Everyone loved Juni Sato. There was not one person who hated him—what was there to hate about him? Juni was only twenty-three but worked at the biggest company in New York City. He had been there since he was nineteen, the youngest coworker ever. Everyone admired him. Everyone wanted to be him. He was kind-hearted and soft-spoken, never once raising his voice or yelling at others when he was upset or angry. He always volunteered to help others out, taking the loads off them, staying past his work time, yet he never once complained. He had the brightest smile, kindest laugh—he was perfect, an absolute angel.

But no one knew what he was going through behind closed doors.

Juni hated his life so much. He hated faking a smile, faking laughs—he hated being so kind to others when some treated him so shittily. He hated the appraisals, the approvals; hated being in the center of everyone’s attention like he was a god. He hated his life so much that he wanted out—fast.

He wasn’t always so depressed. In fact, there was a time when he was truly happy, but that died years ago when his younger sister tragically lost her life in a freak accident. No, it wasn’t even an accident. It was intentional and his younger sister happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

School bombing, was what one of Juni’s coworkers had said when receiving a notification on his phone. At Hiji, a middle school.

Something inside of Juni crumpled and he stood up from his seat. When others gave him an alarmed look, he didn’t care. He immediately ran out of the building, ignoring his coworkers’ surprised cries, and took the train straight to Hiji from his work. Upon arriving, he had discovered that the building was in shambles. It didn’t look like a single bomb, rather multiple. Even the concrete sidewalk was overturned from the aftershock of the bomb.

He wasn’t thinking clearly that day. It was a blur. He remembered pushing past people, past police, past detectives. Ignored the yells of, The fuck are you doing?! Get back here! and continued to run to the building and instead of away like everyone else—

He didn’t care if he had to push past kids or elderlies, male, female, whoever, whatever—. What was important was his younger sister, his only sister who had just turned twelve hardly a week ago was okay—

He found her, but in the way he expected.

Her body was pressed up against the corner of the staircase, her beautiful red and gray school uniform bloodied and torn and ashy. Her dark hair was covered in soot, embers, and blood. Broken pieces of glass and debris embedded in her—

He wasn’t thinking clearly that day. It was a blur. He remembered crying—no, sobbing was the word. He was sobbing and screaming and cursing everyone and everything, damning everyone to tell for murdering his younger sister. His only sister. His only family ever since their parents died on the job due to being special agents. He had raised her since she was four. He was there for her when she was sad. He was there for her special occasions. He was there when she had her first crush. Her first period. Her first childhood heartbreak. He was always there for her.

And the one time he wasn’t she was gone.

He was holding onto her body, clutching her to his chest, sobbing, sputtering, It’s okay, it’s okay, but he knew deep, deep down that it was not okay. He had cradled her body, holding her tight, stroking her blood-soaked hair.

There were some commotions going upstairs, some yelling, something banging…He remembered a police coming to him and telling him to get out, but he wouldn’t budge. The police had to forcefully split him and his sister, causing him to yell, fuck you! fuck you! that’s my sister, my sister—

Then he was waking up in a hospital, overhead lights glaring down at him. He was dazed and confused, and found his maternal grandparents sitting on chairs, looking at him with fear and concern. When they noticed he was up, they rushed to him and tried to hug him when he violently declined.

miyra, miyra, miyra, Juni had said. she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead—

Things became blurry after that.

Despite Miyra being twelve and Juni seventeen, they were close—practically inseparable. It didn’t matter that she was younger, it didn't matter that she was a girl; Juni loved his younger sister with all his heart that when she left his world, something inside of him had died.

He began cutting at eighteen.

His grandparents never once knew. They didn’t know he was cutting, had begun cutting. They knew he was depressed—had taken him to a psychologist who diagnosed him with major depression (But look out for any signs of manic depression)—but they didn’t think he was

[suicidal]

hurting himself because that was taboo.

He moved shortly when he turned nineteen and began working at the largest company in New York City. He was genuinely surprised he even got hired only to realize that the CEO was the father of Lucky who was the best friend of Miyra.

Juni didn’t decline the offer nor quit. He…liked it. It paid well, people were respectful (mostly). However, it was uncomfortable when Mr. Tzan (Lucky’s father) would ask Juni if he was all right time to time.

