping coming from a heart monitor, and Zanka hoped to god that the pace it was beeping at was steady. Enjin sat, curled over the bed, Riyo’s hand resting in his. His clothes were sweat-stained and crumpled, like he had run all the way from the house to here. Zanka didn’t want to step forward, he felt like an intruder at this moment. Even when Rudo tugged at his arm and gestured for him to come sit, Zanka remained rooted to the spot. Riyo’s face was pale, too pale, even for her. Zanka tried not to make a noise of disgust as he noticed spots of vomit in her hair. Why hadn’t anyone cleaned it?
As Rudo sat down, Enjin shifted. He turned, looking at Zanka, and Zanka couldn’t stand the red around his eyes, the purple eyebags and sweaty skin.
”What-what happened?” Zanka croaked out, for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
Enjin sat up slowly, turning his gaze back to Riyo and swallowed dryly.
”Overdose,” he said, quietly. ”I don’t know how but they found an uncanny amount of Morphine, Acid, and Benadryl in her system.”
Zanka’s heart dropped through the floor, and he shook his head, not believing that. How? He knew Riyo was no stranger to drugs, but only ever THC and once, cocaine. She was careful with it, more so than with alcohol. Zanka only knew what half of those terms were because he was taking Bioengineering, and Riyo was smarter than him—at least street wise. She would never, ever, take something like that. Yet she had, and now she was lying in a hospital, half-dead.
“It happened at the movie theater,” Enjin continued. “Halfway through the movie they had a bad reaction and both started tweaking out. Thankfully the people next to them had noticed and called the staff who tried to get them out of the theater but Riyo had tried to throw up and she started suffocating on it. Her friend looked like he was fully possessed, twitching and screaming and shit, and the staff called the hospital who called me. I got here when they were operating and—oh god. I didn’t, I couldn’t even see her through the doctors and they wouldn’t let me see her until half an hour post-operation. Rudo had been stuck in the lobby, and was only let up around an hour ago. She’s steady, thank god, but only because they were able to pump her stomach and then drain it. But…their ruling it as a Suicide attempt.”
“They can’t,” Zanka cut in. “Riyo wouldn’t, she doesn’t have a prescription or anything, not even a diagnosis. It would make no sense.”
”We know,” Enjin replied, running a hand through his hair. “But, there is nothing else they can rule it out as. I mean it makes sense, who takes Acid, Benadryl, and Morphine all in one? Nobody. I’m not saying Riyo was trying to kill herself, but at the same time I can’t imagine why she’d take that. Acid is bad enough, but to mix it with an opioid is pure insanity.”
Zanka’s mind was reeling. It made no sense, why the hell would Riyo take something like that? Unless…unless she didn’t know.
”Do you think she was roofied?” Zanka asked, finally taking a step forward.
This time Rudo was the one to reply.
”The doctors don’t think so. From what they told us she probably bought them off someone who didn’t know what they were making and just threw a bunch of dangerous things together and then didn’t specify what they were selling. But if we wanted to continue that conversation we would have to go to the cops.”
Zanka nodded, crossing to the hospital couch and sitting next to Rudo. He understood what the other two were thinking, and it hurt him. This hospital visit would cost a fuck ton, so there was no way they could pay for a investigation or a lawyer. In another life, if Zanka wasn’t so selfish, he would suck up to his parents and be able to pay for every minor inconvenience Enjin, Rudo, and Riyo went through. While this was far from a ‘minor inconvenience’ it was still something Enjin hardly had the money for, and Zanka’s stomach sank in guilt as he was unable to do anything.
They were in the hospital for over five hours. None of them wanted to leave Riyo’s side, even as doctors came and went and Enjin told Rudo and Zanka to go home if they were tired. Both men refused and the furthest one of them went was Zanka going to the nurses station to ask if they had any water. Only at around two-thirty in the morning were they asked to leave by one of the doctors, who told them that they needed to check up on Riyo and possibly operate again to change out the drainage tube. Rudo immediately tried to argue but Enjin had silenced him by saying that if the doctor was telling them to go, it was probably for the best. They signed out at the front nurse station where Enjin was asked to put his card on file and told he could return at around eight in the morning if he wished.
