Domestic abuse.

To hurt or to assault a member of your family; the term is mainly used for sexual harassment, aimed mostly towards one’s wife and other family members. But what makes sexual harassment even harder to deal with, is that not many victims admit to it or show that there is something amiss with their lives. As a result, things stay the same way they always have. Despite clamming up, the victims are very much aware of this bitter truth. They have no choice but to accept this lack of change. Although, the best way to finish your suffering is to contact the local police and be open about what you’ve been through and your experiences.

This is the first thing you will come across if you type “domestic abuse” in your search bar. The first thing elegantly written in the leaflets they give away in the streets. This is the first thing anyone would think of. Domestic Abuse is bad, and we need to open up. This is what everyone knows. This is what everyone says.

Then why did it not happen? If Atilla wanted to put her father in jail, she could have done so already years ago. In other words, she seems adult enough to not fear some random person and to know the right thing to do and accept the right price to pay. You can get away with anything if you know the loopholes and the people who enforce the law.

This isn't something a timid person who's too afraid to get what they want would say. So, what’s stopping her? It’s obvious from the note that someone is causing her trouble. The barely disguised undertone of it also suggests that she cares for her mother so deeply that she decided to dedicate the last thing she would write to her. She certainly is not doing this so her mother would live happily ever after with him. The letter, that I once saw as an innocent message of farewell, suddenly seems like a warning.

"I've had enough of him. Beware." With every new context, a new possibility rises up, and the words take on a different meaning. Like wearing a new attire, an assumption mutates into another.

So what the hell is going on? Everything I have known up until now feels fake and unreal, despite the unfake and real feelings they gave me. Everything seems ridiculous. Nothing adds up. The fact that somebody gave me letters about the Oscar incident before it happened, and also about Atilla’s case. It seems too childish to be true. At first, I thought it was Atilla who put it there, but not only does she not have a reason to have met Oscar, but she also doesn’t recognize me at all. If she wasn't the one who planted the second note on my seat, then who am I receiving the letters from? Is the first note even related to the second one, and Atilla? Is she really being abused by her father? And why does she not put a stop to it? The strange questions that arose from the strange events keep piling up in my mind, but I push them down with all my force; this is not the time for unwanted questions yet.

It’s been three days since I spoke to Atilla for the first time and at this point, I’m virtually convinced that it is actually going to be the last time. She's been avoiding me and any sort of interaction with me. I’ve tried to get a chance to talk to her, but it’s a difficult task to accomplish when she literally runs away the second I approach her. All those attempts accomplished for me was getting the hairy eyeball from the ones around her as if I’m some kind of serial killer or an abominable, wild creature on the loose.

Long story short, I failed and am rumored to be one of THOSE boys.

“No progress, huh?” Sonny concludes immediately once she sees me sulking on my own on a bench next to the library; then sits right next to me, awaiting one of my tantrums about how disgusting everything is and how I hate it all. I stay silent, and the tantrum she was looking forward to, doesn’t happen.

“So, how are things going?” Her right leg hits my left; I may have gotten used to this quirk of hers but this still chases away my concentration.

“I guess the rumors had some truth to them, but I can’t find a motive, no matter what I do. I’m starting to believe there is none to begin with, and Atilla shutting up about her pain for no specific reason at all is not helping. I might as well just give up.” I sigh and lean back against the bench. Sonny frowns and punches my left arm. It hurts, but I keep quiet; for no specific reason at all.

“Stop being like that. Remember what Naomi used to say?”

“Please stop quoting her as if she was the wisest elder of our tribe.”

Her frown deepens, in shock and fury. “Since when do you talk about her like that? At least she was wiser than you, dumbass. Don’t be a bitch towards a dead girl. That's the type of hateful manner I will not tolerate.”

I apologize. Sonny always hated it when I disrespected the dead; but still...

I let go of all the memories I’d cling to a long time ago, but for some reason, every once in a while, Sonny would bring her up in the oddest moments. I glue my eyes to the ground. Sonny is definitely right. She really was wiser than me.

“Now, tell me what she used to say; I want to hear the exact uncensored quote right now.” Sonny repeats her demand with a softer voice.

“Fine. She would say that this world is based on convenience.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means that the sole purpose of something to exist is the need for it.” Yes. That is the seemingly shallow idea Naomi had; and idea that went beyond its shallow looks.

“Thus?”

“Thus, if you need something, that need for it to exist is proof enough that it exists.”

“Like?”

“…”

“Like?” Sonny repeats.

