The Curse of the Moriyama Family
In another novel, our protagonist is a young woman. Married off to the Moriyama clan, she lives a solitary life, trapped before she could run away. Her husband Kengo does not kiss her; he does not have dinner with her. Her only company are her bodyguards... Until she has her first son: Ichirou Moriyama.
Part of her wishes that he was never born. For when he is birthed, it is Kengo who holds him. It is Kengo who does not give him back. Her heart screams when she realises. Ichirou's last embrace from his mother was in the womb. Even his name has no trace of her. He is branded as what he is: Kengo's first son. Kengo's heir. He never sees her again.
Her loneliness prevails; every day seems meaningless. The sliver of intimacy she gets is when Kengo is tired and has to rest in their apartment. Knowing he is in the building is more warmth than she gets from him in a year. It cannot be said what changed if it is Kengo's pale complexion, the dullness of the season, the tension in the main branch... Except that one evening, her husband joins her in her room, a chessboard set up in front of the fire and an empty chair.
It's a small stroke of fire; it burns slowly. When Kengo is not home, she resigns herself to watching television. Her brother-in-law has amassed a following for a new sport; they call it Exy. Her husband laughs at it but she sees the stubborn glint in the Tetsuji's friend's eye. Kayleigh Day says that Exy is the future; she believes it.
It is a mistake, in retrospect, for her to forget the cruelty of the Moriyamas. But she has become so cold. Kengo is the only sun she gets, the warmth that makes her days bearable. He kisses her sweetly and for a night she believes he is just a man. A man who cares for her. She forgets the unkindness of Moriyama men; she wakes up alone.
Many moons later, her hands drip blood onto the ivory tile, her mirror smashed into thousands of pieces - morning sickness. She knows where this is going.
It isn't worth screaming over: Kengo tells her that she cannot have her baby. His empire does not need a second son. Her tears trail down her face; her lip quivers at how he says the words. Cutthroat. Like her baby can be discarded. As if she won't feel the pain of him being taken away. Flashes of her first birth stab her heart over and over again. Her knees buckle to the floor and all she can do is beg. His face remains unchanged.
It is the night of her surgery, she sits in her bathroom, hugging her wrists and staring down the blade. She cannot lose another child; she feels like she may die. Her hands shake as she tries to psych herself up to the task, to pick up the sharp knife. The fluorescent lights drown her vision, tears flood her face... It reminds her of her wedding night, when she tried to escape through the venue's back window, crawl out the bathroom and run to god knows where-
-Her hand stills.
Motels are hard to come by, her racing heart hates the lack of exits in hotels, and nobody seems trustworthy... She finds it easier to sleep in back alleys. The lack of rest and food makes it so she has not grown too big and a kind stranger lent her a large duffel coat to keep away the cold (it swallows the signs of her belly). Money has been hard to come by and she cannot get on another bus. She hopes not to give birth soon.
Having a fever is not the worst part of giving birth, but it does not make it any less unbearable. It is a laborious process, and after it is done, she passes out, but not before sneaking a glance at her new baby. Wrapped in her old clothes and flushed with winter's cold, he lets out a soft cry. She hugs him tight, shielding him from the harsh winds, before her vision bleeds black at the edges and she hears the gasps of crowding strangers.
When her eyes burst open, the sterile walls of the hospital and a hand on her arm made her realise that it was not death who was speaking to her. Kengo was stroking her skin, muttering a prayer above her before his eyes met hers. Wet with tears. Wet because he was mourning. Later, the nurse hands her son, and her husband gives her that same remorseful gaze. Straight through her. Like a ghost.
"Jiro sleeps well," he whispers. He has an eerie smile on his skin, one that she wishes she could claw. Jiro. Second son. Her heart burns; her fingers clench.
"His name is not Jiro."
It is the first time she sees Kengo's mask slip from his face. It makes her death almost worth it.
Kengo's right-hand man is a hideous beast: Nathan Wesninski. Many men have been tortured by his knife, squealing like pigs. Under the Baltimore Butcher, death is welcomed eagerly. She peers up at him, and she can't help but shudder under his pale blue eyes.
From the beginning, she never expected a good life. Death always loomed over her. But in this moment, she waits, finally ready to accept it. Her husband sits in the chair furthest from the crime scene, cigarette puffing grey clouds from his lips as he avoids her hardened stare.
"You never told me what our son is to be called, Riko," he calls out, "I will give you that... before your death."
There is not much time to research baby names while on the run from the mafia. Her baby's health and survival always seemed to be the bigger priority. Now, she is at the guillotine. It is time for her baby to be taken from her once again.
Riko knows that it is a small price to pay- her life in exchange for her baby's. Unlike her firstborn, he will never be held by Kengo. Her husband has told her that he is to be discarded - left to his brother. Tetsuji will raise her son in Castle Evermore, the nest for tomorrow's Exy prodigies. Kayleigh Day's smile flickers in her mind. It is news that lets Riko be at peace.
Yet, here, she has unfinished business. The chance to do what she could never do before. Her baby will always hold a trace of her.
Riko can finally run away.
(A:N: This is me trying to avoid working on my WIP,,, Just straight up writing then posting,,, less structured than I'd like but GOD the idea of this unnamed character was so intriguing!!! The mafia side of AFTG ....)
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