Chapter 5
Chapter five
The Worst Kind of Truth
Nyomi
How do you tell a person that someone has died?
How do you blow their happy reality apart with the devastation?
Do you cower and hide? Let someone else do it?
Do you soften it with careful words? Gentle pauses? Lies rooted in kindness?
Or do you just say it? Say it plain and fast and let the cruelty of the truth do what it was always going to do anyway.
Zo stood in front of me, happy, relaxed, and still carrying a version of reality where Hiroko was alive. It seemed unfair to shatter that.
I swallowed. "Zo. . ."
He winked. "Nyomi."
"You're. . .uh. . .” I swallowed again. “You’re glowing."
"Am I? Well. . .I just woke up like this." He flipped invisible long hair over his shoulder and did a turn. “Or maybe it’s the out-of-body, met-God-and-came-back orgasms I had last night and this morning.”
I widened my eyes.
The herb woman's knife paused mid-chop, parted her mouth in shock, and then resumed chopping with a few chuckles.
Oblivious, Zo drifted past me and reached for a dumpling off the tray. “In fact, I actually kept a stroke so good that I may have levitated two-inches off the bed—”
“Okay. I’ve got it—”
“It’s some of my best work.” He popped the dumpling in his mouth, groaned, and pointed at the assistant folding the dumplings. “Mmmm. You’re dangerous.”
“Alright. Let’s go. They’re trying to get everything ready.” I went over and gently pushed the tray farther down the counter.
He followed it and grabbed another. “This party is going to have the Dragon marrying you. Where would you two have the wedding? Tokyo or New York? Could you imagine them in your neighborhood?”
“My neighborhood is just fine—”
“The Claws doing surveillance while eating chopped cheese sandwiches. The Fangs would be posted up on the block looking lethal while somebody’s auntie asks them to move so she can sweep.
Somebody trying to tax the Roar like,” Zo shifted to a deep voice and hunched his shoulders.
“‘Eh, yo. I don’t know who the fuck you are but, you got to pay for parking or we’re jacking that car. ’”
“Alright. That’s racist.”
“I’m half Italian. I can do that. I’m basically Black.”
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you’re not.”
The compact man with the tattooed forearms kept his eyes on his reduction but his jaw moved as he held back a laugh.
“Or would you have the wedding down South so your grandmother doesn’t have to get on the plane, since she hates flying?” Zo ate the other dumpling.
“So. . .no one is talking marriage at this time and. . .let’s go off to your villa. . .we should talk.”
He finished chewing. “You’re right. I have tons to tell you. The dick I gave last night was the sort of dick that fixes posture and improves credit scores.”
Chef Bunzō made a sound in the back of his throat that could have been clearing it or could have been a laugh he'd buried before it escaped.
“Would you come on?” I grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “This is a professional kitchen.”
“Not if you’re in it.” Zo shot his hand out as we passed the hors d'oeuvre tray and snatched another perfectly pleated dumpling without breaking stride. He popped the whole thing in his mouth and chewed. "So. I went up to help Satoshi clean off your grandmother’s miracle mixture yesterday."
We left the kitchen and headed down the hallway.
My guards had been posted outside the kitchen. As Zo and I walked, they followed.
"And listen. I don't care how many rashes and bumps that man has. I don't care how much he's scratching. You cannot hide the muscle and the sexiness of that body. You just can't. It's impossible."
I smiled.
"We’re in the bathroom and I tell him to take off his clothes, and I took off mine—"
“Hold up. You just took off your clothes?”
"I told him I was only doing it so I didn't get my clothes wet." Zo shrugged. "He went with it. Which told me he likes men because if that man didn't like men, he would have said ‘Get your naked ass out of my bathroom!’”
I chuckled.
“Satoshi is not subtle. He would've thrown me through the wall."
“That’s fair.”
"So we get in the shower." Zo's voice dropped. "And he's looking at my dick. Like, looking at it. You know how good it looks. Remember?”
I rolled my eyes. “Actually, it easily faded from my memory.”
“Bullshit. Anyway, I was so glad I shaved my balls—"
“Zo, I don’t ever need the intricate details of a story. A nice summary is just fine.”
"Whatever. So I started washing off all the oatmeal treatment. All of it. Every inch of him. And his skin.” He snapped his fingers.
“Nyomi, listen to me. Your grandmother needs to make that gunk into a product and sell it.
She could make millions. Almost all of the rashes were gone.
His skin looked fresh. New. It was like a whole different man.
She has a serious recipe on her hands and I would love to dress her for the store opening. "
I laughed.