“Like...if you need love, that need is proof enough that it exists, you simply need to find it.” My soul burns in agony. I just said the most idiotic thing I can ever envisage myself saying.

“Good boy!” Sonny looks as satisfied as ever; like an owner treating her dog. “The same thing is applicable in this case as well. If you need a motive, then it definitely exists. It simply needs to be searched for. If there was no motive, then there was no need to look for one either. Does that girl look like someone who would do something out of nowhere to you?”

After her ridiculous discipline is over, she decides to change the subject, due to the current one no longer being enjoyable for her.

“So, what have you been doing these past three days? We haven’t really had the chance to have a normal conversation lately; that is, if we count our previous conversations normal." She waits for a while to let that sink in. " Yes, I’d like to set those odd moments as the norm for us.”

I’m glad we haven’t had those odd moments she called the norm for a while. These normal conversations with this girl can be quite uncomfortable, and she would usually the one doing the talking. I'd just glare at her and rarely reply or show any sort of resemblance to a living creature. Sonny usually tells me I lack the ability to focus on one topic. I don’t know why, but she seems to never get tired of talking to me.

“Nothing much has happened. I’ve been trying to avoid Will. Thanks to your ridiculous promises, he's been following me around, asking me when I’ll be done writing his crap.”

“Then why won’t you get to it?” An extremely empathetic, and yet, curious Sonny asks with a somber tone. To my surprise, her way of speaking had no hint of mockery; the perfect sight of a genuinely worried friend. What she asked, was an actual question, and what she showed, were actual emotions. “You only ever wrote something once, and since then, you fly away anytime anyone asks you anything about it.”

I avoid the ever-so-affectionate side glances and focus on a nearby window. I stare at the hallway beyond it and refuse to answer her even though the answer is quite crystal-clear.

Sonny can be an idiot in the most inconvenient moments, and to make matters worse, she also has the ability to be a genius in the most inconvenient moments.

“You’re not talking to me at all?” Her soft, whimpering voice almost makes me…

I stay quiet.

I don’t want to talk to her anymore.

I don’t want any more weight on my mind, and I silently tell her that. She understands and decides to omit that weight, by silently omitting herself from the bench. Once I’m alone again, I try my best to keep my focus on that girl.

Atilla Nadha...

Anadha.

Even her name is tremendously unfortunate; even though she constantly strives not to be spotted by me, her ridiculous, outlandish get-up always makes her stand out in the middle of normal people with normal clothing. I spot her without fail every time, and once I call out to her, she immediately tenses up and makes instantaneous, unreasonable excuses to flee. I close my eyes. The tornado of recent events has left me exhausted, and almost physically ill. I’m in dire need of a nap, and despite that, I can’t sleep at night. I just gaze at a random somewhere of a random something and space out, and the next thing I know, the sun is shining once more.

I just spend my entire time doing literally nothing: stuck between needing sleep, and not wanting to sleep, which results in not sleeping. I’ve been told that sometimes what you need might not be what you want, and then, there are times when what you want is not what you need. Atilla knows that as well but ignores everything, knowing what is needed to be done. I wonder if what she wants is what she needs as well.

At first glance, everything seems like a baseless rumor, but the more you think about it, the more you doubt, and that doubt ultimately becomes a rift, separating what you know from what you don’t, by simply merging them, and creating a new category; theories.

A concept, that is neither a fact, nor a rumor; something based on speculation and observation, and in this case, I’m missing the latter. And as they say, a theory that is created without observation is no more than an assumption.

Let’s assume that someone stole Atilla’s note, and for some unknown reason, gave it to me, of all people. I might be dealing with a case similar to Oscar's, in which case, I’d probably need to attend another funeral, if I keep dawdling around and doing nothing.

Thanks to the sudden conversation that was set ablaze the other day with Atilla, I have gone closer to figuring out what is going on. Our previous conversation was sloppy, and it caused her to be wary of me. The same approach wouldn’t work a second time. I need to reconsider my strategy.

I’m not the communicative type, and sending Sonny to talk to the girl seemed like the best course of action; something I would have considered doing if it wasn’t flat-out rejected by Sonny herself. She should be able to put her uncanny manipulation skills to use, and I think that having a conversation with a fellow female would be more comfortable than with a random dude, regarding Atilla’s alleged misfortune. However, Sonny shook the idea off immediately when I brought it up. According to her, having her intervene with this chaos would only cause more unnecessary complications, and I was supposed to go about it my own way, by initiating another conversation with her the same way I did days ago. That’s why, day in and day out, I’ve been attempting to do just that, each day more disappointing than the one before.