As time went out and the cutting continued, Juni was hitting an end. He wasn’t the type to skip out on work but he found himself slipping. He was staying up too late or sleeping in too late. He found himself without eating food for a few days until he was offered a snack by a worried coworker. His grandparents noticed this change and recommended therapy which Juni profusely declined. His arms were so scarred up that there was no place to cut that he began to turn to painkillers. He began taking handfuls of those every day and was hit with frequent nausea and lightheadedness. He went to work regardless, had to make money for himself to buy more pills—he kept working and working, and smiling and smiling, and working and smiling, working and smiling until that fucking smiling mask slipped—

And his hands were red and black, stained from pen, ink, and blood. His body was shaking and giving up on him, eyes darting around, chest heaving. One of the coworkers—Patty Milts—had gotten Mr. Tzan to check on him and when Mr. Tzan told Juni to go home to rest up, Juni flipped, knocking over his stuff on the table, rounding furiously on everyone, snapping,

you must think i’m crazy, huh? i’m fine—trust me.

But no one believed him. They looked at him with wide eyes, with such fear and disgust that Juni felt that rising hatred in him finally tipping over—

And he was suddenly at the police station, sitting on the cold chair, arms crossed firmly over his chest, jaw tight as he scowled at the officer who was staring at him.

Mr. Sato? An officer had said from one side of the room.

Juni paid him no attention.

The officer had sighed and made his way in front of Juni. He had a disappointed look on his face, like a father disappointed in his son. At least, that’s what it appeared but Juni wouldn’t know. He never disappointed anyone before.

Mr. Sato, you have committed an assault. A Class C, specifically. Simple assault. You’re going to be fined. Mr. Sato, are you listening to me? The officer asked.

Juni pursed his lips and gave a jerkish nod.

Mr. Sato, your position is very rude. I would suggest sitting upright. This is serious, sir, you just committed a crime.

you gonna jail me? Juni muttered in a low voice, glaring at the officer.

Mr. Sato, please. The officer—Sgt. Whittletin—said stiffly. It’s a fine—$500. You hurt someone.

how? Juni asked softly, now sitting upright, arms still crossed over his chest. how…officer?

Whittletin grounded his teeth. You threw a stapler at Ms. Kingsley.

accidentally. she was in the way. Juni mumbled.

Whittletin gave off a frustrated sigh. Sir, just give me $500 and I’ll let you go. Now.

Juni huffed out a sigh and dug through his wallet. He pulled out twenty-five twenties and gave it to the officer. Whittletin counted it and then sighed. He said, You’re free to go. Don’t do that again. We’re letting you off just this time because you look—He paused short.

[sick] [ill] [shitty] [dead]

Juni could assume what the officer was going to say but didn’t push it. He stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets and left.

He found out he was “relieved” from his work until further notice. In other words, fired.

Now suddenly jobless, Juni didn’t know what he could do. He had to find a job…but then again, what was the point? What was the whole point of all of this? It wasn’t like he had family left—well, not really. His maternal grandparents were getting there, already in their eighties. His paternal grandparents died even before he had a chance to meet them.

If only Miyra was still alive—

He was fed up by all of this. He was done.

He took his car and drove aimlessly around. At one point he had a crazy idea. What if he drove off into the side of the road? What if he went into a ditch? Who would care? There was no one left. He was by himself, hurting, and no one cared.

He managed to drive to a beach. No one was there. It was dark now. He had been driving aimlessly for hours. He got out of his car and went down to the beach, staring at the water. What would it feel like to drown, he wondered. Would it be a slow death or sudden death? Would you inhale a lot of water or little? Will the body float up to the top?

The cuffs of his jeans and shoes were soaked with water. He had found himself waist-deep in the water already. He wasn’t scared. Not really.

i’m coming, miyra.

He continued wading in, further and further away from the shore. He felt light for once, like a pressure had finally been lifted off his chest. He was smiling—he felt peaceful. He could see Miyra in his mind’s eye, could see him pulling her into a tight embrace, whispering, i love you—

Then, like everything else before him, everything was blurry.