Chapter 4: Efficiency Demands A Temporary Suspension Of Morality.
Upstairs, the quiet was thick with the hiss of steam and running water, a soothing sound that finally started to counteract the grime of the train. Iris had the bathroom door slightly ajar—not locked, giving Akari space but close enough that she could hear any sound—and she was fussing with a pile of clean clothes on the counter.
"Don't even look at the uniform again," Iris muttered, picking through a stack of loose shirts and joggers. She wasn't looking at Akari, but toward the wall, which was probably where she mentally placed Elijah. "He's just… a stain on the carpet, Akari. You don't deserve that kind of contempt. He's despicable, truly. You wear whatever you want in this house. Forget what that bastard said about rules."
Akari was slow. Every movement was stiff, pained, and exhausting. She stood under the hot spray, feeling the filth of the assault and the train wash away, but the cold, sick feeling inside didn't budge. She could still hear Elijah's voice, calm and rational, dissecting her pain.
Through the steam, Iris's kindness felt suffocating. Like pity. Akari wanted to scream that she wasn't a charity case, that being saved felt like another violation. Her fingers traced the tender bruise on her cheek—the price for taking Elijah's tissues. Efficiency, he had said. That's all he cared about. Like she was faulty machinery.
The scalding water stung her raw skin, the sting a grim reminder that pain was the only sensation anchoring her to reality. Even the clean scent of Elara's lavender soap felt alien and unwelcome against her skin, masking nothing.
"I... I don't know," Akari whispered, her voice still rough and unused. She turned off the water, grabbing a large, fluffy towel Iris had provided. "I wasn't wearing anything... to protect myself. Maybe he was right."
Iris rounded on her immediately, her glasses slightly fogged from the steam. "Don't you dare think that. That is his defense mechanism. It's what predators do—they make the victim apologize for existing. You didn't do anything wrong, okay? You just met a monster, and then you met a parasite."
Akari wrapped the towel tighter around herself, trembling despite the steam's warmth. "He was a parasite?" she murmured, brows furrowed. "But he brought me here..." The words sounded hollow even as she spoke them—an exhausted echo of Elijah's manipulation still clinging to her thoughts.
Iris snorted, tossing sweatpants onto the countertop with deliberate force. "Please. Bringing you here wasn't kindness—it was damage control." She leaned against the sink, fogged glasses sliding down her nose. "He saw liability walking on bruised legs. You screamed 'problem' and 'loose end' all over. So he brought the problem home—probably figured Mom would slap a band-aid on it so he wouldn't have to deal with the fallout. It's what he does—outsources emotional labor like a chore."
Iris snatched a comb, scowling as she gestured toward Elijah's room down the hall. "Want proof he's more cockroach than savior? He stole that phone and cash while that creep was busy, Akari." A humorless grin twisted Iris's lips. "Doesn't that paint a picture? Our Eli-the-'efficient'-strategist—calculating theft angles mid-assault? That's not logic. It's opportunism wrapped in cheap philosophy."
She watched Akari flinch, immediately softening her tone. "Sorry. Didn't mean to mock the… situation." Iris sighed, frustration bleeding through. "He's my stepbrother, and I swear, sometimes I wanna shake him till that smug calculator he calls a brain rattles loose." She mimed the violent shaking, then abruptly stopped, pulling Akari into a gentler hug.
Iris, her focus shifting from morality to practicality, suddenly froze. She was looking at Akari's stomach. Her expression went from protective anger to sharp, cold panic.
"Akari," Iris said, her voice dropping, suddenly clinical. "Wait. Were you... on anything? The pill? Birth control?"
Akari's eyes widened in horror as Iris's question landed like a physical blow. Her hands flew instinctively to her abdomen, fingers digging into the towel's plush fabric. She shook her head, fast. "N-no," she stammered, the word cracking under the weight of realization. "I'm not... I've never..."
Iris didn't wait for the rest. "Shit." She spun around, grabbing her worn wallet from the counter. "Stay right here. Don't move."
Iris rushed downstairs, her sneakers thudding against the carpet, finding Elara in the kitchen, already on the phone, her voice lowered and professional.
"...Yes, she's an Eleventh Grader. We'll need a week, I think. And Iris will pop by to collect their homework. Thank you, Mark. I owe you a coffee." Elara hung up, her face tight with worry.
