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The kitchen filled with the aroma of grilled fish, fresh steamed rice and savory miso soup, complemented by the subtle scent of Robert's musky cologne. A cotton apron hung loosely around his waist
as he flipped a fish, in the pan. The earthy gentle autumn breeze from the window caressed his skin and leaves rustled through the trees.
Yuri sat on her usual seat at the breakfast table, her body hunched over a math workbook and her fingers gripping around a pencil which glided neatly with mechanical strokes.
She didn't lookup or speak. She slipped into a familiar trance-like while doing the math. The scribbled numbers across the page calmed her, the logic brought her comfort, they made sense to her, unlike most people.
She felt Robert's footsteps approach with a breakfast plate and as she gazed up slowly.
Robert Montrose
Keep that pencil down for breakfast, please.
Robert requested with a gentle stern and served Yuri breakfast,
with the kind of focus most people used for defusing bombs, his movement was precise.
Yuri didn't respond, she slowly kept her pencil inside the case and closed the workbook away, a muffled sigh escaped her lips. Her left leg bounced under the table like a silent metronome.
Robert Montrose
Your brother is coming home in two days after winning the match. I'm really proud of him. Have you congratulated him yet?
Robert said, slipping into his chair as he poured himself a glass of water. His face beaming with pride and eyes shining with joy.
Robert's words hung in the air, and Yuri nodded and pulled the breakfast plate towards her.
Robert sipped his water, his gaze lingering on Yuri's bent head.
Yuri's spoon paused for a second, and she let out a soft sigh before resuming. Robert watched her for a moment longer before turning his attention to his own breakfast, the silence between them comfortable despite the underlying tension.
The area under her eyes looked sunken, her eyelids heavy with fatigue, and a slight purplish discoloration darkened the skin beneath.
Her lips were chapped and dry, with flaky skin peeling off in patches. She subtly licked her lower lip, her tongue swiping across the parched skin.
She looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon, just as the students of Hemlock Ridge High described her.
Robert's face was etched with concern, his gaze softening as his eyes locked onto hers. He approached her, his large hand enveloping her small one as he gently brushed her thumb with his knuckles.
Robert Montrose
You need to get a good night's sleep.
He said softly, his voice gentle with concern.
Robert Montrose
If you don't get enough rest, you'll struggle with your homework, to remember things you know inside out.
She slowly looked up, her gaze meeting her father's.
Robert Montrose
It's not good for your health, either.
She replied. Robert was used to these brief, two-word replies since she became a teenager.
Robert often wondered if Yuri truly listened to him or merely acknowledged his words. As she grew older, she'd become increasingly distant, a change he'd grown accustomed to despite the occasional pang in his heart. He told himself it was normal, a phase of adolescence.
Yuri was the opposite of her elder brother Nijiro. She was shy, peaceful and spoke little to him, and nagged a lot.
She sat in front of him, wearing her school uniform , a white buttoned blouse and a greyish pleated skirt that fell below her knees, hair cut above her shoulder.
Her eyes were pitch-black , they seemed to accentuate the purplish discoloration caused by fatigue. Nails of five fingers each painted in different colours, a rainbow riot on her fingertips and an oversized pair of headphones hung over her neck.
Robert couldn't make sense of her clothing or lifestyle. She wore shirts that drowned her frame, pants with frayed hems. The music she listened to was like nails on a chalkboard.
Yuri's eyes go half lidded as she poked at the grilled fish with her fork. Her nose wrinkled, and she gave her father a dead eye stare she saved for gym classes at school.
Robert Montrose
Do not give me that look.
Robert's jaw clenched slightly, his tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek.
Yuri Shirasu
Grilled fish again?
She mumbled annoyed, shoulders shagged.
Robert had always kept her breakfasts vaguely Japanese, even if the rest of her life were chemical-based junk.
Robert Montrose
You eat what I serve you.
He snarled. His fork jabbing at the food. He wasn't angry enough to yell but enough to freeze the room.
Yuri Shirasu
It's a cry for help.
As she pedaled her bicycle through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Hemlock Ridge, the low hanging sun barely seemed to penetrate the fog that had settled over her mind. Her eyes were still heavy with fatigue, from the relentless churning of thoughts that kept her awake most nights.
The start of school after the summer was a real challenge for Yuri.
To her classrooms felt like cages, She hated the way people looked at her, those piercing stares filled with disdain.
Sometimes the school was an escape from the constant thoughts that plagued her mind, a refuge from her father's nagging and the worry which always came laced with sarcasm.
Though she wasn't that lucky. His prying eyes followed her even at school, where he taught as the brightest science teacher at Hemlock Ridge High. He'd randomly call on her in class, asking questions, and during lunch, his gaze would linger as she'd sit alone.
She carelessly leaned her bicycle against the rusted metal rack. The school building loomed ahead, The sound of distant voices carried from inside.
Saw them, the inseparable clique of football jocks.
Their laughter echoed and reverberated throughout the halls of Hemlock Ridge High. Victor Price, the captain of the football team, he wore a smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face. They were clad in their infamous jerseys, which featured the face of a wolf, the school mascot.
Their laughter cut off abruptly as they spotted Yuri. The smirk on Victor's face widened, and he elbowed Jace, the one who played defense, nodding in Yuri's direction. The bullies exchanged a glance that Yuri knew all too well.
Jace Varnum
Who let the zombie in?
Before Yuri could react, a hand clapped down hard on her shoulder. It was Victor's.
Victor Price
Look at her face, man. She looks like a sleep-deprived raccoon. You okay, Yuri? You seeing ghosts or just crying all night?
Yuri stiffened, her body tense under Victor's grip.
Yuri Shirasu
Consider showering once a decade, Captain. You smell like a dead pig in a locker room.
She shot back, earning stifled chuckles from Brent and hateful glares from Victor and Jace.
Victor's eyes twitched, his lips compressing into a thin line as he struggled to contain his rage.
She tried to pull away, but Victor
snatched her backpack.
Yuri Shirasu
Give it back.
Yuri demanded, her eyes never leaving Victor's.
Victor Price
You're a real comedian, aren't you? Think you're funny, huh? Well, let's see how funny you are without your precious bag.
Victor sneered, the bag clutched tightly in his fist.
Victor held the bag high, his six-foot frame towering over Yuri as she stretched up on her tiptoes, unable to reach.
Brent jabbed him lightly in the ribs.
Brent Holloway
Don’t scare her, Vic. She will go crying to her daddy.
He sneered, his smile making Yuri's stomach turn.
Their laughter echoed through the hallway, harsh and mocking. But suddenly, it was cut off by a stern voice
A teacher, stepped into their midst like a wall of authority. "Is there a problem here?" His gaze swept over them all.
The jocks immediately dropped their hostile postures, replacing them with fake innocent smiles.
Jace replied smoothly. Victor handed Yuri's backpack back with exaggerated carelessness.
Victor Price
Just having a friendly chat.
Victor added with a chuckle.
She took a breath and started to walk away, slow and silent. One of Victor’s fingers poked on her shoulder, just one more little reminder. We’re always here. We’re watching.
Victor Price
See you later, raccoon
She heard one of them say.
Her breath caught in her throat, frustration and anger welling up. She pressed hee back firmly against the lockers, fingers balling into fists at her sides.
The jocks were her daily dose of hell.
She crammed her books into her locker, which was plastered in colorful anime stickers and an Alex Turner poster gazed back at her.
And as she glanced around, her eyes landed on her again,
Melissa Warren.
Smiling softly from the photograph framed on the corridor wall, the caption beneath it said
"Gone too soon."
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