The drive home was as dreary and upsetting as a car ride could possibly be. Rudo drove, demanding so as he had taken a nap in the hospital and was the most awake out of the three. Enjin sat in the passenger seat, blinking slowly, hair messed up from running his hand through it so much, and occasionally glanced back at Zanka to make sure he was ok. Zanka was not, he felt like he could cry. The image of Riyo, hooked up to so many tubes, lying in a cold hospital room was burned into his mind like a brand. That was his sister, more his sister than his biological one, and his best friend. He felt sick to his stomach, self-blame washing over him like a tsunami. He cursed himself for sitting through that stupid dinner, thinking that maybe he could’ve stopped her from taking the drugs if he had gone with her to the movies. If he saw that something was wrong sooner, maybe they wouldn’t have had to go through such measures to save her life. Zanka understood in reality that there was nothing he could’ve done, but still, guilt ate away at him like a moth to wool. The city lights blurred past his foggy vision, turning into a weird psychedelic painting. He tapped his fingers on the car seat without noticing, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt and fabrics of his pants. Half an hour later, and they were back home.
Enjin said nothing, simply shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack before disappearing upstairs. Rudo did much the same, only stopping in the kitchen to grab a Costco-sized tub of ice cream from the fridge before stomping up the stairs. Zanka didn’t even bother changing before he had flopped down onto the pull-out couch and curled up, tossing his phone aside. He tossed and turned, a hundred emotions and thoughts swirling at once. He didn’t understand. Why the hell would Riyo take something so deadly? More importantly who the fuck would sell that?
“But that’s some good weed! “Shit, I should’ve brought cash. I would kill for some of that stuff.”
Riyo’s words floated across his mind and Zanka sat straight up, a thought appearing. The bag, the bag that had been in the car by his foot! He remembered now, Riyo disappeared while he was confronting Jabber and had reappeared with a regular, grocery-store looking bag. Zanka hadn’t thought much of it at the time, who would? Now however, his heart was pounding as he threw the covers off his legs and jumped over the couch, racing to the stairs. He clattered up them, two at a time till he was on the second floor and instantly turned towards the closest door, pulling it open and stepping in. Riyo’s room was a cluttered yet clean space. Cabinets covered the available walls and the bed was lofted to make room for a desk underneath. A small closet stood to the left of the desk covered in anything from stickers you’d get in second gade as prizes, to cutouts of pornos. The back of the door had a hanging mirror on it, and to the left wall there the room was cut in two a large poster of a shirtless man covered in sweat holding a pick-axe. Probably some old movie star Zanka didn’t know and anyway that wasn’t important right now. Zanka immediately headed for the dresser, recalling the time that Riyo had mentioned that all girls kept private things where private things were kept. If you read between the lines, it’s pretty obvious.
Zanka yanked open the closet doors and knelt down to the two built-in drawers at the bottom, pulling the first one open. Ignoring the messy bras and thongs all thrown in there like a mixed salad Zanka dug through towards the back, groping around until his fingers brushed plastic. He grabbed the bag and pulled it out, stomach instantly dropping. No longer a crumpled plastic bag, but a crisp ziplock full of cube-shaped devils candy. Zanka flipped it around, noticing a piece of paper taped onto the front. His eyes narrowed into slits as he read the note blood boiling at the words:
“For you cutie, free of charge ;)”
Zanka made a face of disgust, standing up straight with the bag crumpled in his hand. He couldn’t fucking believe it. Someone had given that shit to Riyo, knowing what was in it, and knowing the risks. Zanka felt hot all over, the itchiness of anxiety and adrenaline returning. He turned, storming back towards the door and wrenching it open. He pivoted down the hallway towards the stairs, but before he could reach then a voice spoke.
”Zanka what is that?”
Zanka turned, gaze focusing in on Rudo who was standing in the hallway in his pajama pants and a general air of dehydration. Zanka tossed the packet to him, and Rudo caught it, fumbling only slightly, and frowning when he saw what it was.
”That’s what Riyo ate,” Zanka said, before Rudo could ask. “Give it to Enjin so he can take it to the hospital.”
“What the hell?” Rudo mumbled, turning the bag around to read the note. “Who the hell would give this out?”
“I don’t know,” Zanka admitted, beginning to walk down the stairs. “But I know a guy who probably knows the guy who does.”
Rudo followed him just to the top of the stairs, and watched in confusion as Zanka knelt down to put on his shoes.
”Zanka what the hell are you doing?”
Zanka said nothing, ignoring Rudo’s words as he tied his shoes and grabbed Riyo’s car keys. The cold air hit him like a wall as he walked out to the red-head’s car, mind fuzzy with pure hatred. Although it hadn’t been Jabber who had given Riyo the drugs, Zanka was sure it had been one of the man’s friends, and that crossed a line. Zanka could deal with the man himself, his incessant pestering, his ego, his shitty music, but Riyo had been hurt. Maybe Zanka needed this deep down, needed release from the shitty words of his family and the pressures of his own self doubt and school life, but he was going to make whatever motherfucker who had almost killed his sister see the same damn light of Jesus. It was going to be a long night.