As we got closer to the exit, a few of my guards got in front of us.
"Once he was completely clean, I told him to turn around and said, ‘We didn't get everywhere.’"
"Oh God."
"And that's when I started washing his cock, and you know I didn’t use a washcloth. Just my hands and soap—"
“You are so nasty.” I covered my face with both hands.
"Oh, he enjoyed it. Made noises and everything. And then the next thing you know, we were both washing each other off. And then I had him turned around, and I was inside of him."
My hands dropped and I stared at him. “Holy shit.”
"He said he'd never experienced anything like that before, and I told him, ‘Don't worry. I'll guide you.’"
“You were his first male experience?”
“Yes.”
“Poor guy.”
“Poor guy my ass. Three orgasms later, he passed out."
“Three?”
“Fuck yeah three. And then two more this morning, and now I’m here with you. In need of a new shower.”
I shook my head, laughing so hard my stomach ached.
And then he began laughing too.
And. . .I didn’t want to tell him the dark and heavy news. My chest tightened. I didn’t want to break this moment or him. I couldn’t watch his face crumble after so much joy decorated it.
Maybe. . .I’ll say that Hiroko is in Tokyo now. I could get everyone to play along and. . .days or weeks later I could tell him.
At the end of the hallway, one of my guards opened the door for us.
We stepped out.
The island was beautiful today. That was the cruelest part. The breeze came off the water warm and easy, carrying salt, plumeria, and the faint sound of children laughing somewhere beyond the tree line.
The path from the main house to the villas wound through gardens where three gardeners clipped in rhythm.
Further down the path, canopies of bougainvillea appeared above with these thick fuchsia petals that fell like confetti within the breeze. Their flowery perfume mingled with the salty air.
My guards walked around me. Two in front, two behind, one on each side. Close enough to reach me in a breath. Far enough to let me feel like I was just a woman taking a walk.
People nodded as we passed. Staff, groundskeepers, a woman carrying linens who bowed her head and smiled. I nodded back, held their eyes, and forced a smile when I could.
Quiet, Zo kept my pace and glanced at me.
I grinned, but it probably didn’t reach my eyes.
“Fuck.” Zo stopped.
I paused too.
Then, he studied me. “What’s wrong?”
“Huh?”
“Something is wrong.”
I parted my mouth.
“You look like you’re trying not to be sad. Your mouth is twitching. The skin under your eyes is pinched tight like you’re bracing yourself.”
Tension rose in my shoulders.
Zo’s smile faded. “What happened?”
Lie. . .do it. . .just pretend.
He tilted his head to the side. “What?”
I started walking.
He got on my side.
“So. . .”
The path curved through a cluster of palm trees. The children's laughter got louder and then I saw them. Two little girls chased each other near a garden wall. Their shoes slapped the stone.
One of them waved at me.
I waved back even though my hand felt so goddamn heavy. "Zo."
"Yeah?"
My bottom lip quivered and I just knew that I could never lie to him, not even if I really focused. He would always know it was bullshit.
I let out a long breath. "I need to tell you something."
"You're being weird. What's going on?"
I took a breath. "Hiroko. . .”
“What? Is she hurt or something? Just fucking say it.”
“She. . .didn't come back.”
He blinked. "What do you mean she didn't come back? From where?"
"From Yoshiwara. When she went off with Kenji and his men to fight, she was killed.”
Zo stopped walking.
I took two more steps before I realized he wasn't beside me anymore.
I turned.
Fuck.
He stood in the middle of the path and right under a canopy of bougainvillea as if the island itself had paused around him.
Silent, he stared at me. The grin was gone. His mouth was slightly open. His hands hung at his sides.
Fuchsia petals drifted through the air, twisting and spiraling around him.
Slow.
Weightless.
Some landed on his head and shoulders.
Others fell all the way down and settled against the stone.
My eyes watered.
Beyond him, the island breathed—salt air rolling in from the sea, the distant hush of waves folding against rock, the faint creak of bamboo somewhere deeper in the garden. A wind chime stirred once, twice, its thin note dissolved into the open sky.
And still, he did not move.
Another petal brushed past his cheek and fell at his feet.
I didn't know what to do with my hands. There was nothing to fix, no version of this moment I could make easier. I just stood there on that path watching my best friend shatter, and the helplessness of it pressed against my soul.
Death was the worst kind of truth about life, not because it arrived, but because it refused to be argued with.
It did not bend for love.
It did not pause for joy.
It never considered timing or fairness.
It was just. . .too real.
Too cruel.
One moment, a person existed in color, sound, scent, touch, and memory.
Laughing.