CHAPTER 56: CHAPTER 56 – SHAME

Chapter 56 – Shame

"..."

The silence between the two of them was suffocating—heavier than any words could have been. A grieving mother sat before her son, carrying the unbearable weight of losing her husband. And across from her, a boy sat still, a boy who never quite understood the chaos of human emotions.

Jack knew something was wrong inside of him. He knew he wasn’t alright with the thought of his father being dead. Yet, even as he turned the idea over in his mind, it hadn’t settled in fully. It didn’t feel real, not in the way people described grief. It didn’t feel like he had lost someone who was supposed to matter so deeply.

And still—his chest ached. His heart throbbed painfully, as though mourning in his stead.

"I’m sorry, Jack. I couldn’t do anything." His mother’s voice cracked. Her eyes shut tightly as tears traced down her cheeks, fragile and unstoppable.

Jack shook his head. "There’s no need to apologize. What happened... happened. There was no way for you to fend off those monsters."

Her lips trembled, but she said nothing.

"What Dad did," Jack continued, his tone calm, matter-of-fact, "is something he chose willingly. That’s why he ignored you, why he threw himself forward. He was ready to die if it meant saving your life." His eyes softened, though his words carried no hesitation. "Isn’t that respectable?"

His mother stared at him, speechless, as though she couldn’t reconcile the strange composure in his voice with the boy she had raised.

"I don’t blame you for what happened," he added quietly. "The fact that you’re still alive is enough."

Her lips parted, but only his name slipped out, faint and trembling. "Jack..."

He stood, breaking the moment with abrupt finality. "You should rest. The past two days have been... exhausting. This place is safe, so try to relax. I’ll stay nearby—if you need food or anything else, just call."

He turned for the door before she could gather her words. His hand lingered on the handle, but he didn’t look back. Closing it gently behind him, he leaned against the wood for a long breath, as though only now allowing himself to exhale.

"Jack..."

The faint voice was Lune’s, her presence hovering near him like a shadow wrapped in warmth. She had watched the exchange silently.

Jack didn’t answer her. He simply pushed away from the door and began walking deeper into the bunker, his footsteps carrying him toward a quiet corner—one rarely visited by others.

There, he sank down against the cold wall, closing his eyes. His mind was relentless, gnawing at him more cruelly than usual. The constant storm of thoughts felt sharper today, unbearable in its persistence.

"..."

Lune floated gently beside him, her form dim and steady. She lowered herself until she sat at his side. Neither of them spoke. Yet the silence here was different. Not suffocating. Not heavy. Simply... shared. They stayed like that, two presences leaning into each other without the need for words.

Jack didn’t need to speak for Lune to understand. She had come to know him better than anyone else—better than even his parents had. She understood the strange way his mind moved, the way his emotions rarely showed themselves in the ways people expected.

"You know," Jack said suddenly, surprising her. For once, he was the one to break the silence.

"Hm?" Lune tilted her head gently, her voice soft.

"Death is... quite comedic."

Her expression didn’t change, but she stayed silent, inviting him to continue.

"It comes when you least expect it," he muttered. "We spend our whole lives trying to avoid it. We go to doctors, we watch our steps, we avoid danger. And still... in the end, it comes just the same." He exhaled slowly, his voice steady but hollow. "There’s something amusing about that."

Lune listened without interruption. Her gaze lingered on him, filled with something deeper than sympathy—something she couldn’t put into words. Love, raw and overwhelming. But she knew words wouldn’t comfort him. He wasn’t someone who found solace in the clichés people usually clung to.

So, instead of speaking, she leaned toward him and let her head rest against his shoulder. Her eyes closed, and warmth seeped from her presence into him. It was a simple gesture, born from instinct, but it carried everything she wished she could say.

Her voice eventually broke the silence. "Are you sad, Jack?"

He blinked, his lips parting slightly. "...Sad?"

"Mhm," she murmured. "Do you feel like your heart is being squeezed tight?"

"..." Jack’s lips pressed together. "Is that what sadness is? A tight squeeze in the heart?"

"No." She shook her head gently. "Sadness is when you feel that something happened... something you wish hadn’t. It’s when the world feels darker, heavier. Like your whole body is rebelling against reality."

Jack stared ahead in silence.

"But sadness," Lune continued softly, "Is just one of the many things we feel. There’s sadness, anger, happiness... all of them are signs that we’re alive. There’s no harm in feeling them."

Her voice washed over him like waves, soft and soothing. Jack closed his eyes, letting her words seep into him. For the first time, he felt the unfamiliar weight of an emotion pressing down on him.

’So this... is sadness?’ he wondered. ’It makes sense why people hate it. It’s... unpleasant.’

It was strange—he, who had always thought himself numb, was beginning to taste something real.

"Losing family is never easy, Jack," Lune whispered, her voice brushing close to his ear. "Even if you and your father had your differences... he cared. I could see it in his eyes. He cared more than he knew how to show."

"Care?" Jack scoffed softly, shaking his head. "He never cared. He was obsessed with shaping me into something I didn’t want to be. When I killed that kid... everything fell apart. His plans, his reputation, everything. And after that... he only grew harsher. He cared about appearances, not me."

He remembered vividly the backlash, the whispers, the way neighbors looked at them with disgust. His father’s frustration, his cold words, the suffocating pressure. All of it etched itself into Jack’s memory, sharp and clear.

"Then why," Lune asked quietly, her words piercing like a blade through his thoughts, "are you sad, Jack?"

His eyes flicked open. He turned to her, startled by the question.

"If you’re certain he never cared," she pressed gently, "why does his death hurt you, my love?"

"..."

Jack opened his mouth, but no words came. He breathed in, then out, but couldn’t form an answer. The silence stretched, and yet her question lingered, undeniable.

Inside, something stirred—a thought he didn’t want to admit. ’Does this mean that... somewhere in me, I believed he cared?’

His chest tightened. ’That doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.’

"I..."

"You don’t have to fight it, Jack." Lune’s hands lifted, cupping his face with the gentlest touch. Her eyes, serene and deep, held his gaze captive. "You don’t have to explain it to anyone. You don’t have to push it away. Losing someone you love... it always hurts. And that’s alright. Pain is a part of living." Her voice trembled slightly, filled with warmth. "There is no shame in that."

Her words settled inside him, quiet but unshakable. He stared into her eyes and saw a thousand emotions there, raw and honest. They swallowed him whole, pulling him into their depth.

"Do you understand me, Jack?"

For a long moment, he simply stared. Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he nodded.