"Mom," Iris breathed out, skidding to a halt. "Akari. She wasn't on anything. I need to run to the pharmacy. Now."
Elara's eyes went wide. She understood instantly, her hand flying to her mouth, a sharp, choked sound escaping her lips. The emotional fallout was already bad enough; the physical consequences were a crisis.
"Go," Elara said, already scrambling for her own purse. "Take my Noxs. Be quick, baby. And Iris, please. Be careful."
Iris didn't need to be told twice. She snatched the bills and bolted out the front door, the screen door slamming shut behind her with a sound that seemed too loud for the suburban quiet.
Elara stood, running a hand through her hair, trying to breathe, one crisis giving way to the next. She was alone again in the kitchen, dealing with the aftermath of Elijah's careless brutality.
The phone rang. Elara ignored it—it was probably just the landline spam caller—and went to the sink to get some water.
That was when the knock came. It wasn't the frantic, sharp slam of Iris leaving. It was a tentative, almost polite knock, the kind that says, I'm bothering you, but I hope you don't mind.
Elara opened the door to find Vanessa. The new neighbor. Mid-twenties, American, with a body that filled out her cheap athleisure wear in a way that defied the struggling neighborhood. She was beautiful, yes, but currently wearing an expression of practiced, almost desperate shyness.
"Elara? I am so sorry to bother you right now," Vanessa began, her voice soft and apologetic. "I'm just doing a massive clean-out, and the heavy furniture... I just moved it all wrong. I was wondering if Elijah could, just for an hour, help me shuffle things around? I know he's around."
Elara's jaw tightened. She had just grounded the boy, trying to establish some moral consequence, and the world was immediately conspiring to undermine her. But Vanessa was new. She needed friends. And this was, on the surface, a simple neighborly request.
"Vanessa, I appreciate the thought, but Elijah is actually grounded," Elara said, rubbing her temple. "He is absolutely not allowed to leave the house."
Vanessa's face crumpled just slightly, a flicker of genuine disappointment crossing her features before she smoothed it out. "Oh. I completely understand. It's just... I'm really stuck, and he's so strong. If he could just move the sofa—I could pay him, of course."
Elara sighed. "Fine," she said, giving in to the weight of social necessity. "He can help. But you bring him straight back here when you are done. No detours. Understood?"
Vanessa's smile was immediate, a little too bright. "Yes! Absolutely. Thank you so much, Elara."
Elara walked up the stairs, knocking sharply on the locked door. "Elijah. Get out here. The neighbor needs help."
Inside, Elijah was already chuckling softly at the word neighbor. He knew exactly why Vanessa was here.
He grabbed his sneakers, ignoring the untied laces. The truth about Vanessa was simpler than her expensive leggings suggested. She had been the arrogant, haughty rich kid back in the day, cut off by her family, disowned for some foolish pride. She hadn't developed the basic street smarts to survive when the money dried up.
Life happened, and it happened hard. She'd been used by men who promised her a way back to comfort, only to discard her. With her savings gone, she landed in this cheap neighborhood.
That's when they'd met. She had been rude then, too, presuming Elijah was some neighborhood kid she could boss around, until he'd given her a quick, cold reality check. They became "close" only in the sense that two entities understand each other's financial desperation.
He was the one who gave her the solution: a specific, private adult site that paid 100 Noxs for an uploaded sex video and 1 Nox per view. You could use a mask, keep your private life unharmed, he'd told her, his voice utterly devoid of judgment.
She had taken the bait. And now, she needed a cameraman, or maybe just an emotional buffer. She certainly wasn't close to any other male in the area who wouldn't try to take advantage for free.
Elijah swung the door open, shrugging into his jacket without meeting Elara's eyes. His suspicion was confirmed when he opened the door and their gazes met—a quick, involuntary blush spread across her cheeks, a chemical reaction she couldn't control.
He shook his head slightly—a small, internal judgment about the predictability of human need—and stepped out onto the porch with Vanessa.
"Elijah, you come straight back! No stopping!" Elara called from the doorway, her voice tight with residual anger.
"Yes, Elara," he replied, giving a sarcastic salute to the open door, already walking toward Vanessa's house.
"So," he said, stepping inside her cramped living room cluttered with unassembled furniture, "not moving the sofa after all, are we?"