DELIRIA - YANDERE!CHUUYA NAKAHARA

Sixteen: Mother's head.

You look at the space before you and find yourself walking towards the bathroom, reliving the route that your younger self had done all those years back. You unlock the door to the bathroom by unholstering your gun on your thigh and mechanically shooting the knob, so that the door lock itself was busted open. You kick the door in with steel clad eyes.

Your mother is on the floor, bleeding her life out with her hands on her neck, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. When she lays eyes on you, her hands clasp into a prayer and she starts to apologise.

"I'm so sorry, dear," She had said. "I'm so sorry. Forgive me."

Even in death had she been so placid. Like water. You had put a foot on her back to force her closer onto the floor, before jerking the axe out in a way that spilled more blood onto the floor. Your hair went over your eyes and you had taken a second to wipe them off away from your face, the blood acting like gel in keeping them away. You remembered taking a quick breath, before ending her life there and then by severing her head clean off. She had made awful choking noises while doing this, because this wasn't a one-chop action; it had taken several attempts at severing the head by raising the axe over your head and dropping it over and over before the neck detached itself from the head, like a barbie doll's head being popped off.

Then you remembered, no, you dragged her headless corpse out to the living room and dumped her body over Father's corpse, who was still holding the phone, the telephone cord coiled tightly like a spring. The emergency dispatcher was panicked on the other end, asking and repeating her questions as you hung up the phone with bloodied fingers.

It's only when you bump into a wall that you re-open your eyes.

"What?" Chuuya's amused voice hits your ears and snaps you out of your own dimension. "Did you just—?"

"Ignore that." You rub your nose that was stinging from the impact, finding that your papers and passport were dropped from the collision. The vermillion-haired male gestures to the fallen heap.

"You need help?"

"If you don't mind."

He crouches over and helps you gather the papers in his hand, straightening them before coming to a complete halt when his brilliant eyes scour over the content of the papers. "Approved? To Switzerland?!"

"Yes," You say, with a hint of pride in your voice. "I got appr—"

"I told you I won't let this happen," He says, his voice on the verge of a snarl. He stands up with the papers in his hands, passport too, and rips them all in half with his bare hands. A cold shock of fury razes down your spine.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snatch them back into your hands, and drop them onto the ground when they would be provided useless to your endeavours. A growing hatred in your stomach that begins to conflagrate your innards, burning your heart alive as you clenched your fists by your sides. "What the hell?!"

"You think I'll just let you disappear like that?" He slams his hand onto your shoulder and into the wall, the dull thud of pain ignored by the outrage in your head. His eyes are flaring up as though ignited by a fire behind the thin veneer of the corneas, widening with visible, white-hot ferocity. "You think I would just let you go?"

"I don't belong to you," You wrench his hand off of you and clench the wrist so hard in your hand that had it been a civilian, the bone would have snapped clean in half. "I don't care what you thi—"

"I can't let you go," He cuts you off, seemingly in his own maddening world. You stare as he yanks his wrist out of your hand, adjusting his gloves as though preparing for battle. "I can't. Ever since you left me when we were eighteen, you've been haunting me. I've been seeing you in afterimages where you're not there."

You blink in shock at his confession: It sounded like a confession of love. But you regain your composure just as fast.

"That sounds like a 'you' problem," You snap. "Don't project your problems onto me. I'm leaving."

"No you're not," He sneers. "You're staying right here, with me."

You're stunned again at the sheer determination in his words. His stickiness brings you back into your past, a place where the sun doesn't shine, a place that lacked fecundity for anything to grow and develop—a place that you dreaded. Only death was in your past, both before and after the massacre. The very core of your massacre was that it was to gain freedom, and it is very frightening that this man, who claims he is intrigued by you, cages you in his hands like a sparrow caught in the starved man's net. Then you suck the inside of your cheek in contemplation, a notion that doesn't go unnoticed by Chuuya.

"Having second thoughts on leaving, princess?" He asks, his voice now gentle as rain. Maybe this man truly did care about you. Maybe that was why he was insistent on trapping you: So that you could get over the obstacle of your past, instead of side-stepping it constantly.

What a horrible thing to make someone do, against their will.

"Come with me," You say, walking away from him.

"Where are we going?" He says.

"We're going to my old hut, in Suribachi city."