"I'm home," I said, though no one was home at the moment.
The house was quiet when I stepped inside.
Not in a bad way. Just quiet.
Shoes in place. Lights off. Everything exactly where I left it.
Predictable. Neat.
It felt good to be back.
This was the only that I actually felt at home. Well, it is my home after all, but I still can't shake the feeling despite living here my entire life.
I slipped off my bag and jacket, careful not to stretch too far. My ribs ached in a dull, settled way. It was feeling a little better now.
Upstairs, I changed out of my uniform. The shirt stuck a little where the blood had dried near the collar.
I gave it a gentle tug to free it and tossed it into the hamper.
In the mirror, the bruising on my cheek was starting to take form—deep violet under the eye, like a shadow trying to stay. I could feel it pushing inside and out at the same time.
I didn't spend too long looking at it. It making me uncomfortable.
Down in the kitchen, I opened the fridge.
Leftover miso soup. A couple of eggs. Cold rice from this morning.
I didn't eat breakfast earlier as I was in a rush to go to school because I overslept, so this was probably Mom's leftovers.
I tied on an apron and started cooking without thinking.
The oil sizzled. The rice warmed. The egg came out clean.
I always had a knack for cooking. Well, more than a knack, actually.
Due to Mom's work, she was often home late, so I was forced to make myself both breakfast and dinner; the former not happening most of the time.
At first, I survived with just boxed lunches that you can buy at every convenience store.
However, as I got more and more frequent stomachaches, I decided to whip something up for myself every now and then.
And that every now and then turned into every day, so now I buy groceries every other week.
I sat down at the table with my plate, letting the silence wrap around me like a warm blanket.
It was nice.
I started eating. While doing so, I tasted a bit of metal. A wound must've opened up inside, but I didn't bother checking.
Besides, I couldn't really feel it anyways.
I finished eating slowly after.
I contemplated on just leaving the dishes in the sink for Mom to wash, but she was already hard at work. I wouldn't want to add to her burden, especially in the comforts of her own home.
After washing the dishes and wiping the counter, I grabbed a towel and filled it with ice.
"She did say to ice it."
I pressed it to the side of my face, flinching slightly at the first sting.
It wasn't the first time I've done this, but I certainly wasn't getting used to it.
Then I leaned back, eyes half-closed as the cold dulled the pain.
I held the ice there for a while before switching it to my ribs, moving slowly, breathing shallow.
When the ice was half-melted, I tossed the towel in the sink and headed back upstairs.
There's barely anything to do at this point.
I decided that it was time to hit the rack, but it was still a little early to do that. I had a computer laying on my desk, but I didn't find the motivation to use it.
Finally, I was left with one thing that I always did and always do in my free time: study.
After grabbing my stuff inside my bag, I turned on my lamp and opened my textbook.
The light hit the pages just right. The numbers waited for me in patient lines.
History notes first. Then math.
English vocab cards fanned out in a half-circle by my elbow. I went through them one at a time, flipping back when I didn't get it right.
"This part's easy. Just read. Just remember. There's always a right answer."
I stayed there, hunched over my work as the evening turned to night.
Outside, streetlights glowed pale orange.
Inside, I was still.
Focused. Alone.
But not lonely.
It was always the same.