Margo watched Hachiman's back disappear at the park entrance before she turned and stepped in the other direction.
It was ti to go ho.
She walked very slowly, step by step, as if every stride was an attempt to stall for ti. The streetlights flickered on, stretching her shadow long before shrinking it small again.
When she reached the front door, she stopped and took a deep breath.
Then, she pushed the door open.
"I'm back," she said, her voice tiny.
Her stepfather was sitting in the living room watching television. Hearing her, he turned his head. Those eyes that chilled her to the bone swept over her, finally stopping on her face.
"Why so late?" he asked. His voice was calm, but Margo detected a hint of displeasure.
"Doing howork at the library," Margo said, looking down as she changed her shoes.
"Is it finished?"
"Yes."
"Bring it here; let see."
Margo's heart raced. She took her workbook out of her schoolbag and handed it to him.
Her stepfather flipped through the pages, looking very closely. His fingers slid slowly across the paper as if he were stroking sothing.
"Here," he said suddenly, pointing at one of the problems. "This is wrong."
Margo leaned in to look. It was a math problem, and she had indeed made a mistake.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"What use is sorry?" her stepfather said, his voice still calm. "A mistake is a mistake. Kneel."
Margo knelt, keeping her back pin-straight.
The stepfather stood up and unbuckled the belt from his waist. He didn't strike her imdiately; instead, he stood before her, watching her.
"Margo," he said softly, "you seem to be going to the park quite often lately."
Margo's heart skipped a beat.
How did he know?
"I... I just go there to do my howork," she said, her voice trembling.
"Howork?" Her stepfather laughed—a laugh that made Margo want to vomit. "With whom?"
"No... no one. I'm alone."
"Is that so?" He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. His murky eyes stared into her face. "But I heard that you've been with a boy these past few days."
Margo's breath hitched.
"That's... that's a classmate," she said, her voice almost inaudible. "Just a classmate."
"A classmate?" Her stepfather straightened up, slowly coiling the belt in his hand. "A male classmate?"
Margo nodded.
He said nothing, just looked at her with that sticky, damp gaze that crawled all over her.
Then, he suddenly smiled.
"Margo is growing up," he said. "Having boyfriends now."
When the belt lashed down, Margo closed her eyes.
This beating was heavy—heavier than usual. Her stepfather seed very angry. The belt lashed her back, her arms, and her legs over and over. Margo didn't cry, nor did she dodge; she simply endured it in silence.
In her mind, she counted. When she reached twenty, he stopped.
"Rember," her stepfather said, his voice cold. "From now on, you are not allowed to go to the park, and you are not allowed to see that boy. Do you understand?"
Margo nodded.
"Speak."
"I understand."
He threw the belt onto the floor, turned back to the sofa, and continued watching television.
In the days that followed, she never went to the park again.
Until one day after school, she stood at the school gates looking toward the park. It had started to rain; fine threads of rain drifted down, landing coolly on her face. She stood there for a long ti until the rain grew heavier, soaking her hair and clothes.
Go ho, she told herself.
But she didn't move.
Her feet seed to have a mind of their own, walking step by step toward the park.
The rain poured harder. People on the street were running for cover, but Margo walked slowly, letting the water soak her through.
She reached the park entrance and stopped.
The park was empty. The swings swayed gently in the rain, water pooled on the slide, and the sandbox had turned into a muddy pit.
No one was there.
Hachiman wasn't there.
She had known this would be the case, but she still felt a void in her heart.
She walked to the swing and sat down. Rain dripped from her hair, onto her hands, onto her skirt. She looked at the empty park, the swing in the rain, and the blurred streetlights in the distance.
She didn't make a sound, but her tears flowed incessantly, mixing with the rainwater until it was impossible to tell them apart.
She didn't know why she was crying.
Was it because her stepfather beat her? Because her mother ignored her? Because she couldn't co to the park? Because Hachiman wasn't here?
Perhaps all of it.
Perhaps she was just tired—tired of pretending to be strong, tired of telling herself "this is love."
"Margo."
She looked up.
Hachiman was standing in front of her, holding a black umbrella. His hair was damp and plastered to his forehead, and his school uniform was half-soaked, but he stood there looking at her. Those dull, dead-fish eyes were the sa as always.
Margo froze.
She thought she was seeing things, thought she was dreaming.
But Hachiman was really there, holding the umbrella, standing in the rain.
"You..." Margo's voice caught in her throat. "How are you..."
"It's raining," Hachiman said, moving the umbrella over her. "You'll catch a cold."
Margo looked at him, and the tears fell again. This ti she couldn't control them; broken sobs escaped her.
Hachiman didn't speak. He just stood there, holding the umbrella, waiting for her to finish.
The rain continued to fall, pitter-pattering against the umbrella. There were only the two of them in the park—one black umbrella, two soaked children.
Margo cried for a long ti, until she had no strength left. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears wouldn't stop.
"My stepfather..." she began, her voice incredibly raspy. "He won't let co to the park... won't let see you...
He won't let , but I wanted to co," Margo's voice ca in snatches. "I wanted to co every day to see if you were here. But I was scared. I was scared he'd find out and beat again. I was scared you wouldn't be here, or that you'd co and then leave. I was scared..."
She couldn't go on. She looked down at her soaked shoes. The shoelaces were tied beautifully, even on both sides, the loops of the bow perfectly matched.
He had taught her. She tied them every single day—tying them, undoing them, and tying them again. She was afraid that one day he wouldn't co, and she was afraid that when that day ca, she wouldn't even be able to tie her laces properly.
"I was afraid you wouldn't be here," she said softly.
Hachiman crouched down. He wasn't much taller than her, and as he crouched, his eyes were level with hers.
"I co every day," he said. "Even if it rains, even if it's windy. Whether you co or not, I'm here."
Margo's tears fell once more. She buried her face in her knees, her shoulders shaking. The rain drumd against the umbrella. After a long ti, she looked up and noticed his shoulder; half of his body was outside the umbrella, completely soaked.
"You're getting wet," she said.
"Yeah."
"You'll catch a cold."
"It's fine."
She pushed the umbrella toward him. He looked at her but didn't move it back. She didn't move either. They just sat there by the swing, an umbrella held between them, neither saying a word.
The rain gradually tapered off. The streetlights shone through the mist, turning everything orange. Margo pulled up her sleeves, revealing the patchwork of marks on her arms—new over old, red over purple, purple over blue.
"This is from the belt buckle," she pointed at the longest one, her voice calm. "He did this. Mommy says it's love."
She paused.
"Hikigaya, does love hurt?"
"No."
"Then what is love?"
He thought for a mont.
"I don't know. But it's definitely not pain. Love is supposed to make people happy, not bring them suffering."
"Hikigaya, will you co tomorrow?"
"I will."
"Even if it rains?"
"Even if it rains."
"Even if it's windy?"
"Even if it's windy."
She smiled. She pulled her sleeves down to cover the marks.
"Then I'll co tomorrow too," she said.
"Okay."
She stood up. The rain had stopped. The streetlights reflected off the puddles in orange glows.
She turned and walked into the rain-washed street. After walking a distance, she looked back. He was still standing at the park entrance, umbrella closed, hands in his pockets. Seeing her look back, he nodded.
Her shoelace was a bit loose. She crouched down and retied it—even on both sides, with loops perfectly matched. Once tied, she stood up and headed ho.
Houshou Margo still didn't know what love was, but she thought she was going to find out.
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